Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Sieun likes music—more than he’d ever admit.

Sieun is, in his very core, a bookworm. He’s one of the people who willingly sticks their noses into pages, reading for hours and hours to feel the eventual satisfaction of knowing. Of knowledge. 

But he’s fond of music not in the way that he loves studying anatomy. Not like the clinical satisfaction of mapping every tendon and muscle or the analyzation and organization of internal human processes into chronological chapters, no.

He's certain it's different.

For Sieun, music is peculiar. Partly because he has never bothered to know more about it in a technical sense. He’s not fond of anatomizing subjective bodies. He doesn’t find joy in something that never abides by the facts and laws of science. He dislikes the way inquisitions regarding such pieces always begin with an I think or a for me. It’s too multifaceted, and not in a way that Sieun preferred.

He needs something with certainty. Something anchored in facts and datasets. Something stable and unaffected by emotions or biases. 

Something that’s.. well, consistently constant.

Hence, he never cared enough to figure out how music works. Never bothered to unravel its mechanics. Never looked for the answer to why a conglomerate of notes, tunes, and rhythms, sequenced in fits of seemingly random yet structured patterns, could somehow culminate into one of the few things in this planet to offer him actual solace.

As niche as it sounds to Sieun, music was indeed a way of escaping reality. A whirl of words within harmonies that people like Sieun could get lost in, albeit fleeting. For the recluse that is Yeon Sieun, knowing that he could rely on it should be enough. 

It isn’t. It’ll never be, and Sieun insists on it.

A part of him still nags, that’s why. Sieun’s particularly driven by the need to know what something is, why something is happening, or how important something is to him. Perhaps that can be applied to something fundamental such as mathematics. Sieun can know what an equation’s supposed to be. He can know why a certain formula leads to specific answers. He can even pull bullshit out his ass just to explain why some numbers are essential to human life.

Surely something as equally fundamental such as music can be broken down, right?

Well, to Sieun, it’s both a yes and a no.

Sure, music can be dissected down. A professional could analyze a piece's composition: identify the purpose of this specific x’s location and how it counterbalances that y , how the harmonic progressions creates a push-and-pull that allows for a satisfying tension resolution, and why each motifs and melodies present act as gears—twisting and turning via meshing inside a big, mechanical machinery.

But Yeon Sieun—the intelligent, methodical, precise perfect Yeon Sieun—finds that incredibly boring. It’s pointless, that’s why. 

He tried to understand, don't get him wrong. He looked for books in the library, scourged the internet, even going as far as lurking in forums and binging endless media. Yet it all felt like just stripping the music of its essence, like tearing a human body until it's all just bare bones: it turns unrecognizable.

It’s both a yes and a no, and Sieun despises it for that.

Searching for meaning betrays essence. Essence isn’t what Sieun’s looking for, he needs logic, structure, clarity. But music refuses to yield to the methodical dissection Sieun relies on, evading him whenever he tries to comprehend it. He's uncertain whether to approach it how he would his textbooks, or his pile of pending school projects, or maybe this calculus problem that stared back at him. Neat and unsolved.

So he listened. He lent his ears, as if allowing both lyric and melody alike to whisper the answer he never-endingly sought. Hell, Sieun’s certain he had a streaming time comparable to that of a local coffee shop’s.

Most likely even more.

It’s that bad.

He’s that dedicated.

Even now, as he sat in one of Byuksan high’s classrooms. With two buds worn snugly in his ears playing songs from a playlist picked randomly, Sieun breezed through complex calculus sample problems.

He usually gravitated towards mellow, melancholic music. Something quiet enough to lull his overthinking brain but subdued enough to fade into the background when needed.

This time, however, his chosen playlist brought him soft pop music, hazy due to soft vocals and dream-like in their synths and composition. It was enough to put a barrier between Sieun and the world.

' It's alright if it's somewhat dangerous. The sweetness behind the dizziness, like sweet drea—’ 

A sudden thud cracked through the room, piercing through the atmosphere enveloping Sieun, freezing his pen mid-stroke. 

Snapping back to reality, the music quickly faded into the background as Sieun instinctively lifted his head up.

His annoyance was quickly replaced by confusion as he sighted students crowded in the corners of the room. All their focus was on something behind him.

With a small exhale, finally decided to take a bud off his ear, the psychedelic, rhythmic beat of the song overtaken immediately by the unpleasant sound of noisy clattering, accompanied by the gasping and mumbling of students.

Sieun twisted slowly in his seat, unsure and slow, his brain still buffering. His gaze finally landed on the source of discord. Chairs have been pushed aside, some toppled over. Notebooks and pieces of paper strewn like fallen leaves on the floor.

The atmosphere inside vibrated with thick, unnerving tension.

In the middle of it all stood a tall boy. A defiant figure. Sieun didn’t recognize him, his back turned away. Even so, the man exuded confidence, seemingly unshaken by his perpetrators.

Sieun couldn’t help but look at the scene analytically.

Three members of Byuksan’s baseball team donning their distinct sport uniform surrounded the boy, encaging their victim in a triangular cage.

Two of the players were unarmed, twenty fingers clenched tightly, forming four closed fists.

The biggest of the trio, the one in the center, wielded a metal bat—aluminum, the standard.

The three cracked their knuckles and rolled their shoulders as if preparing for a good pitch. They were painfully eager to pummel their target to the ground that Sieun couldn’t help but to feel a tinge of pity.

Before Sieun could even approximate who’s going to move first, the player on the left acted, lunging towards the tall stranger, a fist sent for the face.

And then, all at once, something seemingly snapped inside the unfamiliar boy.

A sidestep.

A quick wind-up.

Then a push. A broad shoulder sending the offender towards the hard wall with unbelievable force.

A harsh thud.

And then, a knockdown.

One down, just like that. 

Sieun’s eyes sharpened, an unknown force suddenly urging him to focus on the stranger, to watch his every move with unexplained curiosity.

So he did.

Sieun kept his gaze locked onto the tall figure as the player on the right lunged forward in a fit of blind retaliation. The move was sloppy, reckless—most likely urged by insubstantial emotions. Even Sieun, despite his lack of knowledge about physical confrontations, knew it was stupid.

He watched as the defender maneuvered his body to dodge, counterattacking with another brutal shove. With a harsh, resounding clang, the offender crashed into metal lockers.

Another knockdown.

The armed baseball player was left. A one-on-one. 

Tension crackled like static between fighters—sharp and humming—like something was about to snap, like the build up before a long awaited crescendo.

Sieun can hear the steady pulse of his heart reverberating inside his ears. His eyes flicked to the baseball player’s fingers, tightening the grip he had on his bat.

And then a sound.

A chuckle. Low and rough. Cocky.

Barely a ripple amidst the quietness of the classroom, but it hit Sieun with clarity like a piano key struck in silence.

The stranger was chuckling. Amused or dismissive or arrogant, Sieun couldn't figure it out. But he knew it was directed towards his opponent, of how the bat acted as a weapon yet it now wasn't enough to feel like one. Not when he was the last man standing.

It was.. surreal. To Sieun, at least. 

It ticked the baseball player, naturally.

The bat sliced through the air in an arc too fast for Sieun to follow. But the stranger didn't flinch. He ducked, narrowly avoiding a harsh blow. In one fluid movement, he raised his leg, bent his knees, then kicked, straight into the player’s abdomen.

The force sent them flying in opposite directions. 

Sieun watched as the baseball player slammed into the poor lockers, another shrill clang indicating the impact. His eyes flicked back to the stranger staggering backwards. Closer, it seemed, with every clumsy step.

Almost like...

Oh. Of course.

Of all places to stumble toward, it had to be Sieun's chair.

Sieun barely had time to brace for impact before—

A harsh nudge.

The stranger caught himself with his palms, gripping at the backrest of Sieun's chair.

The impact, significantly lighter than what was expected, sent his pencil case tumbling downwards with a sharp clatter, his things skittering across classroom tiles.

Sieun finally pulled his consciousness away from the fight, gazing down at his fallen case, his pens, pencils, and erasers spilling out like a crime scene, the slightly faded cat prints on its surface staring back like witnesses. 

Around him, everything stilled, save for the faint singing in his left ear his brain finally chose to acknowledge once again.

He heard a voice. Something about 'leaving someone alone,' or 'this is the last time this happens, okay?' But he wasn't paying attention.

Not anymore.

What was left of his focus remained glued on his pencil case.

Sieun knew the case wasn't going to magically float back to his desk if he, with his eyebrows furrowed, stared hard enough. It won’t climb back to its place if Sieun mentally cursed at it for long enough, either. Something in his brain short-circuited.

He didn’t like it, and he didn't know what to do with it. 

He didn't know what he was expecting to happen. Maybe something. Perhaps nothing. 

"I did that?," the voice above him spoke once again, self-accusatory of the thing he did cause. It was confident yet guilty, the low timbre of it resonated through Sieun's body, sending ripples causing him to impulsively tense.

A reflex. Involuntary.

Mildly embarrassing.

That was… definitely not what Sieun expected.

With a short exhale, Sieun finally pulled himself together. Or at least, cursed his brain enough for it to mimic a semblance of his mental stability which, to his dismay, was probably on the floor, knocked out by the impact.

Sieun tore his gaze away from the cats of his pencil case, dragging it upwards—past the unbuttoned uniform, past the red shirt underneath, until it landed on the stranger's eyes.

And then he stared.

He couldn’t focus. His brain was fuzzy. His thoughts were noisy.

But he stared.

Hard.

People quickly back off once Sieun gives them a good stare down, whether because of discomfort, fear, or the realization that they're not gonna get a proper response out of him. A look that pierces right through them.

Usually, that was all it took.

Usually.

But the man was staring back. Much to Sieun's surprise and, frankly, irritation.

Instead of averting his gaze, away from the black hole that were Sieun's eyes, the stranger held it, unwavering. He did so with intent, like he was decrypting Sieun's stares for a secret code buried in his irises.

Or maybe Sieun imagined that.

He definitely did.

Still, Sieun swears that the man's head tilted slightly sidewards, like a dog figuring out what in the actual fuck was going on. One second he was fighting the school's baseball players, the next he was forced into a staring contest with some wide-eyed, glaring weirdo, the unknown man must've thought.

Everything was still. Silent.

Except for the persistent music playing in Sieun's left ear:

'T he veil is slowly coming off, ooh. A new sensation blooms.’

His right ear, neglected, caught the soundlessness of the classroom. 

Both his ears were warm now, definitely tinged pink from the heat crawling up his neck, blooming. And still, he stared. The stranger remained, and so did Sieun. He mentally cursed himself, trying his best not to shiver under the gaze of the stranger.

A beat.

'Your lead awakens me. A thin line crosses the boundary. Filling me up, this is new. It’s you.'

And then another.

Sieun blinked, slowly. 

And the stranger was immediately scrambling down to his feet.

Eyes narrowing, Sieun tracked him with a piercing yet confused stare as the man gathered his spilled supplies, tucking each one inside his sad, cat face-covered pencil case.

He stared as the man placed the now-full pencil case back at Sieun's desk like nothing happened.

His gaze remained on the man's hand, watching it let go of the case and be extended, outstretched in front of him.

A sign of truce, a polite gesture.

And Sieun...

Well, Sieun observed. He felt the force that urged him to stare earlier coming back to haunt him once again.

His eyes took note of how visibly rough the other's hand is, how blunt nails decorated his slender fingers, how prominent veins ran along the broadness of the man’s dorsum. Sieun wonders if it's riddled with callouses. If it'd engulf his whole face. If his own fingers would slot into those bruised knuckles, warm and snug.

He blinked.

Sieun was, for the first time, truly lost in thought. He worried there might be drool collecting at the corner of his chapped lips. Worried, too, if his eyebrows were drawn together. An unintentional reflection of the confusion churning inside him.

His heartbeat quickened.

He mentally blamed the song.

He was being invited by its melody, seducing him to feel things he'd never felt before, emotions he had no business experiencing.

It took everything for Sieun not to accept it.

The invitation.

And the hand, too, of course.

"Ahn Suho," the man, Ahn Suho, introduced himself.

Sieun blinked again. Silent.

Another long beat.

Suho pulled his hand back, much to Sieun’s comfort.

"Next time, do it outside," Sieun managed to croak out, his voice thankfully imposing enough to sound commanding. But his voice felt unnatural to him, like it was tinged with uncertainty and hesitation unfamiliar to him.

He heard their classmates react, gasping and mumbling as if it was their first time hearing the Yeon Sieun speak.

It most likely was.

He felt his confidence crumble at the silence that ensued after.

But it was Suho's turn to blink in dumbfounded silence.

Sieun swore he could see the notes of his voice drifting into Suho's ear, circling lazily around his head as he visibly processed what had just come out of Sieun's mouth.

Somehow, it made Sieun feel both better and worse, the pulse in his ears was deafening.

And then: a grin.

Sieun watched as a shit-eating, smug-as-hell grin curled slowly at the corner of Suho's lips.

"Ah, right. The fight?," Suho asked, although it sounded like it's more for himself than for Sieun.

"Yeah, you're right. I'm sorry— Uh—" His eyes flicked down, landing on the plastic name plate pinned on Sieun's uniform.

Sieun wanted to cover it.

"Sieun. Yeon Sieun. Yeon. Si. Eun." Suho repeated the name. Slowly. Carefully. Syllable by syllable. Like sensing how the foreign combination of characters rolled off his tongue, like feeling how got caught by the curve of his lobes and onto his ear drums, vibrating with the sound of his name.

…

He blamed the song.

Again.

"I'm sorry, Yeon Sieun-ssi. It won't happen again. I promise," he said, almost too formally, like he's mocking him.

It didn’t help that he still had that stupid smile on.

And then, all of a sudden, Suho bowed his head.

Snapped out of his thoughts by the sudden action, Sieun fought the urge to push him away. Or to roll his eyes. Or to pat Suho's hair. Or to punch him. He's unsure.

He's still processing, deciding, when Suho lifts his head up, meeting Sieun's ever-present stare with his equally present grin.

'This astoundingly beautiful feeling passing the limits of space-tim— ’ 

Sieun promptly snatches his earbud out his ear before giving Suho a small nod.

He had no idea how to respond.

A god must've answered Sieun's prayers because the nod was enough to end their interaction.

He wasn’t even religious.

In mere seconds, Suho was out his face, but not without flashing Sieun another smile, not without throwing an apologetic gesture with his fingers in a way that reminded Sieun of velociraptors, not without leaving his thoughts in disarray.

He didn’t move, didn’t speak. His mind too occupied on figuring out what he was feeling, why it was happening, and how it was important to him. 

The classroom resumed its usual rhythm as if nothing happened, blurring back into a noise. As if a fight didn’t just occured, as if a stranger didn’t offer a hand out to him, as if his heart wasn’t beating out of his chest.

Or maybe they did acknowledge the chaos, putting efforts together to clean up the mess.

It didn’t matter.

Not to Sieun, anyway.

He was too caught in the echo Suho left behind.

The slowly but surely swelling noise of the room urged Sieun to put his earbuds on once again.

He didn't.

His heart continued humming. Awoke.

He’s sure he likes music a little less now.

Something’s wrong with Sieun’s ears.

Or with his mind.

Or with his whole body.

Well...

Lately, something’s been off.

Sieun isn’t a prideful person, but he prides himself over the mundanity of his daily schedule, as awful as that sounds. To someone that isn’t him, that is.

He keeps a mental checklist of tasks, each assigned a precise start, a strict deadline, and a set duration. Sieun does most things under this checklist almost mechanically, be it washing himself, packing things up for school, or even how long he walks to his classroom.

He finds that the comfort and familiarity of this practiced tempo gives him a sense of certainty, keeping his days linear and formulaic and something that Sieun can easily solve.

The thing is, Sieun also prides himself on his ability to not give any fucks, to ignore anything he deems unnecessary, insignificant.

He’s aware how this mindset cuts him off from meaningful social connections, of potential bridges that he could be building if only he wasn’t too focused on himself, but Sieun doesn’t care. 

It’s not that he considers himself as someone fun to be around with in the first place. In fact, he tries his best to be insufferable, to be the most unpleasant being someone could interact with. The reason: To drive disturbances away.

He finds that most things in the world don't really deserve his attention, only serving as a distraction to Sieun’s usually one-track mind.

But something feels out of place, like a slight smudge of ink shadowing the letters of his notes: barely noticeable, but it makes its presence known.

Too minor to fix, too persistent to ignore. 

It grates on Sieun.

It skews the pattern he’s so carefully built, deviates him from the rhythm he religiously follows. 

It felt like sickness, a disease, and Yeon Sieun’s got it real bad.

Symptom #1: Neural latency: Mild Mental inertia. Also known as cognitive sluggishness, mental inertia is a phenomenon classified as the difficulty in shifting thoughts, in changing perspectives, and, in Patient Yeon’s case, the struggling in accomplishing and transitioning from one task to another, be it mental or physical. Patient has a.) reportedly struggled to get out of bed despite having no instances of it happening in the past whatsoever, and b.) felt his once efficient and reliable train of thoughts significantly sluggish, as if burdened by causes unknowable to the patient. Further observations are required before the administration of potential remedies.

Symptom #2: Cognitive drifting, a symptom most likely caused by Mild Inertia, is a case identified by its noticeable effect of persistent mental wandering. Patient Yeon Sieun’s thoughts—usually compartmentalized, according to the patient himself—started wandering, out of control. Patient Yeon would catch himself zoning out while brushing his teeth, sometimes blank out whenever he attempted as much as to recall previous lessons. Even while commuting, his brain meanders, replaying fragments of conversations: a smug grin, an offered hand, a promise classified by the patient as insignificant memories that he, apparently, had no business remembering. Patient Yeon seems to be suffering a severe case of cognitive drifting. Treat immediately.

Symptom #3: Complete auditory malfunction. His ears stopped working. Once used by the patient as white noise, music is now reportedly inefficient at blocking unwanted thoughts out, most likely due to cognitive drift increasing the frequencies of such thoughts tenfolds. Moreover, the patient’s once diverse and accepting taste in music seemingly turned bland, now yearning only for the genre of songs that manifests outlandish yet benign bubble-like feelings in the pit of the patient’s stomach. Possible treatment/s: Curate Patient Yeon his first ever playlist or halt research regarding music in exchange for mental stability.

The prognosis? Disease is non-fatal despite common occurrences of conceptual, most likely imaginary instances of the heart skipping a beat. Conditions may worsen from constant exposure to the trigger.

And the trigger?

Well, Sieun had a hypothesis he was willing to test.

It was early in the morning. Sieun just did his usual routine of cracking the windows open and letting the fresh morning breeze replace the otherwise stale classroom air.

He sat in his usual seat, illuminated by the sunlight seeping through the opened window. His notes were splayed on his desk, his earbuds clutched between his fingers, yet his attention focused on something else.

With his body twisted, he stared at Suho’s sleeping form. Tired, asleep, vulnerable amidst the still classroom.

A conducive environment for a fruitful experiment.

So, without further ado…

Phase I: Evaluation of the subject’s current status.

Suho was in his usual position: atop two conjoined desks acting as a makeshift bed, his head resting on a small, pink arm pillow with two appendages on top that, to Sieun, seem to resemble bunny ears.

It’s a common occurrence, a view that greets Sieun the moment he slides their room door open every morning.

He worries, sometimes.

Only when his thoughts linger on Suho long enough, on his unpleasant sleeping position. On the back lying flat on a hard surface with barely any adequate support present for his head.

Sieun couldn’t imagine falling asleep like that yet there Suho was, hibernating like a bear in winter.

So far, so good. Just like he expected. 

Onto Phase II.

Suho was sleeping, exhibiting common occurrences observed during REM sleep.

Sieun observed how Suho’s chest rose up every time he breathed in and how it slowly relaxed, descending as his body released the air.

He took note of how, for every exhale, Suho produced small, endearing sounds that, if not for Sieun’s hyper-focused state, would be imperceivable even in the silence of their surroundings.

He doesn’t miss how his fingers and hands would periodically twitch– most likely dreaming, Sieun inferred.

He wished he was closer to see if Suho’s eye movements were visible through his eyelids, to hear if his heartbeat was beating just as fast as Sieun’s.

…

Cognitive drifting, Sieun mentally noted, convincing himself.

He was about to list arguments just to convince himself more when—

A creak.

Suho shifted. Barely. Slightly, announced by the squeaking of the tables he was on top of.

Sieun’s heartbeat responded first, faster than his thoughts could catch up. He wasn’t aware that human hearts could handle pumping blood at such intense speeds.

Suho was still shifting, adjusting his position through careful movements.

Sieun knew he should stop, knew that he should look somewhere away from Suho. Logically, it made no sense to retain his gaze. He could, and should, re-anchor his focus to anything else: the clock, the dust on the edges of the chalkboard, his notes for fuck’s sake.

But his eyes, traitorous like his thoughts, remained locked.

His eyes drank in Suho’s figure for the second time, the thoughts of doing it for his hypothesis now only replaced with indulgence.

Greed.

He watched as Suho’s nose scrunched up, the skin pulling and contracting to produce whisker-like creases along its high, sharp bridge.

His eyes tracked Suho’s arms extending, slender fingers intertwined and muscles flexing, stretching the sleep away. The action caused Suho’s undershirt to ride up slightly, revealing a bit of skin just above his waistline, all only for Sieun to see.

He focused on the exposed tan skin, on the peek Suho’s navel, on stray veins trailing downwa—

“Yeon Sieun.”

Sieun froze.

Short-circuited, even.

His ears picked up the voice’s bass, sending waves and waves of shiver down his spine.

Abort .

Sieun’s mind was flooded by a surge of emotions, red lights and warning signs blurring his vision.

Embarrassment, guilt, fear, he was feeling them all. Intrusive. Overwhelming.

It took a lot for Sieun to pull himself together, to leash his thoughts currently running wild by the sight of Suho awake and looking at him, to not break down right then and there in the quietness of the classroom.

He peeled his gaze away from Suho’s exposed skin to meet his eyes.

People believe that someone’s eyes are the windows to their soul. Sieun struggled to understand that, fully convinced people say it just to seem more expressive.

That was until he was under Suho’s cloudy, sleep-induced gaze. 

Suho’s irises, Sieun somehow managed to observe, were colored a common brown.

He imagined they'd be soft, almost melancholic when relaxed.

He wished it was the case when it was currently boring holes through Sieun’s own eyes.

Sieun could only imagine the judgement, the disgust, the disbelief that was currently going on in Suho’s head.

He didn’t know how he managed to keep eye contact but he held it for so long, waiting for Suho to flip him off or to get up and kick him like one of the baseball players.

Except, he didn’t do any of that.

Instead he—

Suho’s gaze suddenly softened, like he was looking at a small, helpless kitten, like he finally got rid of the sleep in his system.

“Good morning, Sieun-ah..” Suho said, voice rough. Throaty. 

Best believe it echoed around Sieun’s currently-drowning-from-Suho’s head.

Sieun swallowed. The lump in his throat was unfamiliar. Intrusive like a warning signal he couldn’t override.

His mind, which moments ago had been frantically parsing variables and consequences, suddenly halted under the weight of Suho’s gaze.

He couldn’t say anything. Not that he had the right to after what he did, no. Of course not.

Sieun felt… sinful. What word he considered overly melodramatic he now found fitting perfectly.

His brain tried to argue with him, asserting that he simply was just staring excessively at Suho. But Sieun’s body was already reacting from guilt, pivoting his body to face forward, back to the safety of his notes. Earbuds immediately in. A random playlist on shuffle.

In hindsight, Sieun’s reaction made no logical sense. It only made him look guilty, like a dog that made a mess when its owner wasn’t looking.

But he didn’t care.

Not anymore.

If Suho called him or made a noise of surprise or chuckled in amusement or did anything at all to acknowledge the situation, Sieun didn’t care anymore.

He was a hundred percent sure he was gonna pay for it, in one way or another, and if he knew anything, it was that consequences had a way of arriving precisely on time.

Sieun’s got a bad feeling.

Two periods have passed since his… altercation with Ahn Suho, and two periods were enough to take Sieun’s mind off of the results of his disastrous investigation, if he can even call it that.

It didn’t matter. It was only a small setback. Sieun had plenty of time before he—for the lack of better words—completely loses his mind.

The bell rang, snapping the classroom out of its lull, snapping Sieun out of his thoughts.

He stood, mechanically, propelled more by routine rather than choice.

He waited for the wave of students to thin out before trailing behind; his sets of footsteps a beat late from the rest and leading him to the cafeteria. An echo chamber of noises and smells that Sieun had learned to easily tune out.

Except today, of course.

Because Yeon Sieun’s guts were making a quiet fuss.

He occupied his usual space near the far end of the cafeteria, away from where the noise was usually the loudest. He settled into one of the cafeteria’s flimsy plastic chairs, a tray sat neglected in front of him as his entire focus was on his phone.

It stared at Sieun, its screen lit, his music app open and idle, the interface waiting for him to do something.  

Sieun’s plan to solve his crisis didn’t stop at staring excessively at Ahn Suho, of course. Naturally, he had a checklist, albeit one without a set deadline. Much to the dismay of Sieun’s worrying mind, he had no idea, not even an ounce of estimation of when he could get rid of this disease, when he could finally be free.

So, to finally tick off one of his tasks, he planned to dedicate the entire break time solely for making a playlist. By the amount of time he had already dedicated to listening to music, he was bound to make one at some point. 

He definitely wasn’t postponing it, definitely wasn’t worried. He absolutely knew what he wanted in a playlist and certainly knew how to curate one. 

How hard could it really be?

Well.

Turns out, Sieun really had no idea. 

After clicking the ‘make a playlist’ button and being met with an ‘add’ sign, Sieun’s brain just– zoned out. Blank. Frozen.

Ridiculous.

He had tackled problems involving countless variables which were infinitely more complex than this, had mapped the intricacies of the human anatomy like the lines in the palm of his hands.

Yet there he was, stumped by the objective of grouping songs together for a simple playlist, staring at the still blank playlist like it had personally wronged him.

He leaned back in his chair, glaring intently at the screen as if it would build the playlist itself out of fear. He hoped it did. Nothing happened.

What even goes into a playlist anyway? What classifies a good playlist from a bad one? The theme? Mood? Genre?

Whenever Sieun listened to others’ playlist—which he does way too often—it just… clicked. No effort required. The transitions felt seamless. His brain soothed, his ears satisfied before he could even think about it. Like magic. Some sort of lazy magic. 

But now that the task was in his hands, it felt more like a burden. Like someone had just stacked a thousand stones atop his back and told him to run a marathon.

Sieun doesn’t even know if he’d survive a marathon—but while carrying a thousand stones? He’d rather die.

It was heavy.

Tedious . 

And, no. It wasn’t like he was emotionally invested in this. It was purely for his research.

The issue was simple: making a playlist was simply just out of his skillset.

Yeah, that was it. Sieun was just.. inexperienced.

It was frustrating.

Sieun was too busy staring daggers at the screen to notice the figure sitting on the chair opposite of him.

“Yeon Sieun. Hello.”

A simple hello and all of the memories from earlier came flooding back towards Sieun like a flash flood, rapid and all at once. A small part of him was thankful for being too preoccupied; he couldn't really react, not even with his body.

Suho’s voice was more than enough to pull Sieun out of his playlist-making trance, but not enough to flush away his frustrations.

As infuriated as he already was, Sieun tried his best not to snap.

“What are you doing,” he asked, voice low and clipped, sounding more like an accusation than a question. His disapproval was barely veiled in his tone. Sieun’s eyes diverted from his phone to look at Suho’s, pointed and honed.

And Suho—

Well, Suho was Suho. 

“Eating. With Yeon Sieun,” He replied, as if it was the most obvious thing in the world. Sieun wanted nothing but to wipe that grin off his face.

He couldn’t even curse Suho before he just started eating , digging into his tray filled all the way to the brim like a starved animal.

Sieun sighed, accepting his fate. He had more pressing matters to attend to.

Turning a blind eye to the presence before him, his eyes went back and focused on his phone screen.

He forced his fingers to move, tried typing a song title in the search bar but immediately deleted it.

No. Too upbeat.

Typed, then deleted.

No. Too gloomy.

Typed, then deleted. Again.

Hmm. Too…

Too much.

It was all too much .

He deleted one song, replacing it with another. He deleted that song, too, replacing it once more. Deleted. Replaced. Again and again.

His fingers hovered on the screen—tense, as if the next wrong song would drag him to hell.

It had to be perfect.

He rubbed his free fingers against his palm, frowning at the sudden pins-and-needles sensation crawling up his arms.

Maybe he hadn’t eaten enough.

All around him, the cafeteria buzzed with noise of the unbothered ease of people not slowly spiraling over a digital music list.

It entered Sieun’s ears like second-hand smoke. Unwelcome. Repulsive.

He hated them all a little.

No. Maybe more than that.

“Listen, about earlie–” 

Sieun’s head didn’t move, but his eyes shot to Suho’s like a trigger pulled. He was ready to atone for his sins.

A beat.

“What about earlier?”

“Are you okay, Sieun-ah? Is something wrong?,” Suho interjected, his tone the softest Sieun has ever heard, like his voice was handling something incredibly fragile.

A surge of confusion flooded Sieun’s mind.

Sieun just blinked, staring at Suho with his eyebrows knitted together .

That... wasn’t the tone hee expected.

It threw him off script, off the monologue he was planning to use as an apology. Sieun had been bracing for a confrontation, maybe a snide remark.

He didn’t know what to do with it.

“Look, Suho. I’m— I’m really sorr—”

“No, no. Yeon Sieun. Hey, listen to me—”  Suho, once again, interrupted his words. “You’re shaking. Is everything alright?,” He even stopped eating just to look Sieun straight in the eye.

Sieun fought the urge to punch him. If it weren’t for his—

…

Sieun looked down, to his trembling hands rattling the edges of his tray.

He was sure his face remained emotionless, blank, calculated, but his mind was the complete opposite. He was unsure of what to do. He didn’t know how to react.

He tried curling his fingers into fists, stretching them out as an attempt to keep them steady once more but the shaking only got worse. 

Moisture blurred his vision before he even realized he was blinking too fast. The static in his ears roared louder, like white noise cranked to max. His chest heaved, shallow and fast and wrong. He could feel everything. It was too much.

Stupid. Stupid. Yeon Sieun, you stupid—

“H–hey. Hey, Sieunnie...” And then, he felt Suho’s hands wrap around his own, engulfing them with an unfamiliar warmth.

He felt how his fingers knocked at the surface of Suho’s rough skin for every instance of tremor. 

“Take deep breaths, Sieun, baby. I’m here,” and Sieun did, trying his best to follow instructions despite the static roaring in his ears.

Inhale.

Exhale.

He felt his chest rise and fall in uneven stutters.

In.

Out.

Suho’s hand gripped tighter, acting as Sieun’s anchor.

It was warm. Steady.

A heavy grounding weight amid the chaos in Sieun’s thrashing head.

He hated how much he focused on it.

Another breath, one deeper than the rest.

He felt his throat hitch, but he remained composed. 

In. Out.

In. Out.

“That's it,” Suho murmured, softer this time. Encouraging. Like Sieun wasn’t currently falling apart in the middle of a school cafeteria. Like this moment wasn’t shameful or horrifying or wrong.

Sieun’s throat burned, but the panic slowly began to dull at the edges like fever breaking. His hands were still shaking, but less violently now. Enough to feel the aching aftermath. Enough to feel the cold of the air finally sinking in.

He didn’t look up. He couldn’t. But he nodded, just barely, jaw clenched tight.

“…Sorry,” he muttered, though he didn’t know what for. Existing, probably. Most likely.

He heard Suho exhale a deep sigh.

“Don’t be.”

And for once, Sieun didn’t argue.

The walk back to their classroom was quiet.

Uncomfortably so.

Not the type that settles gently between people, but the type that lingers on the skin, thick and heavy.

Sieun refused to speak. Didn’t want to. Didn’t have the heart to.

He kept his gaze anchored on the ground, down to where his feet stepped one after the other, down where he could trace every line on the tiled floor.

His steps felt heavy, like guilt had rooted itself onto the soles of his shoes, dragging behind him with every step.

Suho didn’t leave. Not once.

He didn’t say anything either, but he stayed close. His presence hovered beside Sieun like a shadow. Every time Sieun delayed his pace, to keep distance, Suho would simply adjust his stride to match.

Sieun hated how much his chest ached. He hated how much his hands still burned, the warmth of Suho’s touch lingered persistently in his skin.

The silence stretched between them as they walked, giving Sieun enough space to breathe.

It was only broken when they were nearing the classroom.

“Sieun-ah,” Suho called out, his voice gentle and soft and worried. “You sure you okay?”

Sieun didn’t answer right away, his eyes still glued onto the floor. He owed Suho a proper explanation. He just was unsure of what to say. How to make it sound less stupid than it actually was. He didn't know how to put it into words. How making a damn playlist—something even a 1st grader could probably do—somehow felt like trying to perform a heart surgery with no hands to him.

How such a simple thing somewhat led to… to his spiraling.

“I was…” He paused, hesitating. His voice embarrassingly thin. “Trying… to make a playlist.”

Then, silence.

One that urged Sieun to continue.

“For research,” he lied. Partially.

Sieun finally mustered enough courage to look Suho in the eye.

He was expecting judgement etched across Suho’s face, expecting a grimace or a scoff or ome sign that Suho had finally seen him for what he was: fragile, ridiculous, embarrassing.

Instead, he was met with careful eyes—full of understanding and patience—something Sieun wasn’t used to being offered so freely.

Suho’s eyes were unwavering, seemingly coaxing Sieun to not hide, to spill out the emotions he had left bottled up for so long.

It took a lot for Sieun not to.

“I couldn’t.” Sieun admitted, his voice barely above a whisper.

A beat.

Sieun mentally prepared himself for anything. A laugh, a scoff, a teasing– but nothing came.

Nothing except Suho’s voice, a soft:

“Do you want my help?”

Sieun, despite his predicament, still hesitated. Not being good at something was already out of character. Asking someone else for help? Even more so. It didn’t help that Suho was there when he was having… an episode. 

Every part of him screamed to say no. But then again, every part of him was also exhausted.

So, hesitantly, he nodded, small like he wasn’t the one asking someone who basically was a stranger a favor.

He kept his gaze anywhere but on Suho.

“Now? You’ll skip?,” Suho’s response was almost instant, like he was already expecting Sieun to ask for help. 

“Later.”

“After school?”

“... I have cram school.”

“Ah, of course.”

“I’m sorr—”

“Where? I’ll pick you up.”

Sieun blinked.

“Pick– Huh?,” 

“Pick you up. Y’know,” Suho said with a shrug of his shoulders and a grin on his face. “Then you can treat me to a meal as payment,” he added with a tone that made it sound like it was final, like Sieun couldn’t argue about it. “Sounds good, yeah?”

And Sieun didn’t argue. He just nodded.

He could feel the rhythm he had so carefully built crack a little at the edges, and instead of fixing it, Sieun was letting it bend.

He didn’t know how, but Sieun somewhat has Suho’s number saved on his phone.

The past few hours of cram school have passed in a blur, the lecture entering Sieun’s left ear and going out the right.

It had been like that ever since he left the cafeteria.

His brain was too fuzzy to function, too cluttered to mend.

He couldn’t find himself to focus.

His mind was preoccupied by something else, something that he had accidentally brought upon himself.

Sieun remained seated on his chair, his notes messily scattered on his desk in the pretense of actually paying attention.

Occasionally, he’d write nonsense on the corners of his notebook, or doodle whatever between the lines just to mimic the feeling of doing something.

Right beside his notes, however, was his open phone, screen still lit. It displayed the empty chat thread between him and Suho– still blank, a clean slate, a silent invitation. 

Sieun’s mind never left it, not once throughout the entire class, no matter how hard he tried to pry it away.

Truth is, before Suho, he only had two contacts saved on his phone: his parents. He didn’t really find the need to contact them often, and when they did talk they usually were the one to text Sieun first.

So now, staring at the blinking cursor in the message bar, Sieun realized he had absolutely no idea what to say.

“Hey.” Too dry.

“Where are you?”

Too forward.

“Come here now. ”

Too needy.

He backspaced. Locked his phone. Unlocked it again five seconds later, expecting it to magically conjure a decent message by itself.

Sieun sighed through his nose. He’s had enough of his bullshit today.

Not wanting to experience another episode, he picked his phone up, took a deep breath and typed whatever came to his mind first.

연시은

Ahn Suho

This is Yeon Sieun

Class is almost done

안수호

❤️

im here already

waiting for u

^^

come down soon ok?

연시은

Okay

Sieun mentally cursed himself for the nth time that day.

The last few minutes of cram school dragged on painfully, the final lesson stretching longer than it should have, as if time was mocking Sieun.

Focusing was still a lost cause.

His mind kept flipping between two equally ridiculous wishes: for the ground to split open and swallow him whole, giving him a legitimate excuse to cancel on Suho, or for time to speed up already so he could just get it over with and meet him.

By the time the final bell rang and students began pouring out the doors with half-hearted goodbyes, Sieun found himself scrambling, already packing up in a rush, his fingers fumbling on the zippers of his bag.

With his earbuds silent, he quickly left.

Suho was waiting. And for reasons he didn’t want to admit—not even to himself—he didn’t want to keep him waiting.

Sieun spotted him, just a few feet away from the school’s gates.

Suho was leaning on a parked white motorcycle, a rectangular block of questionable insulation and fading brand stickers was bolted onto the rear of it.

He was too busy messing with his hair in an attempt to fix it to notice Sieun, his usual black-red windbreaker replaced by a white one with blue accents.

It made him look…

Sieun cleared his throat once close enough for Suho to hear.

Apparently, the noise was enough to startle him.

Sieun watched as Suho did a little jolt of surprise, his eyes widened and flickering to whatever made the noise.

He didn’t miss how Suho’s tense body immediately softened, how his eyes slightly gleamed with something Sieun couldn’t identify once he took in the sight of Sieun’s figure.

Suho flashed Sieun an awkward smile, his now messed-up hair forgotten.

Sieun just stared.

“Ah, Yeon Sieun.. You— You almost killed me..” Sieun fought the urge to roll his eyes.

Suho looked like he was about to say something else, but instead, he just smiled. One of those easy, crooked grins that seemed like muscle memory for him.

“You’re kinda late,” he said. “Thought maybe you bailed.”

This time, Sieun rolled his eyes. “Didn’t.”

“Yeah, no. I see that now.” Suho laughed softly, a breathy, amused sound. “So, uh… cram school fun?”

Sieun shrugged. “No.”

“Fair.”

There was a pause, not uncomfortable exactly. Just quiet.

And then Suho stood up properly, letting his weight off the motorcycle, finally allowing Sieun to give it a thorough look. It looked old, but in a worn, well-loved way. He didn’t know enough about motorcycles to assume, but it looked like it was aerodynamic enough to zoom around the city at a commendable speed.

“Pretty, isn’t she?,” Sieun didn’t need a look at Suho’s face to practically hear the proud smile evident in his tone.

Sieun just nodded.

“Wanna ride?” At that, though, Sieun turned to look at Suho, confused.

Sieun blinked.

Suho raised an eyebrow, as if reading Sieun’s thoughts. “Yeah, on that. You scared?”

“...Should I be?”

“Nah. I’ve only almost crashed like… twice or something,” Suho answered with such confidence Sieun almost doubted he was still joking.

Sieun just stared again.

He watched as Suho took the red helmet hanging off the motorcycle’s left handlebar. 

“C’mon,” Suho said with a grin, offering Sieun the helmet. “Is it your first time? I’ll go slow.”

Sieun frowned at that, causing Suho to snicker.

“Fine,” Suho huffed before putting the helmet onto Sieun’s head himself.

The helmet was heavier than expected, fitting loosely against his skull, padding pressing gently against his cheeks. It didn’t feel too tight, just enough to add to the muffling of his earbuds.

“See? Wasn’t that hard,” he heard Suho’s muffled voice say. 

Sieun didn’t reply.

Couldn’t. 

His voice caught somewhere between his chest and throat, lodged tight like a splinter.

Suho hands lingered on the helmet, steady and warm as it rested on the sides cradling Sieun’s face. The pressure was light, but grounding. Intentional.

And he was staring, adjusting the straps of the helmet.

Too close.

Close enough that Sieun could clearly see the brown of Suho’s eyes. Close enough that he could feel the weight of Suho’s gaze on him, like he was looking straight through his soul.

The helmet felt snug, suffocating in a way that had nothing to do with the fit. It was tight enough to amplify everything: the heat blooming under Sieun’s skin crawling up to his cheeks, the tension building up on his shoulders, the way Suho was all up in his personal space like it was nothing.

He didn’t know what to do with his hands, his upper limbs hanging useless on his sides. He didn’t know whether to push Suho away or pull him closer. Then again, both actions would involve holding Suho somewhere, and Sieun wasn’t sure if he had the heart to do so.

Then, two small simultaneous taps—right atop his two cheeks—broke Sieun out of his daydreaming.

“Cute,” Suho commented, satisfied with the way the helmet settled on Sieun’s head. His eyes lingered on Sieun’s encased face before turning away to ride his motorcycle.

Sieun didn’t even had the time to process the comment before—

“Come.”

Sieun was still.

He observed as Suho climbed the vehicle with ease, swinging one leg above the seat, planting his long limbs on the ground to stabilize the motorcycle, then sitting down comfortably and leaving enough space behind for Sieun to sit on. 

He was looking at Sieun expectantly, who was frozen and unsure of what to do.

“What, you want me to carry you or something?,” Suho teased. Sieun glared.

Awkwardly, stiffly, Sieun moved towards his ride for the night like it might bite.

His hand gripped the seat first, then he swung a leg over, too quick, too clumsy. The movement jolted the bike slightly.

Sieun cursed under his breath.

Suho turned his head over his shoulder, clearly amused. “You good, Sieun-ah?”

Sieun grunted something unintelligible—half affirmation, half embarrassment—as he settled in.

The seat felt alright, but he was too close to Suho.

Very close.

The engine thrummed beneath him, low and steady like a heartbeat.

Then came the question Sieun didn’t know he dreaded.

“You gonna hold on or not?”

Sieun tensed, his hands hovering above Suho’s waist– like magnets resisting contact.

“…I’ll be fine,” he muttered, audibly not fine.

Suho let out a breath of laughter. “I won’t bite, Sieunnie…”

And with that, the engine roared to life. Sieun instinctively flinched forward, his hands gripping the sides of Suho’s jacket. Not too tight, but enough to anchor himself, enough to feel warmth through fabric.

He cursed himself again.

“Where to, Sieun?,” he heard Suho ask. 

Sieun answered.

And off they went, driving under the moonlight. 

Sieun let his eyes drift through the countless street lights they pass, appreciating how the lamplights pass them by in a blur. He could feel the cold night breeze through the safety of his uniform, seeping through without permission.

Sieun didn’t mind, not when Suho’s body radiated an unfamiliar type of warmth.

He found himself scooting closer instinctively, chasing the heat.

Suho was uncharacteristically quiet, focused on the road, stealing occasional glances of Sieun through the side mirror under red lights.

Sieun adjusted one earbud as they were stopped at a red light, the soft hum of music he didn’t know was playing filtering in. Barely loud enough to drown out the wind.

He sank into the sound, letting it fill the spaces his thoughts were starting to leak into.

“This night will drive me home again…”

Just as the last line faded, the bike slowed, Suho steering them smoothly toward a small convenience store tucked between buildings. A 7/11 just steps away from Sieun’s apartment.

Suho parked and turned the engine off. The quiet was immediate, the roaring of the engine replaced by the soothing hum of the night. 

Sieun pulled off the helmet slowly, his hair slightly mussed, his ears still ringing faintly from the music. He didn’t say anything right away, eyes adjusting to the familiar lights emitted by the store.

Suho glanced over his shoulder. “Sieun-ah. You asleep? We’re here,” he heard Suho say softly.

Sieun hummed, quietly stepping off the bike, the lyrics still echoing in the back of his mind.

His eyes followed Suho as he mirrored his movements with practiced ease before extending the kickstand until it clicked into place.

“Here,” Sieun said, holding out the helmet in his hands, which was hung once more in the left sidebar by Suho.

As Suho turned to face him, their gazes locked briefly, charged with something unspoken. Sieun expected silence but—

“Ah, Sieunnie… Your hair…” Suho trailed off, reaching out a hand to fix Sieun's helmet-tousled hair. His slender fingers worked wonders, brushing through combs of smooth hair with gentle ease and redirecting stray strands back to their place.

Sieun didn't have the heart to argue, not when it felt oddly comforting.

Instead, he just stared, eyes hazy with tiredness staring up at Suho.

He heard Suho let out a satisfied hum before he pulled his hand back, before the sensation on Sieun's hair was abruptly gone. “Pretty,” Suho muttered before cocking his head sidewards, to the direction of the convenience store. 

“Shall we, pretty boy?,” he asked.

Sieun just nodded.

They ended up just ordering canned beverages, both recognizing that eating heavy late at night won't do them well. 

Sieun insisted on Suho ordering more, considering that he was doing him a favor, but Suho argued, saying that he was doing it out of the ‘goodness of his heart.’ He got, in Sieun's honest opinion, a well-deserved deadpan from Sieun in return.

Suho then insisted that he’d order more next time just to escape Sieun’s glare. 

Sieun didn’t miss his implication of a next time .

“Wah, Yeon Sieun... You're really putting me to work here, huh?,” Suho complained from across the table, sitting on a flimsy plastic chair identical to Sieun's.

They both mutually agreed to sit outside the store, deeming the inside's artificial cold air was no better than the late night's breeze.

Suho was currently scrolling through a list of songs that Sieun carefully picked and deemed good enough for the playlist he wanted.

Sieun took the opportunity to take in the inky night sky in serene silence.

“Yeah. Just give me a list.” Suho said earlier while at the counter. “I'm a pro at playlist making, y'know?,”

“...What if I picked 50 songs?,” Sieun asked, serious.

Suho scoffed with false confidence. “What, you're underestimating me?”

“Yes.”

“Ouch,” Suho placed a hand atop his chest, just where his heart would be. “I’m hurt,” he added dramatically.

Sieun just sighed.

So Sieun, being the indecisive being that he was, actually picked fifty.

In his defense, they were all good songs. Good enough to fit his current taste's criteria: songs that gave him uncomfortable bubbles in his stomach. The good kind.

“You said it was fine,” Sieun argued.

“I was clearly joking,” Suho shot back.

“You were too cocky, it fogged my judgement,” Sieun jested.

And Suho was silent.

Sieun took his eyes off the stars and onto Suho's face.

“What.”

“Was that a joke?”

“...What?”

“You can joke?,” Suho asked, teasing.

Sieun didn’t answer.

“For that, I'm gonna make the best playlist you've ever heard in your entire life.”

Sieun just stared.

He watched as Suho's brows furrowed in concentration, identifying which of the tracks he was already familiar with and playing those that he hadn't heard of yet. He watched as a small smile painted his face once he found another perfect song for Sieun's perfect playlist. 

It was a stupid situation to be in, Sieun thought. Paying someone with a drink to make a playlist for you. 

But it doesn't matter.

For Sieun, at least.

He turned his gaze back to the shining stars, appreciating how they were twinkling brighter than usual.

For that night, Sieun was a little less lonely.

Sieun must've fallen asleep on his chair, ‘cause by the time he woke up, Suho was nudging him gently, a grin plastered on his face.

“Hey, Sieunnie.” Suho called out, offering Sieun his phone back. “I'm done,”

The screen displayed a newly-built playlist: 15 tracks, neatly lined-up. “It’s meant to be played in order, but it’ll be fine if shuffling’s your jam.”

With a foggy mind, he accepted his phone, scrolling with sluggish fingers and scanning through the playlist with sleep-heavy eyes.

"You in love or something?" Suho remarked. "Didn't know you could feel emotions."

Sieun chose to ignore his comments.

He hadn’t listened to a single track yet. But somehow, somehow, it already felt right. Like it knew what he couldn’t name. Like it understood the thoughts he hadn’t been able to untangle. Like it could finally silence his head.

Well, except for one thing. 

He turned to look at Suho with a jutted bottom lip, who was looking at him expectantly. He watched as the other's expression immediately soured.

“What's wrong, Sieunnie?,” Suho asked, gently.

“Mmm… Your song, Suho.” Sieun tried his best to convey his thoughts through his still foggy brain. “Add yours.”

“My… song? A recommendation?,” Suho asked, clearly in disbelief. “You want my touch on your already perfect playlist? Oh, Yeon Sieun... I'm so honored...”

Sieun just nodded, giving his phone back to Suho before he could talk more.

It took him only five seconds to get his phone back.

Sieun scrolled down to the bottom of the playlist, only to find one song, the 16th track.

Day6’s Hi Hello.

With eyebrows furrowed, Sieun looked at Suho once more. “Only one?,” he asked.

He heard Suho chuckle. “Sometimes, a track is enough to convey what you feel, Sieun-ah.”

Sieun relaxed his face, feeling his eyelids shut as he reflected on Suho's statement. He hummed, not quite picking up what it truly meant.

“Is that so?,” he asked.

“Mhm. Music's just like that sometimes,” Suho started. “It's sometimes better to listen with your heart than your ears. Just so you can feel it better,” he ended with a sigh.

Sieun hummed.

“That so…”

Sieun felt himself nod, both in agreement and gratitude.

“Anytime, Sieunnie.”

He felt his heart skip a beat.

Another crack.

Then, the silence comfortably stretched between them.

Quiet, but not awkward.

Like an old sweater worn too many times. Neither of them talked, but neither seemed to mind. Both too tired to bother, both too occupied with buzzing, hazy thoughts.

Sieun kept his gaze raised, to the constellations he could recognize with his bare eyes, to the cloud-covered glow of the moon.

His thoughts weren’t as sharp anymore, just a quiet him in the back of his skull.

Across the table, Suho sat still, the only movement the slow rise and fall of his chest.

Outside, the city lived on. The far-off murmur of engines and neon lights hummed like background music, joined now and then by the chirping of crickets hidden somewhere in the trees.

The breeze was cooler now, brushing against Sieun’s skin and making the silence feel even softer somehow. Like a pause he didn’t know he needed.

And, for once, Sieun didn’t find the need to fill it.

Sieun takes his statement back. 

He still loves music. Now more than ever.

Chapter Text

안수호

hey

sieunnie

u free tomorrow?

afternoon

lets hang out

im bringing a friend

Seen . 10 minutes ago.

Suho couldn’t believe he was getting seen-zoned by Yeon Sieun.

To be fair, they’ve only started hanging out two weeks ago, right after Sieun’s playlist request—a favor which Suho only accepted partly because he’s actually decent at making playlists, but mostly because he wanted to be with Sieun.

Truth is, there’s something about Sieun he couldn’t exactly pinpoint.

Even before the classroom fight, even before their usual one-sided conversations, Suho’s gaze would magically find its way to Sieun.

In class, in the halls, on the rare occasions where he caught him by the school gates—there was just something about the way Sieun carried himself that drew Suho in. Like Sieun was always three thoughts away from saying or doing something batshit crazy, but he never did. Like he was thinking so hard he forgot how to look alive.

At times, on the few moments of when he’s actually awake during class, Suho’s eyes would drift toward him mid-lesson, often without his permission.

It started small. An idle glance when he got bored. Then it became a habit. Then it became something else entirely.

Curiosity? Fascination? He still wasn’t sure.

Even two weeks into their friendship, he still wasn’t.

The more he got to know Sieun, however, the more Suho’s mind entertained the thought of it being something else entirely.

Sieun talked more than Suho expected, honestly. Not in full sentences, though. If a Sieun sentence had more than 3 words aside from all the basics—subject, verb, object—it was practically a special day, guaranteed to bring Suho all the luck he could wish for.

Sieun also didn’t like physical contact. Well, at first. Suho figured that since waist-holding was already a regular part of their somewhat frequent late-night rides, something simple—like an arm slung over the shoulder—would be fair game.

He was wrong.

Apparently, Sieun valued his personal space more than Suho had assumed, and the close proximity on the motorcycle wasn’t for comfort, it was more so for survival. As in, in Sieun language: “I’ll tolerate holding onto you if it means not flying off the back of this thing.”

As reserved as Sieun was, however, he could not hide from the arms of an Ahn Suho.

Suho persisted, did his best to be accepted into Sieun’s space. He started with what he liked to call back-holding, a palm lightly but firmly pressed onto the surface of Sieun’s lower back, serving as their tether whenever they were walking side by side.

When Sieun stopped flinching from the contact and only gave Suho nasty side-eyes, he took the opportunity and gradually moved his palm upwards.

He did this in a span of five days, and, through pure hardwork and sheer dedication, Sieun finally allowed him to hang an arm around his shoulder for more than 10 seconds, before pushing it away, of course.

No matter. Sieun will accept his love someday, he was sure of it. Suho was determined, and he would persist.

Hence, the invitation. 

Suho and Sieun’s hangouts were always unplanned, always a spur-of-the-moment decision.

They just happened quietly, spontaneously, like an afterthought that felt inevitable. A glance exchanged in class, a casual 'you free later? ' mumbled under Suho’s breath, or sometimes no words at all. Just a presence lingering by the school gate, waiting.

They never needed plans.

The timing never had to be perfect.

So, Suho wanted to try something new: asking Sieun to hangout a day earlier, complete with a plan of what they’d do and not just wherever the wind took them.

Unfortunately, Sieun was awfully unresponsive. It had been 10 minutes since Suho sent his message and not even a single reply from Sieun. 

So, Suho bore his eyes into his phone screen until:

시은니❤️

Who

Your friend

Ah, of course. Suho expected this.

안수호 

youngyi

 yeongi

from work,, she’s a friend too

but ur the bestest,, dont get jealous

pretty sure i mentioned her to u before

u remember?

And then, silence again. But this time, Suho stared at the screen, watching the three little dots appear and disappear like a heartbeat. It meant Sieun was typing. Hesitating. Typing again.

That alone was enough to make Suho sit up straighter, heart caught somewhere between hope and caution.

Then, finally:

시은니❤️

Can’t it just be us two?

Hyung?

…What the hell?

Suho wasn’t one to bring up honorifics. He didn't like how a simple title could make him feel a lot older, how it could unintentionally create a gap between him and someone younger. He didn't like how a simple change in the structure of a sentence indirectly gives him authority—and he was sure as hell he didn't want authority over someone like Sieun. Especially over Sieun.

So, for Sieun to use the hyung card…

Sure, he had used it before, mainly for getting things he wanted. 

Actually, scratch that. It was exclusively for getting things how he wanted. 

The classic 'Behave, hyung’ whenever Suho got too loud or playful in public places, drawing attention to the both of them and draining Sieun's will to be seen with him. Then, the sharp ‘Get off me, hyung,’ when Suho leaned a little too close, invading Sieun's so-called personal space.

And, of course, Sieun's dessert heists via a soft ‘Hyung, can I have yours?’ directed to Suho after Sieun finishes his dessert, loving it more than he liked to admit and instead resorting to stealing.

Okay, maybe the last one was just what Sieun's eyes seem to communicate when they flicker between Suho's dessert and Suho's eyes, as if he was begging telepathically.

He'd just look, all starry-eyed and quiet. No pouting. No whining.

Just a soft glance.

And Suho would give in. Without fail.

He really should've built up some resistance by now. 

But with Yeon Sieun?

Yeah. He never stood a chance. Not when every time Sieun called him that, he just blanks.

So for Sieun to use hyung, it means he was really against the idea of—

A soft ‘ding’ rang, snapping Suho out of his Sieun-induced trance. Another message from the Yeon Sieun.

First, hyung card. Now, double texting? It was serious.

시은니❤️

Reply.

Oh. That was a period.

And with Sieun, a period usually meant one of two things—he was either busy, or he was displeased.

But it was a Saturday. Sieun couldn’t be busy on a Saturday…

So.

Suho typed faster than he ever had in his entire life.

안수호

pls sieunnie

yeongi is literally a second me

basically twins

and u love me right 

im sure u will like her

To be honest, Suho was fine with just the two of them. He could talk for hours and hours and Sieun would just listen—responding with the occasional ‘mmm’ and ‘hmm,’ maybe even a nod or two, and it'd be enough. Sieun was always enough.

But just the two of them? 

With a planned itinerary?

On a Sunday?

That sounded dangerously close to a date.

And Suho didn't even know if Sieun knew he liked him like that.

Hell, Suho didn't even know if he liked Sieun like that.

Not yet.

Not exactly.

He waited five more minutes just for another reply.

시은니❤️

Fine

안수호

are u mad?

시은니❤️

No

Why would I be

Where and when

Tomorrow

And that settled it. 

Tomorrow. Somewhere. With Sieun.

And Youngyi.

Suho was sure he wouldn’t be able to sleep.

“For the last time, Yeongi, this isn’t a date,” Suho groaned, the frustration clear in his voice as he crouched beside the growing mountain of clothes on his floor. His hands were too preoccupied to flick Youngyi’s forehead. His left hand was gripping the hem of a crumpled blue hoodie, his right tangled in the sleeve of a dark brown leather jacket that had already been rejected twice.

Youngyi sat comfortably in his bed, cross-legged as she kept himself occupied with a strawberry lollipop.

She watched silently as Suho’s face slowly turned light red in exasperation.

Youngyi had finished preparing before she even went to Suho’s, so now she was stuck helping his friend pick an outfit much to her dismay.

“Then why think too much about what to wear?!,” she argued back, slight annoyance evident in her voice. “And— Oh, that blue’s cute on you,” she followed up, her tone switching up as her eyes landed on the cerulean hoodie that honestly was a size smaller for Suho.

“Ah, it does?,” Suho asked, finally calming down after hearing Youngyi’s approval for the first time in an hour.

He waited for a nod, her final seal of approval.

Instead, he was met with a judging look.

“What’s up with Yeon Sieun, Suho?,” Youngyi started, her lollipop hanging between her index and middle finger like a cigarette. “You’ve changed like… five times already. That’s four more than your usual limit! I mean– I’ve seen you wear a hoodie to a wedding for fuck’s sake.”

“That was your cousin’s wedding,” Suho muttered under his breath, finally letting go of the leather jacket in favor of the blue hoodie, clutching it in his arm. “And I told you, it’s just hangout etiquette. I can’t just show up looking like shit.”

Youngyi raised an eyebrow. “Hangout etiquette or Yeon Sieun etiquette?”

Suho gave her a glare, but the way he clenched his fingers on the blue hoodie gave him a way.

Thankfully, Youngyi just smirked. No further teasing.

“Go change. We’ve been here for, like, an hour already.” Youngyi popped her lollipop back in her mouth. “Don't wanna get caught in the rain.”

Unfortunately, it was drizzling by the time both Suho and Youngyi arrived at their meeting spot—an old, cozy bookstore that Sieun liked to visit just across a park.

Thankfully, it had an awning, shielding them from the rain.

The sky above was a dull slate gray, the pavement glistened from the soft, misty rain. Suho watched as the road gradually darkened in color, taking in a more black shade.

He listened to the small pitter-patter of the rain on the surface of the awning. 

Everything reminded him of Sieun. His gray jacket. His blank stares.

“You think he’s bailing on us?,” Youngyi asked, breaking the comfortable silence.

“It’s 11:50, Yeongi. We said twelve,” Suho replied, trying to keep his voice even—calm, casual.

They arrived earlier than they should’ve despite him spending an embarrassing amount of time deciding what to wear. Suho was the one who insisted they get there early. Just in case.

So, technically, it was normal for Sieun not to be here. 

But still. 

His last message with Suho was a thumbs-up as a reply. Not a comment. No follow-ups.

And it was raining—light but steady. The kind that soaked through slowly, the kind that people usually pay no attention to until they find themselves soiled already.

Suho just couldn’t help but to be worried. He was about to check his phone again when he spotted a familiar figure dressed head-to-toe in black, waddling in a way too endearing for Suho to not recognize, even from far away. 

Yeon Sieun.

And Yeon Sieun… was getting soaked. Slowly. No umbrella at all. Not even a cap in sight. Nothing to shield him from the rain steadily falling over the pavement.

Suho let out a disbelieving scoff, loud enough to catch Youngyi’s attention.

“Wah… Yeon Sieun, you crazy–” he started, but didn’t finish.

Instead, he popped open his umbrella, making sure to bring the spare compact umbrella he brought just in case, before making his way through the rain, jogging towards the progressively getting more and more drenched Yeon Sieun.

Because of course, Sieun didn’t bring an umbrella.

And, of course, Suho knew him enough to know that.

“Are you crazy, Yeon Sieun?,” Suho’s voice came out a mix of disbelief and barely concealed frustration, tinged with concern he didn’t bother hiding anymore.

He held out the umbrella, shifting it just enough to shelter them both from the persistent drizzle.

The rain tapped against the surface like a ticking clock, reminding them just how soaked Sieun already was.

Suho took a longer look at him—really looked.

A plain black t-shirt, clinging slightly to his frame, paired with equally black pants that were already darkened a shade by the water. His hair had small droplets of water Suho fought the urge to ruffle away. He wasn’t drenched to the bone, but close. Just enough for the cold to start sneaking in. Just enough for Suho to sigh.

Sieun was just looking at him like a poor kitten sopped with rain.

“You couldn’t have worn a jacket at least?,” he asked, not even waiting for an answer before tilting the umbrella closer to Sieun.

Suho, blinded by worry, held Sieun’s wrist. “Come. Yeongi’s waiting.”

Without another word, Suho held Sieun close and started walking back to the protection of the awning, the spare umbrella forgotten in his pocket.

“Woah. Are you crazy?” Youngyi’s voice cut in, half-laughing, half-concerned, as she eyed the slightly shivering figure of Yeon Sieun.

“Hey,” Suho interjected, shaking the droplets off his umbrella. “Be nice to him. It’s your first time meeting.”

Youngyi raised her hands in mock defeat, stepping back a little. “I’m just saying. Who shows up in this weather without an umbrella? That’s commitment. Or insanity.”

Sieun just stood, gaze flickering between the two, drops of water dripping down the ends of his hair.

His gaze was just as blank as ever, but Suho learned how to look past that, learned how to notice the subtle shifts.

He took note of how Sieun’s eyebrow slightly twitched, eyed how tense his shoulders seemed to be getting.

“...I didn’t think it’d rain,” Sieun finally mumbled, voice soft, almost sheepish—slightly drowned out by the sound of pouring rain.

“Clearly,” Youngyi muttered, although her voice had noticeably softened.

Suho reached into his bag, pulling out a small, neatly folded towel he brought just in case. He handed it towards Sieun, pressing it gently against Sieun’s wet arm. “Here.”

Sieun narrowed his eyes on the towel and on Suho.

Suho shrugged. “What? You don’t exactly scream ‘planned’ sometimes. Had to make sure.”

“Says the one who took forever trying on half his closet before leaving.” Youngyi chimed in, smirking.

Suho shot him a glare. “Not helping.”

Youngyi was about to spit back when Sieun gave a faint exhale, enough to catch both their attention. A sigh– maybe from relief, possibly a small laugh. It was hard to tell. But when he took the towel, walked only a few steps away, and began patting his hair dry, Suho knew it meant he wasn’t planning to leave anytime soon.

He watched the other boy dry off quietly four feet away, his eyes following the smooth gliding of the towel across the curve of Sieun’s neck, over his throat, and over his nape.

He observed as the moisture, which made Sieun’s skin gleam under the lights seeping out of the bookshop, were slowly absorbed into the surface of the towel.

Suho’s gaze followed as the towel slid down the length of Sieun’s arm, the cloth clinging to his fair skin tinted golden under the soft amber-hued bookstore light.

Suho swallowed the lump forming in his throat. He should look away.

“Ahn Suho… I get you now,” Youngyi said, dragging Suho out of his daze. He snapped his head toward her, only to find her staring at Sieun too, her expression somewhere between awe and smug amusement.

“He’s really, really, reaaally pret–”

Suho didn’t let her finish. His hand flew up to cover her eyes with his palm.

“Don’t look,” he said flatly.

Youngyi scoffed, batting his hand away. “Oh, my god. What are you, twelve?”

“I’m being respectful.”

“You’re being… possessive.”

“I—I’m not…” Suho mumbled under his breath, and Youngyi gave him the most unimpressed stare she could muster.

“Oh my god, you’re far gone.”

“I’m fine.”

“You literally covered my eyes.”

“You were staring.”

“And you weren’t?”

“I was… admiring.” He folded his arms like that somehow made it sound better.

Youngyi rolled her eyes. “Yeah, well, you’re lucky he’s cute enough to make this weird behavior of yours look endearing.”

Suho gave her a sidelong glance, teasing. “You think I’m endearing?”

“I said he makes you look endearing,” she corrected with a smirk, pushing past him to get closer to Sieun.

Suho immediately stepped in her way again.

“No.”

Youngyi raised both eyebrows. “Oh, come on, I’m just gonna say hi–”

“Say hi from here.”

“Ah, you–”

Out of nowhere, Sieun cleared his throat, immediately ending their bickering.

Sieun gave both of them a short glance before a soft, “I’m hungry.”

Suho knew it was a lie. Sieun wasn't one to freely express what he needed, not even to Suho. He always had to work just to decipher what goes on in Yeon Sieun's mind, what he wanted, what he needed, and what he was feeling. For Sieun to say what he needed out loud is… unusual. Unnatural.

Unfortunately, Youngyi was easily tricked. She was already trudging through the rain with her umbrella, heading towards their first stop—a BBQ place nearby—forcing both boys to follow behind.

Suho’s judgment was quickly proven right once they were seated in the restaurant.

Suho took the seat beside Youngyi. Sieun was across them—directly in front of Suho. Naturally, as the self-proclaimed gentleman that he was and not definitely because Sieun was around, Suho offered to do the grilling for all of them.

Youngyi, of course, kept the table alive. Suho, who found it entertaining, abandoned the thought of helping her get at least a sentence out of Sieun and instead watched.

She, to the best of her ability, tried to converse with the ever-monosyllabic Yeon Sieun.

“So, Sieun-ssi, Suho told me you're really smart. Do you study often?”

“Mmm.”

“Ah. Well, Suho mentioned that he made you a playlist. You must really be into music too, huh?”

“Mhm.”

“Which ones?”

“Anything.”

A beat.

“You always this quiet or…?,” Youngyi finally asked, her voice filled with genuine curiousity.

Silence. 

Only the rain outside can be heard.

A cue for Suho to finally laugh.

Of course, he didn't allow the amusing interaction to distract him from the problem at hand.

Because, while he and Youngyi immediately scarfed down whenever a meat was finally cooked, Sieun was the complete opposite.

So, naturally, Suho watched with concern.

Sieun sat there with his chopsticks, poking the small pile of cooked meat in his plate, tossing a piece around, dragging it near his rice bowl, before ultimately putting it back in the pile. Occasionally, he'd pop a singular meat in his mouth, chewing it like it was a chore.

Okay, maybe Suho was also amused.

But of course, being the gentleman that he was, he had to do something.

So, he wrapped his nth meat wrap of the day, stuffing as much meat the poor leaf could possibly hold, then held it out towards Sieun.

“Here. Ahh,” he said, holding the bundle dangerously close to Sieun's mouth with a hopeful grin.

Sieun stared at it like Suho had just deeply offended him. 

“...Did you even wash your hands?,” Sieun asked flatly, failing to hide the disgust in his voice.

Suho blinked. “Wh— It's, like, my twentieth wrap already,” Suho deflected, genuinely offended by the sudden attack, as if all his good intentions were thrown out the window.

“Besides,” he added with a mischievous grin, “the hand gives it flavor, Sieunnie.”

Suho made a show of crumpling the wrap in his hand, deliberately letting it touch every surface of his palm. He basked in the sight of Sieun's eyes flickering with what Suho can only assume was repulsion.

“There. Extra flavor.” He held the wrap out again, this time at a distance from Sieun's face.  “You too scared?”

“God, Ahn Suho, you’re disgusting,” Youngyi commented beside her but Suho, once again, persisted.

To his—and Youngyi's—surprise, Sieun parted his lips, leaned forward, and took it in with one clean, decisive chomp. All while looking Suho directly in the eye.

Suho just blinked, dumbfounded. His mouth hung slightly open, but he couldn't even address it. His hazy mind didn’t allow him to process anything else. All his attention was zeroed in on Yeon Sieun.

He couldn't look away. He watched as Sieun chewed with eagerness Suho had only seen him when desserts were involved. He took note of how the overly packed wrap filled the insides of Sieun’s cheeks, bulging them out like an endearing hamster’s.

But, more than that, there was something that flickered in Sieun’s eyes. Something new. Determination. Defiance, even. Like he was issuing a challenge.

And Suho? He was losing. Badly.

But he wasn’t the type to back down without a fight.

So, with experienced hands and a silent, internal vow not to lose whatever war Sieun suddenly started, he grabbed another leaf, this time using the pile of meat on Sieun’s plate. He packed it just enough to really test the leaf’s limits, then held it out wordlessly.

Suho offered, and Sieun took it once more. Diligently. Chewing with the same eagerness. Eyes locked on Suho’s like he was making a point that needed no words.

And Suho? He just stared, wide-eyed, stunned for the second time in less than a minute. It was now obvious to him that the newly-sparked flame within Yeon Sieun’s eyes wasn't going away soon.

Sieun was into it.

Not just the food—though sure, that too—but the back-and-forth, the exchange, the game of silent one-upmanship that Suho usually instigated but always gets turned down with a simple glare. But now, Sieun was meeting him halfway. No, more than halfway.

The glint in Sieun’s eyes, they were bright and unreadable and burning with something Suho couldn’t accurately name, but he felt it. He didn’t know whether to feel proud, confused, or absolutely terrified.

Maybe a little bit of all three.

Suho was offering the next overflowing wrap when Sieun tilted his head then asked, in the most monotonous voice Suho has ever heard him make.

“Not gonna give it more flavor, Ahn Suho?”

He heard Youngyi hiss and let out an ‘ooooh,’ clearly adding salt to the wound.

But Suho? Dead. Gone. On the ground. Soul already halfway to heaven– or hell, he didn’t care anymore, because Yeon Sieun just killed him. A clean knockout. 

He was out of words. Out of breath. All rational thought knocked clean out of him with a single, unexpected counterattack— a full y packed sentence with Suho’s full name.

He blinked. Once. Twice. His grip on the wrap tightening like it was the only thing grounding him to reality.

“...You little punk,” he muttered, breathless—part in disbelief, part in absolute admiration.

Sieun didn’t flinch. He just stared, blank-faced and calm, lips glistening with the oil from the meat looking all innocent as if he didn’t just end Suho’s entire bloodline with one line.

Youngyi, bless her soul, silently sat beside Suho, eyes bouncing between the two like she was the referee to a championship match.

“I’m serious,” Sieun said, voice as even as ever. “I want more flavor, hyung .”

And that was Ahn Suho’s last straw.

He froze—mid-reach, mid-thought, mid-breath. The word hyung echoed in his head like a bomb had just gone off inside it. Not the usual, functional hyung Sieun would mutter when he wanted Suho to shut up in public. No. This one had purpose. Intent.

Sieun was weaponizing it.

Suho stared at him, chopsticks dangling loosely between his fingers, the previous wrap forgotten. He couldn’t even blink. Couldn't even breathe.

Youngyi, on the other hand, probably had sensed it. She squinted at Sieun, then looked at Suho, who resembled someone who just got hit with a bus made entirely of feelings and confusion.

“You okay?” she whispered, poking Suho’s side.

“No,” he whispered back, almost horrified. “He just— he just hyunged me with emotion. I could feel it.”

“Emotion?” Youngyi raised a brow. “I thought he sounded threatening.”

“Exactly,” Suho said, eyes still locked on Sieun. “That’s worse.”

Across them, Sieun still had his eyes locked on Suho.

Suho turned back to his neglected wrap, suddenly hyper-aware of his existence. “Okay. You want flavor?” he mumbled, voice low and determined.

Youngyi leaned back like she knew what was coming. “Don’t do anything stupid.”

But it was too late. Suho’s brain was already shut off. All that remained was pure instinct and vengeance.

He stuffed the wrap with the last bits of meat from Sieun’s plate, layered it with a concerning amount of ssamjang , a sliver of kimchi, and—because he had to make it count—a small kiss on the surface of the leaf. He made sure Sieun was watching, made sure he saw the flavor Suho was adding to the bomb wrap he was about to get.

Then, like the dramatic idiot he was, he lifted it up and said, “Say ‘ahh,’ Yeon Sieun.”

Sieun glanced at it. And then—slowly—he leaned in again. Tantalizingly slow. Sieun parted his glossy lips, darting his tongue out to lap at the wrap, coaxing it closer to his mouth.

And then.

He bit it.

Ate it.

Chewed.

Swallowed.

All without breaking eye contact.

Then paused.

Suho was expecting a clapback, an insult, a snarky remark, anything. He mentally prepared himself, fortifying his solitude for any attack the Yeon Sieun might give him. He was ready. He was scared.

“ …Thank you for the meal,” Sieun simply said, wiping his mouth.

“I—” Suho was speechless. What?

“Good effort, champ.” Youngyi gave him two sarcastic claps. Wait. No–

Suho only stared across the table at Sieun, who was now calmly sipping his water like he hadn’t just won a war. No smirk. No visible trace of amusement in his eyes.

But Suho, ever-observing when it comes to Yeon Sieun, caught it. Barely. A small twitch at the corner of Sieun’s lips before he turned his gaze away.

And just like that, Suho felt himself smiling again, fully, helplessly.

Suddenly, he felt like he hadn’t lost anything at all.

The war ended not with a truce, but with an empty grill and the quiet clatter of chopsticks being set down—Suho's with a dramatic sigh, Sieun’s with a sort of smug finality.

Suho wiped his mouth with a tissue, tossing it onto the used pile. “That’s it. I’m never feeding you again.”

“Good,” Sieun replied without missing a beat. “You could do better.” 

Suho clutched his chest. “Wow. After all that hard work. My labor. My love.”

“You forced the wrap into my mouth.”

“You ate it.”

“Out of pity.”

“Out of what?! ”

“Okay, okay,” Youngyi interjected, still chewing. She waved her chopsticks between the two, acting once more as the referee. “Lovers’ quarrel after the bill, please.”

Suho stood up immediately, choosing to ignore Youngyi’s initial comment. “I got it.”

He was in the middle of reaching for his wallet when—

“No,” Sieun disagreed flatly, the edge in his voice subtle but firm. “I’ll pay.”

Suho scoffed in disbelief, already striding toward the counter. “Nah. Let your hyung pay, Sieun-ah,” he bit back, his voice laced with playful arrogance. He wasn’t going to let Yeon Sieun beat him, not after he rose triumphant over Suho with their little wrap war. A loss was alright, but two? Suho wasn’t going to let that slide.

Silence.

“But you fed me.”

Suho turned on his heel, walking backward now just to face both Sieun and Youngyi. “Exactly! And now I’m paying the bill. It’s called being a good person, Sieun-ah.” And, to be fair, he also was the one who initiated this hangout. It just felt… right to be responsible for any of their expenses, especially when both Youngyi and Sieun were having fun.

Unfazed, Sieun rose from his seat, taking his own wallet out. With footsteps unhurried, he stopped just right before Suho.

“It’s my payment. For the playlist.” Sieun said with such finality Suho wasn’t sure he had the guts to argue with.

He didn't even know that Sieun still thought that he owed Suho something for that night. 

Besides, he had already considered the debt settled, paid by Sieun via their frequent night drives.

Because to Suho, Sieun will always be enough.

“Ah, Sieunnie… You know that one’s already settl—” 

He was cut off the moment Sieun turned to look at him.

That look. The same spark in his eyes from earlier—equal parts stubborn and daring, challenging Suho to finish his words.

Suho swallowed his comeback, brain fuzzy once more due to Sieun’s pointed look. It was unfair, really, how Sieun could just do that and he'd render Suho useless in an instant. A part of him wished Sieun wouldn't abuse his newly found power, scared of what would happen to his poor heart.

The cashier blinked between the two, clearly sensing a standoff. “Uh, excuse me…? Who’s paying?”

Youngyi, from behind them, groaned loudly. “Oh, my god, just split the bill or something.”

Suho sighed. “Fine. Rock-paper-scissors.” If they were going to settle it, might as well do it the Ahn Suho way—through sheer luck.

It earned him a raised brow from Sieun, the terrifying stare evaporating and making way for confusion. Thank god. “Seriously?”

“I’m afraid it’s the only way, Sieun-ah,” Suho replied with exaggerated sincerity, holding up a closed fist.

To his surprise, Sieun took on the challenge.

To his dismay, he lost. Miserably.

Sieun paid with barely-contained smugness, winning twice against Suho in just the span of an hour. Beside him, the loser Ahn Suho sulked like a kicked puppy, his ego ultimately deflated.

“I’ll get my revenge soon, Yeon Sieun. Mark my words,” Suho muttered.

Sieun glanced sideways, expression unreadable. “Get lucky first.”

They stepped out of the restaurant and into the soft hush of a post-rain afternoon—cool air brushing against their skin, the pavement still glistening from rain beneath their shoes.

The earlier drizzle had settled into silence, leaving the city washed and glinting beneath powering streetlamps.

The trio were walking side-by-side, with Suho sandwiched between a Youngyi chewing on a leftover piece of gum she smuggled out and a Sieun who went back to his usual reserved self.

Suho stretched, raising his arms up high and letting out a satisfied sigh. “Okay, I’m full. Like, painfully full.” He patted his stomach like proving a point, earning a scoff from Youngyi.

“Don’t tell me you’re bailing on noraebang, Ahn Suho,” Youngyi said, her voice laced with playful threat.

Suho looked at her in pure disbelief, visibly offended. “What? Me? Bail on karaoke?” He scoffed, dramatically placing a hand over his chest. “Youngyi, the world is a dance floor, and noraebang’s my stage,”

“Noraebang?” Beside them, Sieun asked– voice soft but edged with confusion.

It was clear he was out of the loop, his eyebrows knitted slightly as he looked between the two of them.

Their steps halted abruptly, two heads turning to look at Sieun as if he spoke something in a foreign language.

Suho’s full stomach sank. Oh.

Right.

Suho worried his bottom lip, eyes flicking nervously to Youngyi and back to Sieun. He may have forgotten to inform Sieun about Youngyi’s plan of ending the night with a bang. More specifically, norae-bang! — a spontaneous detour Youngyi had suggested earlier with wide eyes and an equally wide smile.

Noraebang. Karaoke. Loud, chaotic, overwhelming.

All the things Sieun didn’t usually handle well without some sort of mental preparation. 

Suho should’ve known better.

Youngyi, bless her heart, was the one who broke the silence. “Yeah, karaoke. Didn’t Suho tell you, Sieun-ssi?”

Sieun shook his head slightly, his dark eyes not unkind, but unreadable.

Suho raised a hand in half-defense, half-surrender. “Okay, okay, I forgot, I’m sorry,” he said, stepping closer to Sieun. “I thought I told you, seriously—”

“You didn’t.” Sieun was looking at Suho, like telling him that he should've known better.

The air tensed, not angry, but… uncertain. Suho could feel the shift in it, in the way Sieun somehow felt like he stood with a bit more distance between them, like the sidewalk suddenly stretched wider.

“I should go home.”

Suho heard Youngyi inhale sharply, ready to try her best to have an attempt in convincing Sieun when–

Without thinking, Suho reached for Sieun’s wrist the second time that day. He held him like he was fragile, slender fingers carefully holding soft skin— gentle, soft, apologetic . 

“I'm sorry, Sieun-ah,” Suho started. “I should've known better,” he finally addressed the words that started to linger between them.

Sieun just stared. He didn't pull his wrist away, didn't even look at where their skins meet. His eyes were locked on Suho's.

“Please, Sieunnie, come with us. Look, you don't even have to sing or anything,” Another attempt, softer, like coaxing Sieun to give in. “You could just… come. Sit. Watch us butcher ballad songs. Judge us mercilessly.”

Sieun's expressions remained unchanged, stubbornly unreadable, fixed at Suho with the similar gaze he puts on during class.

Try again. Tell him the real reason. 

“I thought of your research when Yeongi suggested noraebang,” Suho said earnestly, eyes fixed on Sieun's, surveilling for potential stirring within their blackness. “Y’know. ‘Cause it's a new way to experience music. Maybe it’ll help…?”

At the mention of his personal research, Sieun's eyes flickered with something Suho couldn't quite recognize. For a brief second, Suho's heart filled with hope.

Then, nothing.

Just closed lips and blank stares.

His heart sank.

Forced to use his final card, Suho sighed. 

“I'll buy you bingsu.”

So, there they were. 

In a cramped karaoke room with strobing lights flashing overhead, casting dizzying beams of neon greens and pinks that spun wildly along the room's white walls.

Unopened cans of alcohol remained neglected on the center table as Youngyi struggled to pick a ‘good opening song.’ She insisted on making it special, knowing that it was Sieun's first time in a noraebang.

Facing the untouched alcohol sat Yeon Sieun, now drowning in Suho's blue hoodie.

“Here,” Suho handed over his hoodie towards the shivering figure of Yeon Sieun. “And don't say no,” he interjected before Sieun could even say a word. “You could die of hypothermia, and you, out of all people, should know that.”

Sieun stared at the hoodie for a second too long, then sighed—sharp and resigned. He knew Suho’s logic made sense. Suho knew it irritated him when he was right whenever he was stubborn.

So, with a kind of quiet defeat, Sieun tugged the hoodie on, pulling the fabric over his head and letting it fall around him like a blanket. The hem reached well past his hips, and the sleeves completely swallowed his hands.

Suho watched it all unfold with a small, barely concealed smile, lips tugging upward like he couldn’t help it. There was something stupidly endearing about seeing Sieun swaddled in his clothes, walking stiffly and expressionless.

He made it clear to himself that he wasn’t going to ask for the hoodie back.

Between Sieun’s hands was his takeout—definitely not bribery— strawberry bingsu, the clear plastic cup cradled by too-long sleeves. The hoodie’s cotton pooled over his fingers, shielding his palms from the coldness of the dessert.

Occasionally, he would dig the spoon into the soft pile of shaved ice and bring it to his lips, quiet and methodical as ever.

“Good?,” Suho asked as he took over the space beside Sieun, sitting close as he waited for Youngyi to finally pick a song.

A reserved “mhm,” and Suho felt a pang of guilt surge through his nerves. Bringing Yeon Sieun to a karaoke was bad enough—with him preferring the comfort of silence or the familiar sound of his playlists—but bribing him with bingsu? Suho felt like a kidnapper.

“I'm sorry,” Suho couldn't stop himself from saying.

Sieun froze, plastic spoon stuck between his lips mid-bite. Suho watched as Sieun's irises flickered, jittering as he scanned Suho’s face, trying to unearth the hidden motive behind his sudden apology. Sieun just… blinked when he found none.

Sieun pulled the spoon from his lips and said, barely above a whisper, “It's alright.” 

Suho didn't answer right away. He just watched, quiet as Sieun took another scoop of his shaved ice and brought it to his mouth again—slow, unbothered, like being inside a karaoke room wasn't the slightest bit inconvenient or overwhelming for him.

Suho couldn't help but sigh. He knew Sieun's answer was meant to be comforting, his own little way of telling him that he was okay–that everything was tolerable, manageable, maybe even bearable, as long as Suho was nearby.

“I—”

“Wah! This one!” Youngyi's microphone-amplified voice echoed through the room, cutting Suho off. Sieun flinched from the sudden noise. “This one's good! Sieunnie, I know you'll like it,” She turned away from the machine, giving Sieun a thumbs-up paired with a wide smile. Sieun replied with a small nod.

Suho took the opportunity of a distracted Sieun to peer over Youngyi's figure and look at the screen. His eyebrows immediately furrowed.

“Isn't that–”

“Yeah, yeah. The usual,” She interrupted, the joy in her voice blatantly absent. “Look, cut me some slack. I couldn't decide.” Then, she pressed start, the first few notes of the song immediately filling the cramped room.

The evening progressed just how Suho expected it.

Hell, maybe even exceeded that via the help of alcohol.

He and Youngyi completely dominated the noraebang, treating the time they had like there was a promise of a cash prize. From tragic ballads to chaotic idol dance tracks, they went all in. Youngyi jumping on couches, Suho doing impromptu ad-libs, and both of them butchering lyrics with alarming confidence. 

Their duets always end up with a silly, energy-filled dance break—no matter the song, no matter the genre. A chill acoustic track? Youngyi would somehow end up throwing it back. A heartbreaking serenade? Best believe Suho would be breakdancing like his life depended on it. It was loud, ridiculous, and exactly how nights like this were supposed to be.

Sieun, naturally, remained quiet. Didn’t sing a single note, didn’t clap after an amazing duet, didn’t even flinch when Suho serenaded him with the most off-beat rendition of a rap song Suho could manage. He just sat there weightless and buried under Suho’s hoodie, plastic spoon stirring his partially-melted bingsu as he bemusingly watched the chaos before him unfold more and more as the night went on with barely-hidden delight.

Still, Suho caught it—the subtle way Sieun’s eyes crinkled whenever Youngyi messed up a high note, the almost-smile when Suho’s voice cracked on purpose. The way he slowly leaned back against the couch, body language softening just a bit more with every song.

So when the bottle of soju made its rounds again, Suho wasn’t surprised to see Sieun glancing at it, curiosity hidden beneath practiced indifference. Youngyi was up for a solo. Suho left her and her alcohol-clouded brain—as she tried her best to find what good songs that were left unsung—to sit with Sieun for a while.

“You want some?,” Suho asked, already reaching for the bottle. He would be lying if he said he didn’t wish for Sieun to say no. But who was he to reject Sieun from having fun?

Sieun didn’t respond at first, his gaze lingering on Suho’s hand and on the shot glass. Then, he nodded once, unsure. Suho could practically feel the uncertainty radiating off Sieun’s figure as he went and set his bingsu down on the table.

“Just a bit,” he muttered. “I wanna try.”

Suho’s lips curled into his usual grin. “Oh? Our Yeon Sieun wants to drink?,” he said, the teasing already laced into his tone. “You sure, Sieun-ah? Not sure you’d enjoy it.”

Sieun gave him a blank look. “I said I wanted to try it, not that I’ll enjoy it.”

“It tastes really different from bingsu, Sieun. I’m warning you.”

“Suho. Just pour.” And Suho did, tilting the bottle and carefully filling the shot glass until the clear, shimmering liquid reached the brim.

He handed Sieun the cup, his grin widening. “Last chance to back out, Sieun. I’m rea–”

He didn’t get to finish.

Sieun looked at him. Just… looked. Steady, unflinching, borderline confrontational. 

It shut Suho right up.

That now-familiar glint in Sieun’s eyes returned to wreak havoc inside Suho’s mind once more. The same quiet spark that had challenged him at the restaurant across a table full of grilled meat, the same fire that stared him down in front of the counter. A look that didn’t need volume or theatrics. Just a flick of the eye. Just stillness.

Oh, fuck.

Suho’s grip on the shot glass flatered. His action stuttered—arm freezing mid-way—but Sieun, already with his mind set and his eyes blazing, met his hand, taking the cup from Suho’s fingers with an insistent force. Their fingers brushed, and for a second, Suho’s thoughts scrambled at the contact, the moment stretching longer than it should’ve.

Sieun’s fingers curled around the glass, firm and decisive. He didn’t blink. Didn’t hesitate. Just brought the glass to his lips, downing the shot in one smooth motion. Just like that.

Suho was frozen. 

He didn’t know where to look. The curve of Sieun’s fingers around the shot glass? The slope of his neck as he tilted his head back? Maybe the way his brows twitched the moment the bitter liquid hit his tongue? The way his jaw flexed as he swallowed, or the way the apple in his throat bobbed as the liquid travelled down his throat? He couldn’t pick.

Before Suho could even decide, Sieun lowered the glass with the same grace he downed the shot with, swallowing with only the faintest trace of discomfort in his face. He placed the shot glass back onto the table with a soft clink, his tongue darting out to wet his lips.

“Hand sanitizer,” he muttered.

Suho was speechless. He could only stare. His lips parted. His brain melted. 

The sound of Youngyi’s voice belting another song slowly filled Suho’s ears as he slowly came back down to earth.

Once Suho’s brain could process it, he was… thrilled. Yeon Sieun’s first sip had gone surprisingly well. No choking, no dramatic coughing– just a subtle grimace. He didn’t hate it.

“Another, please.”

“Yes, sir,” Suho answered, moving without a thought. He just followed, controlled by Sieun’s voice, held together by his persistent stare.

The second sip went down smoother.

The third and fourth? Worrying.

And by the fifth one…

Suho had to force himself out of his mini-trance. “You’re gonna regret that if you don’t slow down,” he warned, shifting closer.

Sieun gave him a pointed look, but the fire in his eyes had long died down. “I’m not drunk.”

“You’re definitely tipsy,” Obviously tipsy , Suho wanted to add. The ends of Sieun’s ears were tinted a bright shade of pink, his cheeks blooming with the same lovely color. It was endearing, sure, but Suho wasn’t ready to deal with what monster the Yeon Sieun would be once fully drunk when he could barely handle him sober.

“...‘M not,” Sieun argued with a small pout.

“Sure, baby. But no more alcohol, ‘kay?”

“Don’t call me that.”

“Then quit acting like one.”

With that, Sieun let out a disgruntled huff.

Suho just chuckled.

“Just finish your bingsu, Sieunnie.”

Thankfully, he listened, picking the plastic cup up from the table and diving in once more.

“Wha— You let Yeon Sieun drink?!” 

Youngyi’s voice came out louder than necessary, slurred at the edges but sharp enough to pierce right through Suho’s ear drums. Her dramatic gasp followed right after, one hand still holding the mic, the other gripping her cup like a weapon.

She had just finished her solo, apparently—though Suho had completely missed it, which meant he had also missed the only opportunity to clap. He winced internally. He would’ve blamed it on anything else, but there was only one real culprit:

Yeon Sieun.

“He insis—” Suho tried to defend himself, only to be interrupted by the exact person he was about to throw under the bus.

“I wanted to,” Sieun said plainly, cutting through the noise with a calm that contrasted heavily against the flashing lights and Youngyi’s exaggerated outrage. He sat unbothered, legs crossed, one hand cradling his bingsu like it was still the most important thing in the world. “Don’t fight.”

His voice was a little quieter than before, slightly slower too—just enough for Suho to side-eye him with concern. Still, he was sitting straight, eyes clear and focused, like the shots he just took hadn’t affected him at all.

Youngyi dropped onto the space beside Sieun, blinking owlishly at him. “You really drank? You? You ?” she asked again, poking his cheek with a finger like she was testing if he was a hallucination. “You’re, like… not supposed to do that. You’re a robot or something.”

“I’m not a robot,” Sieun replied, voice as robotic as ever.

That made Youngyi cackle.

“You’re unpredictable, Sieun-ssi… What’re you planning to do next, hmm?” Youngyi asked, rhetorical. She brought her finger to poke on Sieun’s cheek again but it quickly got shunned away.

Then, Youngyi, out of nowhere, snapped her head towards Suho. His breath hitched in his throat, sensing something bad about the way her eyes bore on him.

“Ahn Suho,” Youngyi declared. Her posture was proud, her eyes sparkled with chaos, and the mischievous smile curling on her lips screamed bad idea. “An idea. You’ll like it.”

Suho was a hundred percent sure he wouldn’t.

He sat up straight, wary. “Please don’t.”

Youngyi ignored him entirely, turning her body to face Sieun with the slow, dramatic pace of someone who had just discovered a master plan. The mic in her hand glinted ominously under the flashing neon lights.

She pointed the microphone down, hovering above Sieun’s head like a crown… or a guillotine—Suho wasn’t sure anymore. Then. A thud. She tapped the top of Sieun’s skull with the mic gently. Not enough to hurt but enough to produce a sound.

The speaker let out a soft thump.

Then again. Thump.

And again. Thump.

Suho’s jaw slowly dropped. “Youngyi.”

Sieun didn’t move. He just… sat there. Blank-faced and accepting his face. His eyelids dropped low every time the mic impacted his head.

Thump. Thump. Thump.

“Why are you letting her do that?” Suho asked Sieun, genuinely baffled.

Youngyi tilted her head. “Because he loves me,” she answered for Sieun. “Right, Sieun-ssi?”

Thump. Thump.

“...No,” Sieun said flatly, still not moving.

Thump.

Suho rubbed his face. “Yeongi— What the hell are you doing?”

“D’you get it?,” Youngyi asked, beaming as she turned to him.

Suho blinked. “...Get what?”

“God,” she groaned, her figure slumping in exaggerated disappointment. “Are you drunk?”

Suho’s eyebrows furrowed. “No? Not yet. Yeongi, just tell m—”

“She wants you to make me sing,” Sieun said matter-of-factly. His voice was so calm it took Suho a moment to register what he’d just said.

Suho’s gaze landed slowly on him. “...What?”

Sieun finally looked at him, that same infuriatingly serene expression still plastered on his face like his cheeks and ears weren’t blushing from tipsiness. “She thinks if she pesters you enough, then you’ll pester me enough to make me sing.”

Youngyi grinned. “See? He gets it. He really is smart…”

Suho’s jaw dropped. “Why am I the tool in this plan?!”

“Because he won’t listen to me,” Youngyi explained. “But he listens to you.”

Sieun’s brow twitched slightly, barely perceptible. “I don’t listen to him.”

Youngyi pointed a finger in the air. “But you ate his meat wrap.”

“That is not—” Sieun started.

“—the same thing? Oh, but it is, Sieun-ssi!” Youngyi teased. “That man fed you. That’s trust. That’s intimacy. That’s domesticity in the flesh!”

Suho sputtered. “Yeongi?!”

“I’ll do it for five more shots.”

Suho’s eyes felt like they'd pop out of their socket. “Yeon Sieun?! What—”

“And deal!” Youngyi proclaimed. Then, with a dramatic twirl, she plopped herself back onto the couch, placed the mic in Sieun’s lap, and reclined like a villain watching her plan unfold.

Suho watched as Sieun rose from the couch. He could see the embers slowly growing within the blackness of Sieun’s eyes—a storm brewing. He noticed how Sieun eyed the remaining soju bottles with desire, with longing, with intense want. 

In that moment, Yeon Sieun truly was the agent of unrestricted chaos hidden in the body of a straight-faced honor student.

“Don’t even think about it, Yeon Sieun.”

Sieun’s lips quivered, barely noticeable. His grip on the mic tightened.

“I’m warning you.”

Sieun’s eyes flickered between the bottles and Suho.

“It’s for your own good.” And for mine. 

To Suho, Sieun’s voice was almost… sacred. It was something he heard almost every day—from their small conversations during lunch, to their night drives and ten-second audio calls—but it very much still has the same effect it had on Suho the first time it reached his ears.

Sieun is a man of few words, literally.

He spoke, sure. But rarely with more than three words, rarely with a trace of emotion.

To hear Sieun speak with emotions was one thing, but to hear him sing?

Suho’s spontaneous combustion was imminent.

But Sieun… moved.

With the slow, chilling resolve of a man possessed with alcohol, he stepped toward the screen. His gait was measured, purposeful. The mic in his grip trembled just slightly, but the glint in his eyes never did.

“No,” Suho whispered, a hand reaching out as if that alone could stop the coming disaster. “Sieun-ah, put the mic down. Be rational. You're not even that drunk yet—”

“I want the soju,” Sieun said, clear as day, voice carrying the weight of a solemn oath. “I will earn the soju.”

Youngyi cheered from the couch. “That’s what I’m talking about!”

“You’re enabling him,” Suho hissed at her, then looked back at Sieun in a panic. “You can’t just—Sieun, listen to me, you don’t have to do this. We can talk. W–We can get more bingsu. You love bingsu, right?”

But Sieun was unmoved.

He raised the mic. Pressed buttons. The TV screen glowed with a mix of red and blue, the song’s title flashed—something Suho hasn’t heard of before.

Then a countdown.

5.

4.

3.

2.

“I wanna be… an itch you can’t scratch.” 

Yeon Sieun. The silent, shy, reserved Yeon Sieun started singing. His voice dropped low—too low. Rough. Breathy. New. It reverberated through the tiny noraebang, bouncing along its walls and onto Suho’s brain like a gunshot.

Youngyi audibly gasped.

“I don’t need.. to where you’re at.”

Suho’s brain short-circuited.

Yeon Sieun was… actually singing. An English song, at that. Suho has never bothered to learn English beyond the basics, but at that moment, he silently wished he had. Sieun continued—deadpan, earnest, and just slightly off-tempo. The delivery was flat but not cold, quiet but not empty. Like Sieun was trying very hard to imitate emotion, and somehow, in doing so, accidentally felt something.

Despite not understanding a word, Suho oddly felt everything.

“And I've kept you at an arm's length, but now my shoulder's sore. It's out of my hands to wanna feel yours.”

Sieun sang the lines quieter. His posture was rigid, his shoulders tensed, both his feet frozen to the ground. He turned sideways mid-line, as if figuring out whether or not to continue, as if asking for permission to finish the song with his quiet eyes.

The room was still. No one dared to move.

Youngyi has her back stuck on the couch, stunned by the monster she has created. Her left hand held a half-empty shot glass she’d abandoned mid-sip, her right was clutched on the couch’s fabric  like she needed grounding. Her mouth hung slightly open, disbelief written across her face. She had joked. She had dared him. But she hadn’t expected this.

That kind of stillness.

That kind of voice.

Suho was leaning forward, elbows on knees, lips slightly parted, posture tense in a way he didn’t notice. His eyes never left Sieun. He listened to every lyric that came out of his mouth like they were meant for him, like the words were weighted, heavy with something he couldn’t name. Something unfamiliar. Something real.

Maybe they were.

He hoped they were.

Something about Suho’s face must've given Sieun enough courage because once their eyes met, Sieun let out a small, breathy chuckle, his eyes crinkling uncharacteristically. The laugh was small. It was quiet. It was… Sieun.

But the mic was still on.

And it picked up everything.

The sound as delicate and brief as it was, echoed through the room, amplified, surrounding Suho in stereo. That tiny exhale of a laugh, stretched out and made louder than it was ever meant to be, filled every inch of space between them.

Suho froze.

Because it wasn’t just a chuckle. Not to him. Not with the way it made his stomach flip over itself, or the way it made him clutch his jeans, or the way his chest tightened like the laugh had lodged itself inside his ribs and refused to leave.

He stared.

Sieun looked embarrassed after, of course. The laughter went as quickly as it came. His fingers fiddled with the mic like he’d just remembered he was holding it.

But the sound still rang in Suho’s ears.

The ghost of it lingered.

Suho wanted to hear it again.

Sieun turned back to the screen in an instant, singing what Suho assumed to be the chorus.

“Like some kind of magnet. You're a mystic force. I try to explain away through planets, of course.”

But then, he turned again, now looking directly at Suho with his alcohol-hazed eyes and his lips curled into a small, sly smile.

Suho’s breath hitched.

Sieun’s eyes were half-lidded, glassy, like they were on the verge of closing anytime if it weren’t for the karaoke machine’s constant glow and thrum. The tips of his ears, along with the apples of his cheeks—previously a light shade of pink—now bordered red in color. Deep, vivid , as if the alcohol had finally settled and bloomed within his system. 

But even so, even under the unforgiving neon of the karaoke room, Yeon Sieun looked… ethereal. 

It was unfair.

The strobing lights, meant to overwhelm, now felt like a soft halo around him. Like the world had turned down its brightness just for the angel that was Yeon Sieun. His low-hanging hair shadowed his lashes, Suho’s oversized hoodie swallowed him whole, the alcohol did its best to disorient him. Yet still, he sang, eyes steady.

“Each time I push the thoughts away you're pulling me in…”

Suho sat still, heart pounding, throat dry. Sieun wasn’t just looking at him—it felt like he was singing to him.

He wanted to understand.

“Again and again and again… ”

No teasing. No challenge. No fire in his eyes. Just this quiet, reckless honesty coming from Sieun that made Suho feel like the only person in the room.

The chorus ended. Sieun finally looked away.

He pressed buttons in the machine once more.

The song ended abruptly with a screen that read:

“SCORE: 99.”

Silence.

Sieun calmly set the mic down. His breathing was steady now, but something about him looked different. Undone, maybe. Exposed. The flush in his cheeks lingered, but his jaw was set like someone had made peace with a decision.

The liquid courage had done its part.

Suho watched as he went back to his place on the couch, just right across Suho.

Suho blinked slowly, trying to catch up. “You’re… unreal,” he muttered under his breath, unsure whether he meant to say it out loud.

Sieun didn’t hear him.

Or maybe, just maybe, he did. And chose not to say a word.

“Yeon Sieun.” Youngyi called out, her voice thick with playful reverence.

As Sieun’s gaze turned to her, Suho’s shortly followed, already suspicious.

Between her fingers was a full soju bottle, unopened, like treasure under the blaring room lights. With exaggerated flair, Youngyi slowly slid it across the table toward Sieun, making dramatic, fanfare-like “ dun-dun-dun-dunnnn ” noises with her mouth as if heralding the arrival of royalty.

“You dropped your crown, king. Congratulations.” She declared. Then, with theatrical flourish, she stood up and bowed deeply—both arms outstretched towards Sieun, the bottle clutched by its neck like a sacred offering.

Sieun blinked, visibly caught off guard by the sudden theatrics. His shoulders stiffened; the hoodie pooled around his frame like a royal robe. His eyes flitted between the soju and Suho’s face, hesitant. Like he was checking if this was okay, if this was allowed.

“...What? Now you’re asking for permission?” Suho scoffed, raising a brow.

Sieun gave him a deadpan stare. Then, without another word, he reached for the bottle and took it with ease.

“Thank you,” he muttered toward Youngyi, who responded with a satisfied hum and a small, knowing grin.

Suho rolled his eyes, hiding his smile behind his drink.

“Unbelievable,” he murmured, watching as Sieun cradled the soju like a trophy.

Suho wasn’t sure when the night finally began to slow.

At some point, the lights had dimmed to a gentle blue, the speakers became forgotten due to everyone being occupied with drinking and chatting, and the table that once held chaos—soju bottles, snack plates, crumpled napkins—was now half-cleared, like the room itself had started exhaling with them.

The energy had bled out gradually. No grand moment, no loud signal. Just a natural fade. Like a record spinning to its final groove.

The heaviest drinker, with a record of 7 bottles of soju drank, Yeongi was passed out on the far end of the couch, curled like a cat with her head resting on her folded arms. Her hair was a mess, pink tips scattered in all directions, and there was a lone sticker from somewhere unknown stuck to her cheek—probably self-inflicted. Most likely self-inflicted.

The responsible adult, with a measly record of 5 shots drank, Suho sat in the center, legs stretched, one arm thrown across the backrest. He was sober enough to watch the rest of the night unfold, fully aware to observe the chaos that was Youngyi’s stream of constant singing after Sieun’s performance, exclaiming that she won’t be beaten by a single song, mentally solid enough to gawk every time Sieun downed a shot. 

His hoodie was still missing, of course. 

He didn’t need to look far to find it.

The newest challenger, with a surprising record of 2 and a half bottles drank, Yeon Sieun was wearing it—still looked small inside it, his frame swallowed by the fabric. His head was tipped back against the wall, eyes closed, cheeks still flushed, neck gleaming with a thin layer of sweat. The soju bottle Youngyi had handed him sat half-empty near his elbow, abandoned.

Contrary to most people—who got louder, wilder, and more unhinged the deeper they fell into bottles—alcohol seemed to have the opposite effect on Yeon Sieun. Strangely enough, it mellowed him out. Eerily so. By the time he was halfway through his second bottle, Sieun didn’t slur or sway or start fights with the karaoke machine. No, he was… alarmingly composed.

His eyelids drooped to a lazy halfway point, like they couldn’t be bothered to finish the job. His lips pressed into a firm, unwavering line. He looked less like someone trying to enjoy the night and more like someone trying hard not to accidentally reveal classified information.

Suho watched him throughout the night, borderline concerned, because Sieun’s expression had frozen into something between forced neutrality and full-blown shutdown. Like he was constantly reciting Keep it together, keep it together on an endless loop inside his head. His whole face was a warning sign, as if any sudden movement would tip the delicate balance and send him collapsing like a house of cards.

It wasn’t chaos.

It was restraint. Intensified.

And somehow, that was even more terrifying.

Suho glanced sideways.

He stared at Sieun.

He was quiet. His face was.

The whole room was quiet. Not entirely, though. The speakers still cycled through soft instrumentals, and someone’s discarded mic would give the occasional high-pitched whine if nudged the wrong way. But it was quiet enough for their minds to rest.

Sieun’s breathing had evened out.

Not asleep. Just… still.

“Hey,” Suho said gently, voice just above the low hum of the karaoke machine in the background. His eyes followed as Sieun slowly straightened his head upright. It took him five seconds to crack his eyelids open, revealing glossy eyes beneath them. “You still alive, Sieun-ah?”

Sieun blinked. Once. Carefully. Like it took effort. His gaze flicked toward Suho, but he didn’t say anything. Just… looked. Assessing. Processing. Buffering.

“Not asleep yet, are you?” Suho tried again, a grin playing at his lips.

Sieun’s eyes narrowed – not in annoyance, but in that oddly focused way Suho recognized as his default when mentally dissecting a math problem or dealing with an unfamiliar social situation.

“You’re… You’re really blurry,” Sieun murmured at last. Voice low. Flat. But not slurred.

Suho chuckled. “Right, well, you had two bottles, baby. That’s normal.”

Sieun hummed quietly, gaze still fixed on Suho as if he was trying to piece his face part-by-part inside his mind. “Loud. You’re loud in my head,” he said. “Even when… not speaking.”

Suho couldn’t help but allow his grin to widen.

“That a bad thing?,” he asked, trying to keep his tone light.

Sieun blinked again. Suho noticed how the blooming in his cheeks somehow got aggravated, like he had just drank another bottle. “Just… really distracting.”

“Oh.” Suho rubbed the back of his neck, eyes darting to the near-empty table.

“Hmm,” Sieun replied.

And with that, Sieun tipped his head back once more, leaning onto the couch’s headrest. His eyelids slowly dropped down once more, cutting Suho off his gleaming eyes. The corners of Sieun’s mouth didn’t twitch up or down, but something about the way his shoulders lowered—the slow, tired breath he let out— made Suho think he was okay. Maybe even more than okay.

Still, Suho remained attentive. Just in case Sieun needed more attention.

“Hey, don’t pass out on me,” he said, inching closer and nudging Sieun lightly with a shoulder. “I can’t carry you home.” He definitely could. Definitely would.

The corner of Sieun’s lips curled up, just barely. “Too bad.”

And Suho didn’t reply.

Instead, he leaned back onto the couch’s headrest, mirroring Sieun’s position. Their shoulders almost brushed. Neither of them moved away.

The room was filled once more with soft, vocalless instrumentals—some mellow indie track playing in the background.

At this point, he was only waiting for Youngyi to recover. One thing Suho feared her for is her iron liver—she always seems to recover quickly no matter how many alcohols she has drunk, bouncing back like an alcoholic boomerang. Five bottles? Give her ten minutes. Ten bottles? Maybe twenty minutes. 30 tops.

To be fair, this ‘recovered state’ of hers usually only lasts ‘till she gets home. She’d still be hungover the day after. Suho would know. He had been through the aftermath with her too many times to forget.

A groan cut through the stillness.

Suho tilted his head slightly, eyes peeking toward the opposite end of the couch.

Youngyi stirred. First a small twitch of her fingers, then a slow, deliberate stretch of her limbs paired with a low groan, as if testing whether her limbs still worked. She peeled one eye open and squinted at the ceiling, displeased.

“God,” she muttered, voice raspy and hoarse. “I feel like I’ve been hit by… by a fucking truck. Whose idea was that seventh bottle?”

“Yours,” Suho replied instantly.

She groaned again, louder this time, throwing a limp arm over her face. “I hate myself.”

“You always say that.”

“And I never mean it,” then, accompanied by more groans, she tried sitting upright—her hand clutching the headrest to pull herself up. “I love myself.”

Once sat properly, she pointed a lazy finger towards the wasted figure beside Suho. “Are we dead? Is he—”

“Alive, yes. Barely,” Suho answered before she could even finish.

With the mention of him, Sieun’s eyes flitted open. 

Still slouched next to Suho, he raised a hand halfway in greeting. “Mmm, Yeongi, hi,”

Youngyi let out something between a laugh and a wheeze, rubbing her temples. “He can talk. Great. Another miracle tonight.”

She pushed herself up fully, wobbling a little as she stood. “Right. I’m gonna need water, some crackers, and a new liver. In that order.”

“Want me to carry you?,” Suho asked, mock-sweet.

“I’d rather die,” Youngyi replied as she staggered toward the small fridge in the corner like a soldier returning from war, muttering curses under her breath.

Suho glanced at Sieun again. He still hadn’t moved much. Still looked too beautiful under the dim lights, cheeks flushed, hoodie sleeves hiding half his hands.

“You good to go, baby?” Suho asked quietly.

Sieun blinked once. “Not yet.”

And Suho didn’t press.

Getting Youngyi to Suho’s was… easier than expected. Which was to say: still a hassle, just not a catastrophic one.

They had to rush, of course, with Youngyi’s fleeting ‘recovered state’ quickly fading the more they remained outside, like a candle slowly getting blown out by the evening breeze.

Half-way through, her steps started to wobble again, her constant chatter gradually garbled as if the alcohol was taking over once more.

Eventually, Suho had to bribe her with the promise of warm blankets and halmeoni’s hangover seaweed soup.

She relented.

Barely.

Ultimately, Suho couldn’t help but be worried with a drunk Youngyi being too loose and free so he did what he always did: added her to the list of things he was carrying. His bag, Youngyi’s arm, and Yeon Sieun’s wrist.

Yeon Sieun was well-behaved. Didn’t complain at the prolonged touch.

He hadn’t said much at all since they left the noraebang. He was trailing beside Suho like a shadow, wrist loosely caught in Suho’s hold. His posture was straight but careful, and his expression was pulled tight into something unreadable.

It hit Suho after a while. It was the same look that screamed Keep it together, don’t break here was back in his face. He was disturbed with the realization, of course, until he also realized that a Yeon Sieun efficiently restraining himself meant he didn’t have to do it himself. It meant he could focus on Youngyi—could be an effective shepherd to their barely-held-together trio without worrying about Sieun throwing up randomly in the street or walking into traffic. 

They arrived at Suho’s house just in time, just before Youngyi decided to lie down on the sidewalk “for the vibes.”

It made Sieun chuckle, at least.

Inside, Suho helped her flop onto the couch with as much grace as a bag of wet laundry. He tossed a thick blanket over her, left a tumbler full of water, and left a small note for her just in case she wakes up without Suho or his grandmother around. She was already out cold by the time he returned to the front door, curled up like a cat in hibernation.

He turned his full attention to Sieun, who had remained quiet the entire time and was now leaning slightly against the wall by the entrance.

“You could crash at mine too, y’know,” Suho offered. “If you want. My bed’s empty.”

Sieun shook his head. “I want home,” he said simply.

Suho stared at him for a moment. “You good to go?,” he asked for the second time that night.

“I’m not— I still know my address,” Sieun replied, tone flat. “I’ll be fine.”

There was a pause. Suho doubted him but nodded anyway.

“Alright. C’mere.”

And so they left quietly, without the weight of voices. The night air had cooled, the world outside lulled into stillness. Just the two of them walking side by side streetlights, with silence folding itself gently around them.

The bus ride was quiet. Neither of them spoke much. Not out of tension, but because the silence felt earned. Comfortable.

The city hadn't fully gone to sleep yet. There were still blinking signs and the occasional passing cars. But the energy had shifted. The neon chaos of the karaoke room was long behind then, replaced by the mechanical murmur of the bus engine. Everything felt slower, quieter, like the world was gently winding down with them.

Sieun sat by the window, forehead leaning lightly against the glass. His posture wasn’t quite relaxed, but it was no longer stiff with restraint. His eyes blinked slowly, gaze unfocused, as if he were somewhere else entirely. Beside him Suho sat, fighting the urge to take Sieun’s head by his hand and leaning it on his shoulder.

They sat in silence.

Suho's gaze tracked the blurry streaks of passing lights, the way buildings glided by in slow motion. The city felt distant. Unreachable. Like the bus had transported them in some kind of pocket dimension where the rest of the world couldn't reach them. Maybe it was the alcohol.

He turned his head slightly to glance at Sieun.

The boy sat upright. His shoulders were no longer locked, but still not quite relaxed. There was a faint, nearly invisible crease between his brows. His lips pressed in a thin line. A quiet war was still being fought somewhere inside him.

Suho wanted to speak, to cut through the quiet. But he couldn't think of the right words. Not the ones that wouldn't sound too loud in this calm, too sharp against the soft buzz of the night.

So instead, he shifted slightly and bumped his knee against Sieun's.

Not hard. Just enough to be noticed.

Suho leaned down then whispered, voice low and quiet. "You okay?"

Sieun turned to look at him. He was quiet for a beat too long.

Then, a small nod. "Yeah."

"Really?" 

Another pause. "I think so."

Suho studied him further, doubtful, uncertain. "You're doing that thing again. Your... keep-it-together face."

Sieun didn't answer right away, his hand resting on his thigh, twitched. Just once, a subtle tightening of fingers.

Suho's voice softened further, trying again. "You don't have to."

"I do," Sieun said, so quietly Suho almost didn't catch it.

They both fell silent again.

The bus took a slow left turn, and for a moment, the streetlight outside bathed their side of the bus in a warm glow. It softened everything—Sieun's jawline, the curve of his brow, the slight droop in his eyes. His whole figure looked calmer under the dim light, like something worn down finally being allowed to rest.

Then, without a word, Suho leaned his shoulder against Sieun's.

He didn't ask for permission.

He just... did it.

And Sieun didn't pull away.

They sat like that for a few more stops. A shared silence. Two figures, side by side, holding up the quiet together.

When the bus slowed to a stop, the soft ding of the bell stirring them out of it.

“Our stop,” Sieun murmured.

Suho reluctantly leaned off him.

They got off together.

The air was cooler now, amplified by the lingering coldness from the bus ride. The streetlights buzzed overhead, casting pale yellow pools across the pavement. Everything was a little quieter here. Still. Vaguely familiar.

This time, the silence felt full.

Sieun took the lead, walking slowly but steadily, his hands shoved into the pockets of his– of Suho’s hoodie.

Suho followed just beside him, his own steps matching Sieun’s pace without needing to try. Once more, he fought the urge to reach Sieun's hand, to hang an arm around him, to hold him closer by his waist. To bring back the stillness, the closeness they had on the bus. 

“You live around here, huh?” Suho asked, eventually breaking the comfortable silence.

Sieun nodded, a small movement of his head. “In an apartment a few buildings down.”

They passed by the convenience store they went to to make a playlist. It reminded Suho of his plans to make one dedicated to Sieun. Just because. His thoughts were quickly thrown off when a cat darted across the sidewalk, startling them both just slightly. Neither of them said anything about it, just continued walking.

After a few more seconds, Suho spoke again, softer this time. “Hey… are you okay?”

Sieun didn’t stop walking, but Suho noticed the shifts inside the pockets of his hoodie. “I… Did I feel… different?” He asked, barely above a whisper. An unexpected question.

Suho stopped walking, surprised. Sieun did, too, to meet Suho’s eyes. The glow of the streetlights illuminated him unfairly. “Tonight?”

“Today.”

Suho studied him. The redness had faded a little from Sieun’s cheeks, but the drowsiness lingered in his eyes. Suho could tell it was less from the alcohol and more from the weight of the day, the weight of whatever was pressing against his ribs.

“You seem… more you,” Suho said eventually. “Just louder. Figuratively.”

Sieun blinked, slowly. “I wasn’t sure I’d like it.”

“Drinking? Noraebang?”

“Letting go." An unexpected answer. "Just a bit. It’s weird.”

With that, a small smile bloomed on Suho’s lips. “It suits you.”

And it did. He liked how Sieun, despite still being reserved, felt more like a human being. It was something Suho noticed with him, how Sieun always feel more alive when he wasn't alone, when he wasn't worrying about his grades, when he was with Suho. He wanted to keep Sieun that way. Happy. Satisfied. Himself.

Sieun blinked again. Suho could see him process the words in his mind.

So, he went on. “You don’t have to be all put-together every time. People still stick around,” he poked Sieun’s left cheek, watching how the soft, gold-tinted skin caved in from the pressure. “I know I will. Always," he continued, earnest.

Sieun didn’t answer right away. He simply nodded, slowly, as if accepting the words and letting them echo in his chest before lodging them somewhere safer.

After a pause, he spoke again. Quiet. More careful. “Thank you.”

Suho tilted his head, offering him a lazy grin. “You did it on purpose, didn’t you?”

Sieun’s brows immediately furrowed from the sudden change of topic. “Did what?”

“The song. In English. Was it for me?”

Suho caught the pink in Sieun’s cheeks blossom as he turned his gaze away. He started waddling away, leaving Suho behind and not even giving him a clear answer.

“Hey, Yeon Sieun. What did it mean?,” Suho pressed, jogging to catch up to Sieun’s side.

Silence.

“At least tell me the title? So I could look it up?”

Stillness.

"C'mo-"

“I enjoyed today, Suho.”

That shut Suho up. Sieun looked at him. Really looked. He swore he could see the stars in the night sky reflected back in the deepness of Sieun's eyes.

“I think,” Sieun continued, slowly, “if we stayed any longer, I would’ve said something I can’t take back.”

Suho’s heart stuttered. What?

Sieun gave him one last glance—soft, unreadable—before turning toward his apartment building. “Good night, Ahn Suho.”

And just like that, Sieun was once again unreachable. Quiet. Untouchable. Still carrying the night with him like it clung to his skin.

Suho stood there a moment longer, watching Sieun’s figure walk away.

Then he smiled. Tired. A little dazed. 

“…Good night, Yeon Sieun.”

Chapter Text

Sieun was… fine.

At least, that’s what he kept telling himself.

He was functioning. Barely. 

But it was enough.

Just four more hours before school ends.

The scratching of Sieun’s pen was the only sound between him and Suho for a while, save for the occasional rustle of Suho shifting dramatically in his seat. The library was quiet. Too quiet, if Suho were to be believed. It made every sigh Suho released feel louder than necessary. It made every sound echo within Sieun’s head ricochet like bullets.

Outside, the wind picked up, causing the windows to produce a gentle rattling sound. The sky, which earlier was clear and dotted with clouds, had dulled to a heavy gray that made everything inside feel dimmer, quieter. A soothing hum for Sieun's pounding head.

His nose picked up the faint scent of old books, but he slightly wished it was the scent of rain that hadn’t fallen yet instead. It might’ve remedied the worsening congestion in his breathing. He knew it wouldn't.

Truth is, Byuksan’s library wouldn’t cross Sieun’s mind. He doesn’t visit it often. Well, not anymore. Not since he found out that most of the material hidden within its shelves had digital copies available online, easily accessible from the comfort of his own desk. Affected by his skewed—or awakened—perception, the library’s silence, once a comforting stillness, started feeling too static, too empty, too dull compared to the white noise of his room or the distant hum of his cram school hallways.

Besides, his schedule hardly allowed it. Cram school took over most of his afternoons and his early evenings, and the rest of his free time was carefully rationed between studying, eating, and trying to sleep.

But today, his carefully arranged schedule didn’t account for the pounding behind his eyes. Or the scratchiness in his throat. Or how his limbs felt just heavy enough to drag. Or the man opposite of him, groaning in boredom every other minute.

So, why was Sieun here?

Short answer: he was sick.

Long answer: He felt like dying. Sieun should’ve gone to the clinic today. Or stayed at his apartment. He knew that. The low-grade fever slowly brewing into something worse, the dry sting in his throat, the way his joints felt half-swollen and heavy with every movement. He wasn’t stupid. He could read symptoms like he read his textbooks: efficiently, and with detachment.

But Suho would’ve noticed.

Suho would’ve followed.

He didn't want Suho to notice.

But he felt like dying.

So instead, he came to the library. A neutral ground. Quiet. Subdued. A place where he could spend the remaining four hours of school without having his head explode at the sound of lectures. A place where silence was expected and no one would look too closely if he sat still long enough. 

Except for Suho. 

Because, of course, he trailed Sieun, following him and insisting that whatever the library had was way better than being in their classroom. He even asked why he was skipping lunch for the library out of all places, so Sieun told him every pathetic excuse he could come up with, naturally. Sieun told him that he came here because he needed to study, that the lighting was good for reading, that he had a thing for arranging books within shelves according to the Dewey Decimal system.

He told himself the same thing.

It was all a lie, of course. 

Sieun just wanted to sit in a place that matched the storm inside his head. 

His ears rejected every song he played, a wild thrumming inside his head accompanying every note. He hadn’t processed a single page since they sat down. His notes were barely legible. His vision fuzzed slightly at the corners whenever he blinked too hard. But sitting here and pretending to be fine felt safer than being found out.

The way the library forced Suho to quiet down was quite helpful.

Or, well, he tried to be quiet, at least.

Sieun suppressed a cough, his fingers pressing into the side of his neck as if that might help steady the soreness building there. He didn’t look up, didn't look Suho in the eye. He just kept writing slowly, methodically, each stroke of his pen a fruitless distraction.

Suho, meanwhile, exhaled dramatically. Again.

Sieun kept his attention glued to his borrowed book. His eyes followed the diagrams and its corresponding texts—something about kinematics, angles, and… knots?—analyzing each word with heavy eyes and writing down a poorly summarized version in his notebook with equally hefty fingers.

“Are you almost done?” Suho whispered sharply, loud enough to make it seem like a secret and an accusation at once. It rang inside Sieun’s head. “I think I’ve memorized every crack in this ceiling.” 

Then came the sound of Suho's forehead thudding against the table, exaggerated. Sieun winced not at the sound, but at the sharp spike of pain it sent through his temples.

“I’m sorry,” Suho mumbled, clearly unapologetic as he raised his head to look at Sieun. “You just said ‘thirty more minutes’ like… an hour ago…”

“You can leave. Go back to class,” Sieun muttered, voice lower than usual. It came out rougher, thinner. He immediately regretted speaking at all.

Suho didn’t budge. “And miss the riveting thrill of you ignoring me in silence?”

Sarcasm.

“Mhm. Maybe even sleep through the lessons,” Sieun retorted back.

With that, Suho scoffed. “Look. I know you, Yeon Sieun,” he continued, eyeing Sieun like a hawk. “Something's wrong…”

A beat.

Suho then leaned back in his chair, balancing it precariously on its two hind legs. Pushing his luck, as usual.

“Sieun-ah, you sure you’re fin—”

Then: too far.

The balance slipped.

There was a startled, restrained yelp, a flail of limbs, and then a loud, graceless thud as Suho toppled backward, the chair clattering to the floor beneath him as he landed on his back.

Sieun flinched again, barely masking it as a stiff inhale. His hand went to his temple briefly, cool fingers pressing into skin that felt just a little too warm.

The librarian just gave him a sharp look, probably used to worse.

But Suho scrambled upright with a flush on his cheeks, muttering a string of hurried apologies as he righted the fallen chair and tried to recover whatever was left of his dignity.

Sieun didn’t say anything. He just stared, allowing Suho to gather himself and to take in the embarrassment of falling over in a public place. 

He looked at Sieun with a silly grin he hadn’t seen yet. It wavered between sheepish and smug. Awkward, crooked, and looking entirely too pleased for someone who just made a fool of himself. 

A stupid, lopsided grin that Sieun wished he'd see more often.

“You’re a mess,” Sieun muttered flatly, but with less bite than usual

“Mhm. Glad I made that clear,” Suho replied, like he’d been expecting that line.

Sieun stayed silent.

Suho dropped back into the chair, this time keeping all four legs planted safely on the ground. But he was still watching Sieun, eyes squinting ever so slightly like he was trying to figure out if something was off.

And, sure enough, something was.

Sieun needed water. And probably sleep. And maybe actual medicine.

But more than anything, he needed to not be perceived right now.

So, Sieun lowered his gaze once more, flipping a page in his book even though he hadn’t really finished the last one. The words were swimming a little, the letters starting to blur into one another. His head had started to pound harder since Suho fell, each pulse landing behind his eyes like a dull knock.

He heard Suho clear his throat.

“Let's get lunch,” he announced.

Sieun forced his leaden eyes to meet Suho’s determined gaze. “What?”

“You— Well, we skipped lunch to be here,” Suho replied, a little defensive. Insistent. “Aren't you hungry?”

Sieun blinked.

Well, he was hungry, technically. But his body had other plans. The thought of eating anything solid made his stomach churn uncomfortably, like it'd come right back out before he could even swallow.

Just four more hours and he'll be fine.

Still, Sieun shrugged. “I’ll eat later. Go without me.”

“…Uh-huh.” Suho narrowed his eyes at Sieun. “You'd rather eat without me?” 

Falsely accusatory.

It made Sieun freeze, still.

Sieun diverted his gaze. He could feel it. His cover was slipping. He's gonna get caught. “T–That’s not…”

Chuckling, Suho forced Sieun's notebook shut with the flat of his hand. “I know. Let's go, then.”

Sieun stared at his closed notebook, trying to find a reason to argue, the strength to push back, an edge to hold on to. But it wasn't worth it. Not when his head was hazy and his body felt like it was on flames.

So, following Suho, he tried to stand up.

Immediately, his vision blurred, the heft of his sickness finally weighing on him as he tried to plant his feet steadily on the ground. His hand shot out, reaching instinctively for the edge of the desk, but—

Suho immediately caught him by the arm, alarmed. “Okay.” He said with sharp concern. “That’s it. You’re definitely not fine.”

Sieun opened his mouth to argue, but the words caught somewhere between his throat and the pounding in his skull.

Suho didn’t wait for permission. His hand came up, pressing lightly against Sieun’s forehead.

Sieun flinched at the gentle contact. Suho’s hand was warm in a way that made Sieun realize just how feverish his own skin felt.

Suho hissed. “Yeon Sieun. You’re burning up.”

Sieun swatted his hand away, weakly. “Don’t be dramatic.”

“Oh, I'm sorry. Should I just let you pass out and die? Would that be less dramatic, Yeon Sieun?”

Sieun stayed quiet.

“…Sorry,” Suho muttered, wrapping his fingers around Sieun's wrist with a gentle yet grounding force. “It's just that—”

Silence.

“Must've been the rain from yesterday,” Suho added with a small huff, making something inside Sieun's head click. “You really should've brought an umbrella.”

Sieun dreaded yesterday. 

He assumed that the constant pulsing of his head and his doubling vision and his blistering body temperature was just because he was hungover from yesterday.

Evidently, it wasn't. Or maybe it was. Sieun doesn’t really know anything about hangovers.

Truth was, after his first bottle, everything that night was a blur to Sieun. He couldn't remember how he got back to his apartment. He had no idea how he miraculously was able to punch in the right door code, or whether he even locked the door behind him.

From the lack of teasing from Suho, he assumed he had done fine. That he hadn't done anything stupid that would permanently scar Suho’s perception of him or their friendship. That he hadn’t let slip any of the thousand thoughts he constantly kept buried, the ones better left unsaid.

He was glad Suho didn't bring yesterday up. 

Until now, of course.

“You should go home,” Suho said, tugging Sieun's arm slightly, catching his attention. “Rest up.”

Sieun didn't argue. His mind, flooded with thoughts of the day before, was busy trying to recall each and every event, looking for things to apologize for. Or to be apologized to.

So, stuck between Suho's hold and a hard place, Sieun yielded. 

“We should've just ditched the rest of the day,” Suho groaned. 

Their footsteps echoed along the empty school hallways, the walls bathed in the kind of gray light that made everything look sleepier than it was. The lack of littering students made the halls emptier, seemingly making their trip to the clinic a little too long for Sieun's sick state.

“…Don't be stupid,” Sieun muttered, voice low and barely steady. He kept his eyes fixed ahead, jaw tight, mind set on willing his best to keep his stride even. Every few steps, he'd tilt ever so slightly, but he corrected himself as discreetly as he could. He kept his focus down to his feet, making sure it landed on the flat ground evenly.

Left.

Right.

Left.

Right.

He insisted that he could walk just fine, that he didn't need Suho's help.

He was starting to regret it with every step.

“I mean, we were practically doing just that in the library anyway.”

“Maybe you were,” Sieun replied. “I was… learning.” He wasn't, not with his pulsing head.

“Yeah?” Suho huffed. “Then what was the title of the book you borrowed?”

Sieun didn't answer. He couldn't. Not only because he actually didn't remember, but also due to the pulse that started behind his eyes again, low and thudding. It made everything feel a second too slow. It made Suho's voice sound a bit too far.

Suho must've noticed, because Sieun felt his hand brushing against his arm. Not grabbing. Yet. Just hovering.

“Hey,” Suho called, quieter now. Softer. “You’re wobbly. You good?”

“I'm fine.”

“That's your favorite lie.”

Sieun didn’t argue. He focused on counting the steps between them and the clinic door. 

Twenty. 

Fifteen. 

Ten.

“Seriously,” Suho said, nudging his elbow gently. “You okay to keep going?”

Sieun nodded once.

The clinic was just ahead. The warm, antiseptic scent wafted faintly into the hallway, mixing with the coolness that seeped in from under the windows. A scent reached Sieun’s nose. A smell familiar in a way that made his stomach twist.

Just a few more steps.

Then Suho added, a little too casually, “You know, if you faint here, I’m not catching you again. That was a one-time deal.”

“Catch? I wouldn’t call it that.” Sieun bit back the urge to chuckle. “You just grabbed my wrist then reprimanded me.” He joked, in spite of his current state.

“You didn't even say thank you,” Suho shot back. “Typical.”

“I'm sick, not helpless,” Sieun said, glancing at Suho before huffing. “Besides, you act like I'm not practically weightless for you.”

“Right,” Suho said dryly. “Like a malnourished kitten. I should feed you more,” he nudged Sieun's shoulder, just light enough to not hurt the other. “Like yesterday, yeah?”

Sieun narrowed his eyes. “You really wanna test how sick I am?”

Suho blinked. “…You’re surprisingly snarky for someone dying.”

With that, Sieun gave a soft snort, though he quickly regretted it when his head pulsed again.

Without another word, they reached the clinic door. Suho peeked through the small glass pane, knocked twice, then opened it without waiting—the familiar scent escaping and trespassing Sieun’s nose like the tailpipe fumes of rush hour traffic. Disinfectant, plastic, something vaguely lemon-y that tried to mask the sterile bite of rubbing alcohol.

It made his head throb a little harder. 

From her desk, the school nurse barely looked up from her paperwork, a small frown already forming in her pursed lips. “What is it this time?”

“Good afternoon to you, too, Mrs. Yang.” Suho greeted with a small smile, then he gestured to Sieun with both hands like he was presenting a museum exhibit. “Mr. Yeon Sieun’s dying. I’m Ahn Suho.”

The nurse gave them a once-over, eyes immediately landing on Sieun. 

“You look pale.” She said flatly. “Fever?”

“Probably.” Suho answered for him. “He tried hiding it all morning. He even skipped lunch.”

Sieun said nothing, only shifted his weight to his other foot and looked anywhere but at the nurse. Or at Suho.

Mrs. Yang sighed, already scribbling onto the clinic log. “Alright. Pick an empty bed. I’ll get a thermometer.”

Sieun remained quiet.

Suho planted a firm hand against the small of Sieun’s back, steady and warm, guiding him gently towards a clinic bed. Sieun didn't find the heart to shake him off.

“I can handle it from here,” he muttered, already sinking down onto the mattress. He tried to suppress the slight tremble in his hands by folding them in his lap. Above them, the overhead lights buzzed faintly, casting a pale hue across the room.

“Sure you can,” Suho said, still standing near.

There was a pause, filled only by the nurse's soft shuffle behind the partition.

A quiet pause stretched between them, filled only by the soft shuffle of the nurse returning from behind the partition.

Just as she came into view, Suho spoke up, casually but clearly. “We’ll need dismissal forms.”

Sieun turned to him with a raised brow. “We?”

Mrs. Yang blinked at them, then repeated, “We?”

Suho shrugged, utterly unbothered. “He’s clearly not going home alone. And I’m not letting him pass out on the sidewalk, so. Yeah. We.”

The nurse gave Suho a flat look, then turned to Sieun like she was waiting for him to protest.

Sieun didn’t. He just sighed, head tipping slightly toward his shoulder. “Yeah. Sure. We.” He echoed Suho’s words before muttering an ‘Ahn Suho, you're dead’ under his breath.

Suho just grinned, because, of course, he heard that.

The nurse just sighed and handed Sieun a digital thermometer. “Under your tongue. Don’t talk.”

Orally . Sieun wished the nurse asked him to take it axillary, on his underarms, but he wasn’t in the right state to complain. So, he took it wordlessly, slipping the device into his mouth, tucking it under his tongue with all the energy of someone being mildly punished. His fingers were cold against the plastic, his eyes fixed on a scratch on the wall across the room. Suho leaned against a nearby wall, spinning one of the ballpoint pens the nurse had left behind.

A soft beep sounded. Sieun pulled the thermometer out of his mouth with a slight grimace and handed it back.

Mrs. Yang squinted at the device. “Thirty-nine point three.” 

Sieun was… partially right. His low-grade fever did get worse. Much worse than he expected, actually. His skin felt tight and overheated, like his body had been simmering under a closed lid all morning and someone had finally peeked inside to let the steam out. His head throbbed behind the eyes. An ache that pulsed with every sound, every flicker of light. Even blinking felt like work.

He swallowed, slow and dry. His throat stung. 

He had tried to ignore it for hours, but the burn had started to reach his ears, dull and radiating, and he couldn’t help but to finally succumb and acknowledge it.

And he was cold. Ridiculously cold, despite the heat curling beneath his skin. He tucked his hands under his arms, chasing warmth he couldn’t seem to find. The bed under him felt too thin, the room too bright, every sound too loud.

“You should’ve gone here earlier,” Mrs. Yang muttered, more to herself as she finished writing in her clipboard. “Or stayed at home.” Then, she walked away once more, out of their sight, presumably to get something.

Sieun didn’t say anything. He just stared ahead, bleary-eyed.

He didn’t want to look at Suho. He could already feel the weight of the other boy’s stare beside him.

Sieun was a sickly child. His parents never said anything, but he knew they were exhausted. He could see it in the way his mother’s shoulders tensed each time she reached for another thermometer, in the quiet sighs his father let out when plans had to be canceled last-minute because of a fever or a rash or something inexplicably wrong again. It wasn’t their fault to be tired, and he never blamed them. 

But still, he knew. He ought to, when almost everything he was exposed to, from dust to pollen to a sudden decrease in temperature, elicited a reaction from his pathetic immune system.

So, Sieun did what he could. 

He made himself smaller, quieter, easier to manage. He took vitamins and supplements religiously. He read labels, tracked symptoms, took note of what made him worse and what kept him stable. He avoided cold drinks. He avoided getting too excited. He tried not to be a burden. 

And when that didn’t feel enough, when his weakness still crept in his skin like static, he turned to what he could control. He studied. Hard. Obsessively. Because if he couldn’t control his health, then he at least could control his mind .

It was a routine. Just one of the many rhythms he dedicated his life to following.

Eventually, his body got stronger. The illnesses came less often, and when they did, they didn’t knock him down for as long. He became, at least on paper, dependable. Predictable. Normal.

It vaguely helped that his parents had started drifting away from each other. Their focus slowly turned outward. On work, on other things, on nothing at all. Arguments grew quieter, less frequent, more permanent. The silences between them stretched longer. And in that space, Sieun was left mostly alone.

He could put his efforts to test better that way.

There was no one hovering, no one checking his temperature or pressing the back of their hand to his forehead. No one would notice if he skipped a meal or stayed up too late reviewing. No one asked if he was okay. If he was doing well.

Somewhere along the way, he convinced himself that he was past that version of himself. Fragile. Unhealthy. A burden.  

So when days like this happened, when his head throbbed and his body betrayed him and he needed help to stand upright, it felt like slipping back into something he thought he’d outgrown.

Letting someone else see him like this was harder than being sick.

Sieun hated it.

He hated how exposed it made him feel. Vulnerable, even in a room this small, even in front of Suho. Especially in front of Suho.

He hated being seen like this. He hated being unable to do something, anything productive. He hated—

“Don’t think about it too hard,” Suho said suddenly, like he’d overheard Sieun’s thoughts. “You’re allowed to get sick, y’know.”

Sieun didn’t answer. His gaze dropped to his lap, to the way his fingers curled into tight fists without him noticing.

He knew that. He knew that being sick was okay. It was normal. It was expected. But being allowed didn’t mean it felt okay. It didn’t stop the twisting in his guts. It didn’t make it feel like he wasn’t weak. It didn’t make him not feel like a lesser version of himself, of the version that he had outgrown.

“Don’t worry, Sieun-ah…” Sieun felt movement, then the tentative weight of Suho’s hand reaching out, brushing his hair in small, awkward pats. Not teasing. Just… there. It was awkward. It was warm. It was familiar.

Then, Suho ruffled his hair unceremoniously, slim fingers disheveling soft strands of long hair in all directions.

Sieun froze. 

It wasn’t a grand gesture. It wasn’t even particularly graceful. But it made something tighten in his throat.

“I’m here,” Suho said. Like it was the simplest thing in the world. 

Then, his hand dropped down, cutting the contact between them abruptly. “Always.”

And somehow, effortlessly, Suho’s words loosened something heavy inside Sieun’s chest.

The room was still too warm. The fluorescent lights above still buzzed faintly like a bad note that wouldn’t resolve. The pounding behind Sieun’s eyes continued.

But Suho’s presence dulled the sharpness of it all. Even if just a little.

Sieun didn’t say thank you. Couldn’t, really. He was speechless. But he didn’t pull away, either. 

He hoped the way he looked straight into Suho’s eyes was enough to replace the words he was unable to mutter out. That Suho could read the gratitude stuck inside his throat and couldn't say aloud. 

Sieun knew he could.

Slowly, the noise inside Sieun’s mind subdued, replaced by the rhythmic thumping of his heart. It was loud, fast, cadenced like a metronome lodged in his chest ticking away clocklike. He couldn’t force himself to stop it. Not when he knew it wasn’t from his fever. Not when he knew he liked it.

“Come here, Mr. Yeon,” Mrs. Yang called out from her desk, breaking the comfortable silence between the two. “Get your dismissal slip then go.”

With one last look towards Suho, Sieun pursed his lips and braced himself to stand up. His legs wobbled, but he managed to keep his balance. Suho was already on his feet, close enough to catch him if he faltered again. He didn’t reach out, but he stayed close. 

Sieun didn’t ask for help.

Instead, he trodded to the nurse’s desk with Suho staying close behind. He took the slip she offered, and mumbled a quiet thank you. 

“Ah, Mrs. Yang…” Suho interjected as the nurse was turning her attention back to her paperwork. “What about me?”

“What about you?,” Mrs. Yang looked up at him, unfazed.

“My slip…” Suho reminded her, gesturing vaguely to the stack of unmarked slips on her desk. “I’d be marked as absent if I don't have one, Mrs. Yang.” Suho kept his tone even, but Sieun somehow knew he was close to pleading.

The nurse narrowed her eyes at Suho. “Mr. Yeon’s the one who's sick, right? Then, why—”

“Please give him one,” Sieun suddenly said.

His voice was soft, weak. A little hoarse. But steady. Certain

Mrs. Yang turned to look at him.

“I don't think I can go alone. I…” Sieun hesitated, swallowing the lump that formed in his throat. “I need him.”

As soon as those three words left his mouth, Sieun felt it echo in the space around him, regret and embarrassment starting to cloud his already hazy mind.

His words hung in the air, plain and soft yet so vulnerable that it momentarily silenced the whole clinic.

Sieun could feel a wave of heat crawling from his neck and rising to his cheeks, layering above the warmth caused already by his worsening fever. He hadn't meant to say it like that. It wasn't supposed to come out too honest, too… needy.

Both Mrs. Yang and Suho were staring at him with blank faces. 

Sieun swore he could see the stupid, crooked grin forming within Suho’s lips.

Thankfully, Mrs. Yang didn't press further. She studied Sieun for a long moment, blinked, then exhaled a sigh of surrender. 

“...Alright.”

After filling out another slip and handing it to Suho, the corner of her lips turned upwards. Barely noticeable, but it was there. “I suggest visiting a pharmacy and getting meds,” she said. “Take care of him well.” 

“I will,” Suho assured her and, by extension, Sieun's reeling mind.

The nurse, now halfway back to her paperwork, just waved them off without looking up.

As Sieun stepped outside the clinic, he couldn’t bear to look Suho in the eye. His eyes stayed forward. His gaze fixed on the empty hallway ahead, on the way the gray light from the windows dulled everything into soft edges, on the way the clouds outside hung low like they might finally let go and rain.

He focused on that. On the muted world beyond the glass. On anything that wasn’t Suho.

He gave himself three steps before Suho would start teasing him. He was sure of it.

One.

Two.

Thr—

“Hey,” Suho called out behind him.

Sieun stopped mid-step.

Of course. Just right on time.

He didn’t turn around, but he could already hear the grin in Suho’s inflection. Too bright for Sieun to look at. Too dangerous for his pounding heart.

“Can’t believe you confessed like that,” Suho teased, catching up to him with two easy strides. “The sick kitten needs me, hmm?”

“ Confessed?” Sieun groaned under his breath before finally risking a glance. “...Don’t make it weird.”

“I’m not! I’m flattered. Honored, even.” 

“Ahn Suho.”

Suho only laughed. Boisterous. Unrestrained. Sieun expected it to recoil painfully inside his already hurting head, yet it somehow made the air between them felt lighter, in that strange way only Suho could make it feel. Carefree, like the weight of Sieun’s words didn’t scare him. Bright, in a way that cut through the thick grays of the sky outside.

It made Sieun’s heart ache.

Without a word, he resumed walking, pushing forward as fast as his throbbing head would allow. His steps were a little too quick, a little too uneven. But he couldn’t bear to stand still any longer, not with Suho looking at him like that. Not when he already felt like his insides were unraveling.

Behind him, he heard Suho fall into step without hesitation. No teasing this time. Just footsteps trailing steadily behind him.

They walked in silence for a while, through the dim halls and toward the school gates. The world outside looked colder now, with the wind picking up, sky pressed low, as if waiting for something to eventually break.

“Sieun-ah,” Suho called out again, this time gentler. “Wait up.”

Sieun didn’t stop, but his pace slowed just enough to let Suho catch up properly.

“Didn’t mean to make fun of you,” Suho added. “You just surprised me.”

Sieun kept his eyes forward. “I know.”

“You never say stuff like that.”

“I know.”

“Only when you’re drunk.”

“I kno— What?”

A pause. 

Then—

“I’m glad you did.”

That made Sieun glance at him, just briefly. Suho’s smile wasn’t loud this time. It was quieter, tilted, more real. The kind that didn’t ask for anything in return. It made Sieun forget about the ‘drunk’ remark.

“Shut up,” Sieun muttered, ears warm.

Suho chuckled, hands in his pockets as they stepped out into the chill. 

“Yeah, yeah,” he said. “But you meant it, right?”

“I will tear your slip to shreds, Ahn Suho.”

Suho only grinned, entirely unfazed. “Worth it.”

“I’m serious.”

“I know you are. That’s what makes this fun.”

Sieun shot him a flat look, judging. “You’re impossible.”

“And you’re sick,” Suho pointed out cheerfully. “So, technically, I win.”

“That’s not how—”

“It is when you’re basically dying.”

Sieun scoffed, but his lips twitched, trying to hold back a small smile. “I’m not too weak to stab you, Suho.”

Suho gasped, exaggerated. “Violence? In your condition?”

“Don’t test me,” Sieun hissed.

Suho just laughed again, soft and breathy and annoying .

“Okay, okay. I’ll behave.”

A beat passed.

“For now.”

Sieun sighed deeply. “God, I hate you.”

“Lie better, Yeon Sieun.”

The motorcycle ride to Sieun’s was quiet.

Sieun was in his usual spot, pressed behind Suho on the bike, arms resting around the other’s waist. His forehead burned under the helmet, the sweat clinging stubbornly to his skin. The wind was ice-cold, sharp and relentless as it cut through the windbreaker Suho lent, through the fabric of his hoodie, through the length of his sleeves, through the brittleness of his bones. Every gust seemed to fan the flames inside his already scorching body.

Suho had suggested they take the bus instead, saying that the wind would only make things worse, that the cold could stir up whatever fever had already taken root in Sieun’s chest. But Sieun had shaken his head, voice thin but firm. He said he’d be fine, that the motorcycle would be faster, that they could beat the impending rain.

Suho hadn’t looked convinced, but he relented. Of course he did.

Sieun silently wished he hadn’t.

The vehicle’s rumble felt too loud, like it was inside Sieun’s head, like it was vibrating inside his skull. Every bump in the road jolts through his spine, each swerve making his stomach lurch. He was both shivering and sweating, the worst kind of sick. His skin felt too tight, too damp, too humid, and the wind that rushed past stung against it like needles.

The road ahead blurred, not just from the speed, but from his own wavering vision. Everything kept shifting, tilting, then snapping back into focus just long enough to blur again. It was disorienting. Exhausting. 

His fingers curled tightly into the extra length of Suho’s windbreaker sleeves, gripping them like they were the only thing keeping him grounded. 

That, and the warmth in front of him.

Suho, who cared for him.

Who leaned forward a little more to shield Sieun from the worst of the wind. Who kept one hand on the handlebar, the other briefly reaching back once or twice just to make sure Sieun was still holding on.

Suho, who probably knew Sieun was getting worse but said nothing about it, just rode a little steadier, a little softer.

And somehow, that made Sieun’s chest ache more than the fever did.

Sieun wrapped his arms fully around the width of Suho’s waist, fingers slipping past the hem of the windbreaker sleeves and intertwining above the flat plane of Suho’s abdomen. He clung closer, the distance between them vanishing beneath layers of fabric and breath and heat.

He hadn’t meant to hold on tight, but now that he felt Suho's heat, he was sure he wasn’t going to let go.

The fever swirled beneath his skin thick and slow, and every gust of wind that sliced through the air felt colder than the last. But Suho radiated warmth, and Sieun clung to it like instinct, like a moth to a flame, like the only thing anchoring him in the dizzying blur of motion and noise and nausea was the steady rhythm of Suho’s breathing.

He let his forehead rest against the broadness of Suho’s back for just a moment, helmet-to-back, eyes fluttering closed as he exhaled.

He didn’t care if Suho noticed.

The closeness, the shared space, and the borrowed warmth was the only part of the ride that didn’t make him feel like he was falling apart.

By the time they neared his apartment, Suho pulled over near a small pharmacy tucked between a takeout place and a closed bakery.

“I’ll be quick,” Suho said as he hopped off, not giving Sieun a chance to argue. He shivered, letting out a low grumble as the contact with Subo disappeared.

“Just sit still.” A gentle tap against the surface of Sieun’s helmet, then he was jogging inside alone, leaving Sieun sitting on the backseat with the help of the kickstand.

Sieun didn’t move. The helmet was too humid. The air too cold. The balance between both kept him still, fog clinging to the visor with every shallow breath as he stared wide-eyed into the road ahead, waiting for Suho to come back, waiting to take in his presence once more. He didn’t move. He didn't mutter a word to himself.

A few minutes later, Suho returned with a plastic bag in both hands. “Paracetamol, Ibuprofen and—” he shook the bag dramatically “—cough syrup. Even though you swear you’re not coughing.”

He held the bag to Sieun, who only blinked at it, mind too sluggish to react. He wasn't used to it. To Suho being too attentive, too thoughtful. Like it was second nature.

“Also some seolleongtang. For us,” Suho said with an earnest smile. 

The mere mention of food made Sieun's face twist slightly in discomfort, both his brain and stomach warning him.

Suho immediately caught his expression. “Mostly for me,” he reassured Sieun. “I’ve been craving it since yesterday.”

Sieun, once again, just blinked, still not used to Suho being uncharacteristically caring. He still didn’t know what to do with this version of Suho. A Suho who noticed too much, who showed up with medicine and good soup and a welcoming warmth and no expectation in return.

“You’re welcome, my feverish kitten,” Suho added playfully, grinning before climbing back onto the bike.

Sieun wanted to say thank you, but the thought was immediately lost the second Suho returned in front of him, the heat causing Sieun to, without hesitation, latch close to its comfort.

They were back on the road within seconds, the final stretch short but somehow heavier. 

The clouds hung lower now, full and waiting.

Sieun’s grip around Suho tightened without thinking. Just slightly, barely noticeable, but firm. His forehead, still burning under the helmet, found the space between Suho’s shoulder blades again. He let himself lean in, less out of choice now and more out of unannounced need. Every jolt of the road made him hold on a little closer.

Suho didn’t say anything, but Sieun felt it. He felt the way Suho's posture shifted slightly, as if adjusting himself to let Sieun rest more easily against him. He noticed how the bike moved slower now, steadier, like Suho was mindful of every curve in the road. Like he knew Sieun needed something gentler. Something that wouldn’t rattle him loose.

Suho eased the bike to a slow stop along the curb once they arrived, killing the engine with ease. The sudden silence rang in Sieun’s ears, leaving only the soft distant hum of the city and the sound of their own breathing. The sky had sunk even lower, gray and swollen with unshed rain, like it was moments away from letting go.

The air smelled faintly of petrichor.

Sieun took in air deeply, letting the comforting scent permeate his head, then exhaled, slow and tired.

“You good?” Suho asked, glancing back over his shoulder.

Sieun gave a small nod, his arms still looped around Suho, still chasing the warmth.

“You sure?”

Another pause. Suho didn’t rush him. He just sat there. Still. Patient.

Then, Sieun finally peeled his limbs away, slow and reluctant. He slid off the bike awkwardly, nearly stumbling and falling over as the world tilted again beneath his feet.

Suho caught his arm without a word, steadying him. “You sure you’re okay?,” he asked for the third time.

“Mmm,” he hummed. “Just cold. Very cold,” he continued, eyes on the pavement.

Suho then hopped off, pulling off his helmet and shaking his head to muss out his flattened hair. “Let’s get you inside, then.” With both hands, he peeled the helmet off Sieun’s head, unhesitatingly ruffling his hair once exposed. “Before it rains.”

Sieun, with the pharmacy bag held tightly in his hand, nodded faintly and turned toward the building. Suho followed after him, footsteps light and unbothered, like it was something he was already used to doing.

The walk to his apartment felt longer than usual. Sieun’s legs moved on autopilot, each step deliberate but a little off, muted by the stale air, by the sickness that coiled inside him. Beside him, Suho walked close. Quiet, but close enough that their shoulders brushed with each step.

Sieun stopped once in front of his block, blinking up at the door panel. His vision was swimming. The numbers looked farther away than they were. They were blurry at the edges, like they might shift if he looked too hard.

He lifted a heavy hand, hesitating for a second before punching in the digits. The soft beep-beep-beep of the keypad echoed louder than usual in the quiet hallway.

He got it on the first try, somehow. 

The lock clicked open with a familiar whirr and a light tune. He let out a breath he didn’t realize he’d been holding.

Suho, standing beside him, gave him a pat in the back. “Still got your motor skills, hmm? Impressive.”

“Barely,” Sieun muttered, not bothering to glance back.

He pushed the door open, but hesitated before he could step inside.

A beat.

“What’s wrong?”

Sieun didn’t answer.

“Y’know, I don’t care if your apartment’s messy,” Suho reassured him hurriedly. “I’m sure my place is messi—”

“0529.”

“…H–huh?”

“0529. The door code,” Sieun explained. “For… whenever.” It came out soft, muffled by the fever maybe. Or by something else. Sieun wasn't sure anymore.

Then, without waiting for a reply, he stepped in, letting the apartment swallow him in warmth and shadow. The curtains were still drawn from earlier, casting the room in the dim, hazy light of the world outside. It smelled faintly of his fabric softener, lived-in but quiet, like the place could finally exhale at his return..

Suho stood in the doorway for a moment longer than necessary, stunned into silence. But eventually, he followed, gently closing the door behind him. The click of the lock felt too loud in the hush of the space. He slipped off his shoes and padded inside like it wasn't the first time he was invited into someone else's place, like he belonged there. Because maybe, in some unspoken way Sieun didn't want to share, he did.

The dying Yeon Sieun made a beeline for the living room couch, collapsing onto one end the moment it came into view. The cushions gave a low groan beneath his weight. Without a word, he curled up, bringing his knees up to his chest and pulling Suho's windbreaker tighter around himself, like a blanket he had no plans of returning. 

He kept his gaze on Suho who stared back in disbelief.

Suho raised an eyebrow, scoffing lightly. “Wow. Is this how you treat your guests, Sieun-ah?” he joked, placing the takeout bag on a nearby table with exaggerated care.

“Mmm. I never have guests,” Sieun said bluntly, figuring that arguing would take too much effort on his part. He watched as Suho's features blanked, then softened, then devilish, the inevitable grin pulling on his lips. Mischief incarnate, all in under three seconds.

Now with that stupid grin on his face, Suho plopped down on the other end of the couch. “So… does that mean I'm special?,” he teased.

“Sure. You are,” Sieun replied sarcastically.

Suho, not failing to catch the tone of Sieun's voice, huffed. “Oh, c'mon, Sieunnie. You're treating me like… like mold!”

Sieun closed his eyes, letting out a faint exhale. “You're not mold,” he muttered.

“Oh? Then what am I?”

Letting his eyelids flutter open, Sieun gave Suho a long, judging look. “Annoying.”

Suho clutched his chest like he was shot, face scrunching like he was actually hurt. “That’s… honestly fair. But rude.”

When Sieun didn't answer, Suho leaned back, stretching his arms out along the top of the couch, brushing close to Sieun’s shoulder. “Still,” Suho added after a pause, a little softer this time, “I’m glad you let me in this time. You left me alone last night.

Last night.

Sieun stared at him, unreadable for a moment. Then, without answering, he pulled the windbreaker closer to his chin, face half-hidden, as if retreating from the words instead of the cold.

“Don’t get dramatic,” he murmured, muffled by Suho's windbreaker.

Suho smiled. “Too late.”

“I can still kick you out.”

“You wouldn't.”

“…Yeah.”

“I'll be cold outsi— Wait, what?”

Then, silence.

“Si—”

“I'll go get changed.” Sieun muttered abruptly,  already rising to his feet. His legs were supported by some unknown force, allowing him to book it to his room without any trouble.

“Yah, Yeon Sieun!”

No reply. Just the soft click of Sieun's door locking behind him.

Behind the closed door of his room, Sieun exhaled slowly, his eyes darting along the walls of his lit room as he tried to ground himself. His forehead was hot, his breathing shallow, his mind loud. Too loud. He leaned against the door for a second longer than necessary, his eyes shut as he tried to stabilize himself.

He needed to do something, anything to distract himself. 

So, he hurriedly peeled his clothes off with clumsy fingers—Suho’s windbreaker, his gray hoodie, his school uniform, and then the thin undershirt beneath. The cold afternoon air engulfed his feverish skin all at once, making him shiver despite the heat burning inside him. Working quickly, he folded the discarded clothing and stacked them atop one another, neatly placing it on his unfortunately unmade bed.

Without a second thought, he rummaged through his closet, pulling out the loosest black tee he could find along with a pair of gray sweatpants. He slipped them on quickly, the fabric soft and familiar against his overheated skin. Just comfortable enough to breathe in, but still enough to make him feel covered.

As he was about to leave, convinced that he had his shit together, something blue nestled between his scattered blankets and pillows caught his attention. 

Suho's hoodie.

Two pieces of clothing owned by Suho sat on his bed. A blue hoodie splayed unceremoniously on his bed and the windbreaker folded neatly amongst his other clothes. Both of them carried Suho’s warmth, his scent, his presence in a way that felt way too loud for someone who wasn’t even in the room.

Sieun stared for a moment too long.

Then, without thinking too hard about it, he crossed the room, grabbed the windbreaker, and quickly put it on, letting its size wrap him fully. Turning his attention to the hoodie, he reached out and grabbed it by the hem.

Then, Sieun turned the doorknob and left his room, Suho's blue hoodie on his hands, Suho's windbreaker draped over him like he hadn’t even considered taking it off.

Sieun emerged quietly, the light from his room casting his shadow on the unlit hallway. His gaze immediately landed on Suho, who seemingly never left his position on the couch as he waited for Sieun to finish. Patient, in the infuriating way only Suho could be.

Suho's eyes locked onto him the moment he stepped out. 

“…You're never giving that back, huh?” Suho remarked, his eyes visibly tracing the way his windbreaker swallowed Sieun's torso—the hem slipping past his hips, the sleeves bunching around his hands, hanging low.

Sieun didn't answer. Instead, throwing Suho's blue hoodie at him, aiming with deliberate disinterest. “Change,” he muttered, ignoring the way Suho didn't even try to hide his unnecessarily explorative gaze, how it made something within his stomach churn and twist like it had a fever of its own.

The hoodie hit Suho square in the chest. He let out an exaggerated groan like he’d just been struck by a brick. “Wh— Hey! Did you even wash this?”

Sieun didn’t. He looked away.

“…Nope,” he said, deadpan. “Hope you like the smell of soju.” 

Suho bundled the hoodie up between his hands then brought it up to his face, pressing it dramatically into his nose and inhaled. Deeply. “Mmm… Oh?” He grinned, looking at Sieun. “Smells like you, Sieunnie.”

“Just… go change already,” Sieun replied, his ears tinged a little red from the stupid comment. He rubbed at his temple, moving toward the dining table with more care this time. His steps were slower, like the adrenaline that forced him into the room had worn off.

“Yes, sir,” Suho simply said before heading towards Sieun's room, the soft thuds of his footsteps disappearing into Sieun's room.

Once he heard the click of his room door closing, Sieun rummaged through the takeout plastic bag and found two servings of seolleongtang, plastic lids still fogged from the broth’s residual heat. He took them out one by one, careful not to tilt them, and set them down on the table with quiet precision.

Sieun exhaled, realizing that he'd have to prepare the table himself while Suho changed. His sick head complained, but he shook it off, already determined for him and Suho to have a good meal.

So, he strained his throbbing head and summoned his mental checklist.

From the cupboards: two pairs of metal chopsticks, two wooden spoons, and two glasses, all efficiently retrieved in one trip. He placed the utensils neatly on top of the container lids, and positioned the glasses just beside them, not too close to the table's edge to risk spilling.

Next: a chopping board and a knife, both untouched until now. He placed them on the counter with intent.

From the counter: salt and pepper. He placed them on the center of the table, equidistant between the two seats, easily reached by either of them.

From the refrigerator: leftover kimchi and a bundle of green onions. The kimchi went straight to the table, still cold in its plastic container. The green onions, however, were subjected to be trimmed with methodical precision. Left hand to stabilize, right hand to chop. Clean, even slices. Not too thin or coarse. The familiar rhythm of the blade against the board gave his headache something to sync with, like metronome ticks counting him through the motions.

He gathered the now chopped green onions into a small saucer and placed it beside the kimchi, adjusting its angle slightly. The table was beginning to look more lived-in now, less like forgotten furniture and more like something that was used daily.

It was enough. Not perfect, but enough.

Sieun paused then, standing still for the first time since he’d left his room. His fingers rested on the back of the chair, grip loose but lingering. A soft pulsing behind his eyes reminded him that his body was still very much sick, no matter how much he pretended not to be.

But it felt easier to pretend when his hands had something to do.

When everything on the table had its place, when the metal and ceramic and glass created clean lines to follow, his mind quieted. Just a little.

The door behind him creaked open, followed by the familiar rhythm of Suho’s footsteps returning. They were slower now, less exaggerated, like he was trying not to disturb whatever atmosphere he’d just walked into.

Sieun didn’t turn around right away. He didn’t need to.

“Wow,” came Suho’s voice, low and impressed in that way that meant he’d probably follow it with something stupid. “If I knew being sick turned you into a housewife, I would’ve gotten you infected sooner.”

Sieun didn't turn. “You're disgusting.”

“Did I make you wait too long, Sieun-ah?” Suho said, ignoring the insult entirely as he crossed the small apartment toward the table. “Is that why you're so grumpy?”

“Mmm,” Sieun simply hummed, neither confirming nor denying.

“Sorry. Had to admire your closet full of monochromatic shirts,” Suho said with a grin. “Quite the collection of plain black tees you have.”

“Mmm.”

Then, Suho gasped. Exaggerated. “Oh, my Yeon Sieun, how could I repay your kindness?” He said as his eyes scanned the table more closely, admiring the symmetry within the simplicity of Sieun's meticulous preparation.

Sieun finally spared him a glance.

Suho had changed into his hoodie, the clothing fitting him perfectly compared to when it was on Sieun. It was almost the same color outside, except it had vibrance to it, a flash of bright color amidst the gray skies. He also had one of Sieun's older sweatpants, just loose enough to fit Suho's figure.

“By shutting up and sitting down,” Sieun finally answered, pulling out a chair before slumping into his own.

Suho laughed under his breath and did exactly that, his eyes briefly looking at Sieun before returning it to the table. He didn’t comment on the arrangement. Not directly. But there was something soft in his gaze as he reached for his chopsticks.

“But seriously.” Suho opened the container, letting out a wave of fragrant steam that immediately filled the room with the milky, marrow-rich scent of seolleongtang. “You should’ve let me prepare this for us.”

Sieun didn’t answer, mirroring Suho’s actions as he peeled the lid from his own container. The broth shimmered beneath the fogged plastic, and he sat still for a moment with eyes half-lidded, letting the rising warmth kiss his cheeks, softening the ache in his sinuses.

“I mean–” Suho continued, stirring his soup gently after he added cold kimchi soup, coaxing the beef and thin noodles up from where they had settled at the bottom. “You’ve got a high fever, Yeon Sieun. You really shouldn’t be moving around like that.”

Sieun, still matching each motion, finally cleared his throat. It came out scratchy. “You’ve done enough for me, Suho,” he muttered, eyes fixed on Suho’s bowl, watching the broth swirl. “I just… wanted to do something.” For you , he didn’t add. But the weight of it was there, hanging in the air between them.

Suho’s spoon paused mid-stir. The sound of the metal against plastic stilled, and Sieun glanced up only to find Suho already watching him.

His gaze wasn’t teasing now. It was gentle, almost too quiet. Like he was trying to read past what Sieun said and listen to what he didn’t.

A beat passed.

Then Suho scoffed, grin curling at the edge of his lips. “Wah, Sieunnie…” He shook his head. “You’re making me feel like a bad husband.”

Sieun let out a sigh, somewhere between annoyance and something closer to laughter. He looked away. “Let’s just eat.”

Suho raised his spoon in mock toast. “Yes, dear.”

Sieun threw him a glare, but didn’t argue further. He scooped a bit of broth and blew on it slowly before taking a sip. He expected his body to reject it immediately, but the creamy, mild unsalted taste of the soup traversed his throat smoothly.

It burned going down. But in a good way.

Comforting. Like something you didn’t know you needed until it was already settling warm in your chest.

He mentally took note of seolleongtang as the best, heaven-sent food for curing fevers.

For a while, neither of them said anything.

There was only the thunk of metal spoons and chopsticks against plastic, the occasional quiet slurp, the rattling of shakers, and the muffled sound of rain finally starting to fall against the windows.

“…Why am I the wife?,” Sieun asked out of nowhere, voice muttered by his mouth still filled with half-chewed meat.

Suho paused mid-slurp, chopsticks halfway to his lips. He blinked at Sieun like he was trying to process whether he’d heard right. Then, slowly, he set his utensils down with a faint clank .

Sieun just looked at him as he kept chewing.

Suho’s head tilted ever so slightly to the side, brow furrowing, like the question had genuinely thrown him off balance. “You—” he started, but faltered. His gaze sharpened. “H–huh?”

Suho's confusion caused Sieun to slow his chewing.

“I mean,” he muttered, then swallowing, “if you're gonna joke about being my husband, shouldn’t I get a say in the arrangement?”

A beat.

Suho gawked at him, mouth agape like he was witnessing a miracle. “Are you drunk?” he asked, voice rising half a pitch, incredulous.

Sieun blinked. “I’m just saying. What gave you the idea that I'm fit to be the wife in our hypothetical relationship. Is it because I—”

“Oh my god,” Suho groaned, interrupting Sieun's rambling as he ran both hands over his face. “You’ve been thinking about this?”

“I wasn't,” Sieun snapped, pink slowly creeping against the surface of his cheeks. “You were the one who brought up husbands first.”

Suho leaned across the table, eyes narrowing. “You mean to tell me you’ve been quietly stewing over this domestic roleplay in that fever-cooked little head of yours?”

Sieun glared, but the heat in his face betrayed him. “You’re unbelievable.”

“And you ,” Suho grinned, triumphant, “are definitely the wife.”

“I’ll throw this spoon at you.”

“I’d deserve it,” Suho said with a shrug, but his grin softened. “But for the record, if we were married, I’d definitely cook for you all the time.”

Sieun looked at him for a beat too long.

Then, softly, barely audible over the quiet hum of the apartment, he muttered, “…Just shut up and eat.”

“Ah, y'know what would complete your look now?”

“Please don't say anything.”

“A cute apron for my cute wife.”

“...You're making it weird again.”

“Am I not allowed to gush over my cute wife?”

“I'm not your wife.”

“Okay— Well, can't I gush over my cute best friend?”

“…Not in front of the food, Ahn Suho.”

Suho didn’t reply. He just smiled again. Genuine. Eyes crinkling. Then he picked up his chopsticks and obeyed, diving back into his bowl like nothing had happened.

But the air between them had shifted. Just slightly.

The rain outside picked up.

And inside, under the dim apartment lights and over half-finished soup, something unspoken settled quietly in the space between them.

“Yeon Sieun,” Suho called out, his back turned as he stood at the sink, blue sleeves rolled to his elbows, washing the few dishes they’d used under the steady rush of running water. “Your meds,” he reminded, not looking up.

Sieun, halfway through escaping back into the comfort of his room, froze mid-step. Caught.

He let out a quiet sigh and doubled back, grabbing the crinkled pharmacy bag still sitting on the living room’s center table. He returned to the couch with slow steps, the exhaustion settling in his bones again now that the food was gone and the adrenaline had worn off.

With a quiet thud, Sieun sat back down the couch, the cushions sighing beneath him. Pulling the bag open, he took out the foil packs and bottles Suho had gathered earlier. Paracetamol, Ibuprofen, Antihistamine, and a cough syrup he swore he didn’t need.

He lined them up on the couch beside him, like some strange, medicinal ritual. One by one, he picked them up and brought them up close for inspection, narrowing his eyes at the fine print.

Paracetamol. For mild aches and pain; also used for reducing temperature. Can be taken alongside Ibuprofen, which aims to achieve similar effects; an effective painkiller.

Sieun's eyes landed next on the antihistamine. A questionable candidate, for sure. His nose wasn't even runny to begin with, but it might be an effective over-the-counter meds to help him get drowsy in case his fever worsens.

Then, finally, the cough syrup. Sieun looked at it with sharp eyes, judging it like it caused his fever. He hadn't even coughed once. His throat was just… itchy.

He didn't need it. Definitely not. Definitely won't.

“Done?,” Suho asked, along with the sound of the running water stopping.

“Not yet,” Sieun replied absentmindedly, eyes still glued on the medications. He took two of the foil packs, stashing the antihistamine and cough syrup back to the pharmacy bag for later.

Announced by soft footsteps, Suho appeared beside him moments later with a freshly filled glass of water.

He didn’t say anything, just waited. His hand steady, gaze soft.

Sieun accepted it quietly, fingers brushing Suho’s in the exchange. He didn’t meet his eyes, but the warmth of that brief contact lingered in his chest longer than the water would.

With practiced ease, Sieun pushed both tablets through their foils, popped it in his mouth, and chased it down with the entire glass in one go.

He let out a breath, placing the empty glass down on the table.

Suho sat down beside him again, the couch dipping in that now-familiar way. “You really read all of them?”

Sieun shot him a side glance. “You didn’t?”

“Instincts,” Suho said with a shrug. “And years of halmeoni’s life lessons.”

“Halmeoni…” Sieun muttered at the mention of her. “Did you tell her?”

“...Tell her what?”

“That you're here, Suho,” Sieun said plainly. “And not at school, which is where you're supposed to be.”

Suho nodded. “Mhm. While you were changing.” He leaned back against the couch, arms crossing lazily. “Said I won't be home tonight.”

Sieun looked at him, unable to hold back his confusion from seeping through his expression. “What?”

“What do you mean what?”

“You're not going home tonight?”

“Yeah…? I thought you knew?”

Sieun twisted slightly, trying to get a better look at Suho’s face. “Where are you going?”

Suho laughed under his breath. “I’m not going anywhere, Sieunnie.”

“Then how come you’re not going home?”

Suho looked at him like the answer was obvious. “Because I’m staying here…?”

Sieun blinked. “H–huh?”

“What? You need someone to take care of you!”

“Wait— When did I invite you to sleep over?”

Suho scoffed, eyebrows rising. “The door code?”

“And? What about it?”

“I thought you wanted me to come over tomorrow. To check if you’re well,” Suho replied casually. “So I figured… might as well just stay. Less hassle.”

“N–no… That’s not…” Sieun’s voice faltered, the gears in his head too fogged to come up with a decent argument. 

He gave Suho the code so he could drop by sometimes and they could hang out or something. Not… like that. Not like he was some patient in bed rest, with Suho acting like he was admitted in an inpatient room and needed daily monitoring.

Sieun’s fever was definitely climbing again, and the longer he stared at Suho's stupidly smug, stupidly sure face, the harder it became to argue. And honestly, he couldn’t be a bitch about it. Not right now. Not when the couch felt like it was tilting beneath him, and Suho was being aggravatingly considerate and caring in the most Suho-like way possible.

Seeing Sieun’s hesitation, Suho’s grin widened, triumphant. “So I’m staying.”

“You’re so… irritating.”

“You’re sick. I’m being responsible,” Suho countered smugly, already shifting to make himself more comfortable on the couch.

Sieun slumped back, pressing his hand against his warm forehead. “I'm taking the couch.”

“What? No.” Suho glanced at him, grin dropping. “You're sick. You're taking the bed. Don't be stupid.”

Sieun blinked at him, saying nothing.

Suho raised an eyebrow.

Sieun sighed, closing his eyes.

“Is that…? Are you…?” Sieun opened his left eye to look at Suho, who was grinning once again. “Sieun, you want me there with you?”

Sieun’s soul nearly exited his body.

“No,” Sieun said quickly. Too quickly.

Suho laughed, leaning forward to ruffle Sieun’s hair again, ignoring the half-hearted swat he got in return. “Relax. I’ll sleep on the floor if I have to.”

Sieun stared at him for a beat longer before sighing, defeated. His whole body ached, and the warmth of the couch wasn’t enough to lull him into rest anymore.

“…Fine,” he muttered, already regretting it.

Suho gave him a mock salute. “Permission granted. Operation Sleepover is a go.”

“Don’t call it that,” Sieun hissed, dragging himself up from the couch.

“Too late. I already made the poster in my head.”

Sieun didn’t have the strength to argue anymore, so he just trudged off toward his room, mumbling about wanting to take a break from Suho.

Sieun had approximately two minutes and twenty-five seconds to himself before Suho came barging inside his bedroom.

Not that he was counting.

But it was a small window of peace. A pocket of silence where he could finally breathe without someone hovering or fretting or trying to shove medicine down his throat like he was on the brink of death. A moment that gave Sieun the opportunity to finally appreciate the patter of the rain as it fell against his windows. They came in soft, syncopated taps, the second song his fever-fogged brain allowed him to listen to. 

The first was Ahn Suho.

He let his body lie weightless on his bed, Suho's windbreaker finally taken off and instead layered atop him like a comfortable blanket. It smelled faintly of laundry detergent and the cologne Suho wore in a night ride, but continued to do so when Sieun acknowledged it once.

The apartment, for once, felt still.

He closed his eyes.

No lectures. No notes. No teasing. No heat radiating off Suho like a personal sun orbiting too close.

Just quiet.

It didn’t last.

Because exactly two minutes and twenty-five seconds later, Sieun heard the click of the doorknob, the soft creak of hinges, and Suho’s unmistakable footsteps hitting the floor like a threat.

“Still alive?” Suho’s voice called out.

Sieun didn’t open his eyes. “Barely. You?”

“Thriving,” Suho said smugly, walking in with all the confidence of someone who’d already made himself at home. “Though, I gotta say, your room's suspiciously… clean.”

Sieun cracked one eye open and watched as Suho walked slowly, his head tilted with quiet curiosity as he scanned the room. His gaze landed on Sieun’s desk first, to the unlit study lamp crooking low over a stack of notes, to the bookshelf crammed with thick academic textbooks and the rare non-fiction title tucked in between.

Sieun wouldn’t call his room clean, exactly. It was tidy, sure, but more in the way a hotel room was. Impersonal. A blank slate. Devoid of anything loud or bright or him . But it was still his. A space that didn’t demand anything. A quiet sanctuary, even if it felt a little hollow at times. A place where he could exist only for himself.

Suho’s footsteps shifted direction.

“Oh? What’s this?”

Sieun blinked, following his gaze. And froze.

Suho had drifted to his nightstand, crouched in front of the small vinyl player resting beside the lamp, a splash of light blue amidst Sieun’s otherwise minimal room. Suho’s fingers hovered above it, respectful but undeniably nosy.

“It’s… a record player,” Sieun said flatly, hoping his deadpan tone would kill the conversation quickly.

“You use this?” Suho asked, glancing over his shoulder.

Sieun cleared his throat. “Yeah.”

Suho’s brows rose. “Like, actually use it?”

“…Yes, Suho. I don’t just keep it for decoration.”

He sounded a bit sharper than intended, and Suho’s grin widened in response.

“I didn’t say anything,” Suho said, slowly lifting the lid. “Just impressed, that’s all. You don’t really strike me as the… vinyl type.”

Sieun bristled slightly at that. Whatever vinyl type was supposed to mean.

Then Suho leaned a bit lower and pulled open the small cabinet beneath the player.

“Don’t,” Sieun warned, his voice sharp with embarrassment. “Don’t go through them.”

“Why?” Suho’s voice already turned teasing. “You got embarrassing stuff in here? Hiding a secret stash of K-pop or something?”

Sieun huffed, pulling the windbreaker higher up his shoulders as if it could shield him. “No. It’s not… It’s just mine.”

“Oho?” Suho’s grin turned wicked. “Are you hiding your music taste from me, Yeon Sieun?”

“You already made me a playlist based on my taste, Ahn Suho,” Sieun partially lied, dragging a hand down his face. The songs in the playlist weren’t something he’d listen to. Not at first, at least. Because after listening to them on loop, they somehow carved out a place in his mind, familiar and oddly comforting. “They’re just records.”

That didn’t stop Suho from sitting down and flipping through the collection anyway, eyes darting curiously over the spines. His brows lifted. “Whoa. There’s a lot here. All alphabetized, too.”

Sieun resisted the urge to hide under the windbreaker completely.

Suho whistled. “This one’s signed.”

“By the artist,” Sieun muttered. “Not to me. It was secondhand.”

Suho held it up and turned toward him. “You listen to these when you study?”

“Sometimes.”

“When you’re sick?”

“…Sometimes. If my brain allows it.”

“When you miss me?”

Sieun threw a pillow at him.

Suho laughed, dodging the projectile effortlessly. “So defensive. I was just saying, this is kinda cool, you know? Makes you seem like… an actual person.” He said before turning his attention back to ransacking Sieun’s vinyl collection.

“... I am an actual person.”

“Mmm. Yeongi called you a robot last night, though.”

Last night?

…

Right. 

Sieun doesn’t remember anything.

His mind stalled, flickering against the persistent hum in his skull. What happened last night? He remembered the first bottle. Maybe the second. But the rest… it was just a hazy stretch of noise and neon lights, laughter blurring into song, and maybe  Suho’s hand in his. Or was that another dream?

“Oh!” Suho’s sudden interjection made Sieun flinch, a sharp pulse echoing behind his temple. “A Day6 vinyl? Wah, Yeon Sieun… Didn’t know you were a fan.”

Sieun’s mind drifted back to their first night together, bathed under the fluorescent glow of convenience store lights, beneath the faint, persistent glow of a moonlight veiled by thin clouds. He recalled the stars that peeked through the white blanket, those that seemed to burn remarkably bright, still shining vividly even in his amber-tinged memories.

“…I’m not.” Sieun muttered, thinking of Suho’s addition to his playlist, the final track, replaying the soft, light melodies backed up by equally airy vocals. “I listened to their song. The one you added to my playlist.” Your song, he didn’t add, Suho’s words echoing in his head: ‘ Sometimes, a track is enough to convey what you feel, Sieun-ah.’

Suho turned to him, an ecstatic expression present in his face. His lack of a verbal reply combined with the slow raising of eyebrows forced Sieun to continue.

So, after a moment, Sieun sighed and surrendered. “I liked it. It was good.”

With Sieun’s quiet honesty, Suho sat up straight, the grin in his face shifting into something more coy, more… bashful. “Oh… It’s just—” He lifted a hand to scratch at his cheek, glancing anywhere but at Sieun, who continued to gaze at him with half-lidded eyes. 

Sieun couldn’t help but stare at Suho’s face, at the enchanting expression that painted his face. One that contradicted his usually blunt attitude. One that made his cheekbones lift round and full, twin full moons pulled into orbit by something stupid like joy or sheepishness. He watched as Suho tried his best to formulate his thoughts into words.

“I didn’t think you’d actually listen to it,” Suho finally said, voice a touch quieter now. “I mean. It’s… a bit old, kind of cheesy.”

Sieun blinked slowly. “You added it.”

“I know,” Suho said, his laugh breathy. “But I was sure you’d skip it. It’s not exactly your vibe.”

“Hmm? But it gave me the… stomach tingles,” Sieun answered too quickly, unsure whether he should’ve shared that or not. His words hung awkwardly in the air as he immediately averted his gaze, cheeks heating once Suho narrowed his eyes at him. It was his turn to be embarrassed.

“Stomach… tingles?” Suho echoed, clearly amused.

“...Yes.”

The sound of the rain pressed into the silence between them, soft and steady like a second heartbeat..

Then, Suho let out a snort. “You mean butterflies?”

“Butterflies?”

“Yeah. The stomach tingles.”

“They’re called… butterflies?” Sieun turned his head slowly to Suho, brows furrowing with genuine disbelief. “Why?”

Suho shrugged, grinning straight at him. “You’re the smart one. Figure it out.”

Sieun didn’t answer. Not out loud, at least.

Because suddenly, he was thinking about it. About the word. About how butterflies moved. Their flight path was never straight, wings colliding every downward wingbeat, propelling a butterfly forward without needing a momentum windup. They flitted around without pattern or rhythm, always floating somewhere between gentle and erratic. 

The fluttering in his stomach felt like that. Light, sudden, impossible to pin down. A tremor under the skin that came and went, always gentle, but never without weight. A sudden spike of his heart rate without any warning signs. It happened whenever a song sounded too much like something he wasn’t ready to admit, or when Suho grinned like that, or whenever his shoulder brushed against Sieun’s just a little too long.

So maybe… maybe butterflies did make sense.

He rubbed the back of his neck and muttered, “That’s a stupid name.”

“Is it?” Suho stood up from the floor. “I think it's cute.” He said as he sat down on the edge of Sieun's bed, the mattress bending under his weight.

“Cockroaches sound more accurate,” Sieun retorted. “Makes me wanna throw up.”

Suho chuckled, low and amused. “C'mon, Yeon Sieun. You felt butterflies listening to my song. Don't say that.”

“I could say whatever.”

“Not when you're just flustered.”

“What? No, I'm not.”

“Yes, you are.”

“Am not,” but Sieun, despite himself, felt it again. The flutter. The stomach tingles. The butterflies.

“It's okay, Sieunnie,” Suho said, a mischievous grin forming in his lips once more. “I felt them, too. Last night.”

Sieun stilled at the mention of last night.

“...What? The butterflies?”

“Yeah. From your little performance.”

Sieun froze.

“My what?”

Suho tilted his head, mock-innocent. “Your performance. You know, at the noraebang? Don’t tell me you forgot.”

Sieun blinked. “I… forgot.”

A beat. Suho’s smile faltered. Just for a second. Just to test if Sieun was lying.

“Wait. Seriously?”

“I remember the first bottle. Barely,” Sieun admitted, turning toward Suho with a guarded expression. “After that… it’s a blur.”

Suho let out a breathless laugh, scooting back until his back was pressed on the wall. “You really don’t remember?”

“Oh, you should.” Suho grinned again, this time a bit softer, a bit more amused. “Let’s just say you surprised everyone. Especially me.”

A pit formed in Sieun’s stomach, his headache worsening. “What did I do?”

Suho just hummed, leaning his head back against the wall. “You’ll remember eventually.”

“…Ahn Suho.”

“Mhm?”

“I didn’t do anything embarrassing, did I?”

“You didn’t do anything not embarrassing.”

Sieun groaned and scrubbed a hand down his face.

“But honestly?” Suho shifted where he sat, the tone in his voice softening. “It was nice seeing you like that. You were… less guarded. More you. It was endearing.”

Sieun didn’t respond. He could only stare, brow drawn low, both out of annoyance and confusion. He didn’t know what to do with the heavy thud in his chest or the ghost of a melody still playing faintly at the edges of his mind, just out of reach.

“Don't claw at me now, kitty,” Suho teased. “You still need me, remember?”

Sieun hissed, lifting Suho's windbreaker and burying his face under its fabric to hide the blush slowly forming in his cheeks.

Sieun hissed through his teeth, retreating further into Suho's windbreaker. He pulled the oversized fabric over his head and buried his face into its folds, hoping the material would swallow the blush blooming over his cheeks.

Suho let out a soft laugh. “You were stubborn, too,” he continued, clearly enjoying the memory. “Refused to tell me the title. Or what it meant.”

Sieun peeked out from the collar of the jacket, just enough to glare. “Maybe you deserved it.” 

“You sure?” Suho leaned forward, elbows on his knees, eyes glinting. “You were singing it like it meant something. Like it was the only thing you meant.”

A pause.

Sieun’s throat tightened. The thought of him drunk and singing and having fun made his stomach twist. But the image Suho painted felt oddly comforting. That version of him… was still him. Just unfiltered. Just vulnerable. And yet, Suho stayed.

“I don’t remember anything,” Sieun mumbled, retreating back into the windbreaker like a cat curling into the deepest corner of a box. Safe. Unseen. Untouchable.

“Yeah,” Suho said. “Me too.”

Hearing the suspicious tone in Suho’s voice, Sieun peeked back out with a narrowed glare, glare only to see that same stupid grin stretched across Suho’s face like he’d been waiting for this exact moment all day.

“You’re lying.”

Suho giggled, eyes crinkling. “No, I’m not.”

“You are,” Sieun said, firm. “Tell me.”

“You sure?” Suho teased, leaning in a little with that infuriating smirk. “You’re not gonna believe it, I swear. You might kill me.”

“Suho.”

“Or,” Suho continued with a shrug, “you might shoot yourself. I dunno. Depends on how well you handle secondhand embarrassment.”

“Ahn Suho.” Sieun's tone dropped an octave. A flat warning.

Suho held up both hands like he was surrendering to the law. “Alright, alright. But just remember, you asked.”

He paused for dramatic effect.

“You sang.”

“I figured.”

Suho beamed. “A NIKI song.”

Sieun blinked, his blood running cold. “That's no—”

“Remind me again what quiet force etches mirrored patterns into the seafloor, please, Yeon Sieun,” Suho asked, the words sounding unfamiliar coming from his mouth. Like it was rehearsed, memorized just for this specific moment.

Sieun scoffed at the sudden quiz. “Earth's magnetic field. Magne—” Sieun’s breath snagged. His body locked up like a screen freezing mid-frame. Memory clawed at the back of his skull, faint traces of melody trying to thread together but nothing clear enough to hold onto. Just warmth. Just… Suho’s gaze meeting his own.

Suho nodded, teasing. “Correct!”

“…You're lying.”

“Nope,” Suho said, popping the ‘p’ sound. “You sang that. With eye contact. With me. The whole time.” He continued, each syllable packed with chaotic delight.

“You were still at first, reading the lyrics off the screen. But you turned around, looked at me, then sang,” Suho added. “Like you knew the lyrics by heart. Like it actually came from your heart.”

That was a lie. That had to be a lie.

But Suho’s face said otherwise, soft like he was trying his best to not make Sieun freak out more.

Sieun groaned and buried his face again under the windbreaker, which now smelled like detergent and too many emotions. “I’m killing you.”

He could feel his pulse behind his closed eyes. He could feel the shame bloom down his neck. He could feel something worse: the creeping realization that a part of him wanted Suho to have seen it. That the song choice wasn’t as random as he wanted to believe. That maybe, just maybe, something slipped out while his inhibitions were down. Something honest delivered via intentional song choice, tucked within its lyrics and melody.

Maybe Suho knew. Maybe he was teasing him because somehow he had looked it up. Maybe this was Suho’s version of confrontation: back Sieun into a corner while he was sick and vulnerable, then wreck him gently with his idiotic grin and his adorable laugh and his earnest eyes.

Sieun didn’t know what to do anymore. So he sighed. Deeply. The kind that carried regret, confusion, worry, and everything else too tangled to name.

“Yup,” Suho exhaled, voice maddeningly light. “There it is.”

Sieun groaned into the windbreaker, fists clutching the fabric near his face like it could shield him from the way his skin felt like it was burning for entirely different reasons now.

“I hate you,” he muttered, voice muffled.

“No, you don’t.”

“I do.”

Suho’s laughter bubbled again, quiet but full-bodied, shaking the bed slightly with its softness. “C’mon, Sieun-ah, don’t be shy. You were really cute. Especially when you sang—”

“Get out,” Sieun blurted out.

“What?”

“Out. I need… I need a moment. Alone.”

Suho blinked, momentarily caught off guard. “Wait, seriously?”

“Yes.”

“You’re kicking me out of your room?”

“Mhm.”

“H–huh?” Suho exclaimed. “Hey, that's unfair. You asked for it!”

“I'm sleeping. I'm forgetting everything.”

“You can't hide from the truth, Yeon Sieun,” Suho snapped back, yet he was already standing up and leaving the bed slowly. “I am the victim here. Of your voice and your pretty eyes! Yeongi will be my witness,” He continued, pretending to be wounded.

“I'm sick and dying,” Sieun said, collapsing fully on the bed with the windbreaker still covering his face. “I can pretend I hallucinated everything.”

“What, like some sort of temporary insanity?”

“Yup.”

“Hmm.” Suho didn’t move, standing near the edge of the bed. “So if I stay, you might say something else interesting?”

“Go,” Sieun gritted out, pulling the windbreaker over his head again.

With one last laugh, Suho made his way to the door, tossing over his shoulder, “Don’t take too long. You’ll miss me.”

“Die.”

The door shut with a soft click.

And just like that, Sieun was alone.

In the quiet, all that was left was the patter of rain and the pounding of his own heart, both uneven, both difficult to ignore.

He let himself fall back into bed, face covered, the fabric of Suho’s jacket still holding his scent. His voice. His song.

“...I’m gonna kill him.”

But he didn’t mean it. And that terrified him the most.

Five… maybe ten minutes passed.

Sieun wasn’t sure.

Time started blurring at the edges again, soft and watery, like ink bleeding on paper. The warmth of the soup lingered in his belly, but his limbs felt heavier now, sluggish and out of sync. Either the medicine had started kicking in, or the fever had found new ways to nest beneath his skin. Maybe both.

He blinked up at the ceiling, lips parted as he breathed shallowly through his nose. His headache hadn't stopped. Dull and pressing, like a quiet alarm under his skull.

But more than that, it was the silence that gnawed at him.

Not the kind that felt safe and distant, but the kind that echoed. The kind that left enough room and space for unwanted thoughts he wasn’t ready to sit with. 

Thoughts like the way Suho’s voice softened at the edges when he teased. The way he didn’t pull back after Sieun’s indirect confession last night. The way it made something flutter inside him sharp and bright, a little too sweet to ignore. But also the way it twisted after. How Suho didn’t say anything outright. How he kept laughing, like it was all just part of a joke Sieun never quite understood. It made Sieun feel light, for a moment. Then unsure. And then tired. Then… scared. Because if Suho didn’t mean it, then what was he supposed to do with everything that slipped through the cracks?

Sieun just sighed.

Slowly, almost instinctively, he pulled himself upright again. His legs wobbled slightly as he stood, the room swaying just enough to make him pause. He picked the windbreaker up and wore it properly, slipping his arms in and letting it pool in his wrists. He rubbed at his face with one hand, trying to get the languor off his system. His body was on autopilot now, guided more by feeling than reason.

He stepped into the hallway.

The light from the living room spilled across the floor, warm and quiet. And there was Suho, curled up on the couch with his legs propped on the coffee table, phone in hand, its screen casting soft glows across his face. His features were relaxed, slightly furrowed in quiet concentration. He looked up the moment Sieun shuffled into view.

“Hey,” Suho said, voice low. “Have you reflected on your crimes?”

“Hyung…” Sieun exhaled, defeated. Too tired to argue.

Once Suho didn't answer, he simply made his way over, a little slower than usual, and dropped himself on the other end of the couch with a soft thud. He didn’t curl up this time. Just sat there, eyes half-lidded, swaying slightly in place like a flower too heavy for its stem.

Suho blinked. “...You okay?”

“Mmm.” Sieun closed his eyes. “Burns.”

Suho didn’t say anything at first. He just stared at Sieun, phone forgotten in his hand.

Then, gently, he set it aside and shifted closer.

“C’mere.”

Sieun hesitated, then leaned. Just a little. Then a little more. Until the side of his head rested against Suho’s shoulder. Until the noise in his head faded to the soft ticking of the clock, the rain still whispering against the windows, and the steady, grounding rhythm of Suho’s breath beside him.

Sieun kept still, cheek pressed into the slope of Suho’s shoulder. The hoodie was soft against his skin, already warm from Suho’s body. His eyelids were heavy, his breathing slowing in rhythm with Suho’s.

Neither of them said anything for a while.

And for once, Sieun didn’t feel the need to fill the silence. It didn’t itch under his skin like it usually did. It just... sat there. Silent. Soft.

Suho shifted a little, just enough to get more comfortable. He didn’t shrug Sieun off or fidget. His shoulder stayed firm beneath Sieun’s weight, a steady anchor in the rocking sea of his thoughts.

“You’re burning up again,” Suho mumbled after a beat, voice quiet enough that Sieun almost missed it. 

“...M’fine,” Sieun murmured back, barely coherent. His voice was thinner now, its usual venom absent.

Suho scoffed. “Liar.”

Sieun didn’t deny it.

Instead, he let his eyes slip shut. He could still feel the fever insisting, skittering up the back of his neck. He could feel the way his bones throbbed gently beneath his skin, but it was distant now. Like background noise.

Suho’s warmth was near again. Closer, this time. It took Sieun everything not to be greedy, to stop himself from pressing further into Suho close enough that he could remain within his heat, safe and comforted and loved.

Sieun’s thoughts flickered in and out like a low radio signal.

He thought about his song. About the lyrics etched clearly in his mind, the one soaked in yearning and longing and quiet surrender. How he

He thought about the song Suho added. About the lyrics he only half remembered, lingering at the edges of his memories blurry but unmistakable. How the night it came to him marked the beginning of whatever this thing between him and Suho was.

He thought about how Suho looked at him earlier, like he meant something. Like he was something.

His heart thudded. Once, twice. Too loud.

Then: a whisper of breath escaping through his lips. A shaky exhale he had been holding in for too long.

And he finally let go.

Let the exhaustion win. Let his body slump the last inch it needed to press fully into Suho’s side. Let his thoughts fade into static.

Let the weight of Suho’s quiet presence be the last thing he registered before sleep pulled him under completely.

When Sieun stirred awake from his dreamless nap, it wasn’t abrupt.

It was slow, like trying to swim to the surface of warm water, feverish and soft around the edges. His skin still burned faintly, but the ache in his limbs had dulled.

The rain hadn’t stopped falling, still peltering the windows of Sieun’s apartment persistently without any signs of ending.

His brows furrowed slightly, even in half-sleep, until he realized what his head was resting on.

A lap. A warm one.

Suho’s.

Something was brushing through his hair. Light. Absentminded.

Sieun blinked one eye open. Then the other.

He was curled sideways on the couch now, his temple pillowed by Suho’s thigh, the windbreaker he'd worn earlier bunched around his shoulders like a blanket. Suho was slouched back against the backrest, long legs stretched out as it leaned atop the center table. He had his phone in one hand, the phone light illuminating his focused, determined expression. The other was gently carding through Sieun’s hair as if it were the most natural thing in the world.

“...You awake, baby?” Suho asked, voice low, glancing down when he felt the slight shift in Sieun’s breathing.

Sieun didn’t answer, choosing to ignore the nickname. Mostly because his mouth was dry. Partly because… yes, this was comfortable. He just shifted his position to where the back of his head lay nestled atop Suho’s thighs, to where he could look up at Suho and glare at him.

Suho chuckled quietly at Sieun’s immediate grumpy attitude, setting his phone aside. “You know, if you wanted a lap pillow, you could’ve just asked.”

Sieun pulled the windbreaker to cover his face halfway, settling it on the bridge of his nose. Just enough to hide his face. Still enough to look at Suho. “I didn’t want a lap pillow.” His voice croaked out, muffling his blatant lie with the windbreaker and embarrassment.

“Yeah?” Suho questioned, grin audible in his voice. “So, you just flopped over like a dying cat and made yourself at home for no reason?”

Sieun groaned. Not from pain, but from Suho's voice . He tried to sit up, to get away from the man terrorizing him, but he felt a lazy hand on his shoulder that pushed him gently back down.

“Don’t. Your fever’s still high.”

“I don’t care.” So, he tried again. A weak, half-hearted attempt at escaping. But this time, he was met with a firm hand pressing onto his chest, laying him back down more insistently this time.

“Ahn Suho,” Sieun muttered, attempting to argue again, but Suho’s hand didn’t budge. It stayed right there, steady like a lock, holding him in place without cruelty, just care.

“Yeon Sieun,” Suho bit back, voice low and stern. Not loud, but certain. Firm and heavy in a way Sieun wasn’t used to.

Sieun stilled immediately.

And fuck, if that didn’t do something to him.

His breath caught in his throat, and he cursed the immediate, involuntary flutter in his stomach. That stupid, ridiculous swarm of butterflies that refused to stay still. It wasn’t fair. That a single tone, a single full-name warning could do this to him.

His fever might’ve been rising again, but the sudden heat blooming down his neck, across his chest, and somewhere far more inconvenient, had nothing to do with being sick. His whole body buzzed, alive with something embarrassingly close to thrill.

And if he knew earlier that being a little brattier would get Suho to call his name like that, he would’ve done it way more often.

He shut his eyes, tried to breathe it down as he sank back slowly down the comfort of Suho’s lap. He convinced himself that maybe the room spun because of the meds, not because of Suho looming over him, palm splayed over his sternum like he owned him.

He told himself he was just warm from the fever. That the fluttering in his stomach wasn’t actual arousal, just residual embarrassment or something equally harmless. That the sharp inhale he took was from being startled, not from imagining Suho saying his name like that again, but closer, lower, meaner .

“Oh?” 

Suho’s voice was a smooth drawl, laced with amusement and a curiosity that seemed to tug at the corners of his lips. “So you can behave…”

Sieun’s eyes snapped open. “Shut up,” Sieun croaked, voice raspy with effort, but Suho only laughed, light and satisfied.

“I’m just saying. You were squirming a second ago like I was restraining you.”

“You were restraining me.”

“That was barely a hand on your chest,” Suho said, feigning innocence, though his voice hinted at something else, like he was too pleased with himself.

“You’re so annoying,” Sieun muttered, dragging the windbreaker up again, this time over his face fully. Not for warmth, but for dignity.

Suho chuckled. “You like it,” he teased.

Sieun didn’t have the heart to deny him.

A moment later, fingers brushed through the fringe of Sieun’s hair, combing through the dark strands similar to the sensation he stirred awake to. It was gentle. It was careful. It was doing wonders at making Sieun’s thoughts run wilder, straying further to daydreams he didn’t even know he could conjure.

Sieun wished he had the strength to slap the hand away.

Or maybe he didn’t.

Once the fingers dragged dangerously pleasant at his scalp, once it almost evoked a disgraceful sound out of him, Sieun flinched, swatting blindly at the hand. “Do you mind?”

Thankfully, Suho stopped. “You’re awfully dramatic for someone who was practically purring in his sleep.”

“I wasn’t purring.”

“How can you tell? You were asleep.”

“I just know. I was tolerating it.”

“Tolerating?” Suho pulled the windbreaker down, just enough to reveal Sieun’s flustered face, flushed and unamused. “So if I do it again, you’ll tolerate it some more?”

“Say goodbye to your hand.”

“Worth it,” Suho muttered, shameless. “Your hair’s begging to be touched, Yeon Sieun. All pretty on my lap,” he added.

Sieun narrowed his eyes. “What?”

“…What?” Suho repeated, too fast.

Silence.

Suho’s fingers trailed through Sieun’s hair one last time, light and gentle like a farewell, before Sieun swatted them half-heartedly again, more annoyed than before.

“I— Just stop,” he said.

Suho only smirked. “How was it, kitten? Liked my grooming service?”

“You were invasive.”

“And talented, yes, thank you very much,” Suho added with a wink, stretching his arms overhead once he lost the privilege to pet Sieun’s hair with a low, strained groan.

Sighing, Sieun just let his head be lifted by the stretching, taking the opportunity to sneakily snuggle his head closer to Suho’s abdomen, nearer his warmth.

“You’re insufferable,” he muttered.

“Not my fault you’re pretty, Sieun-ah,” Suho replied, glancing down at Sieun. “Can’t keep my hands off you,” he added, giving Sieun’s cheek a light, teasing pat.

Sieun pulled the windbreaker over his face in silent retaliation, hiding the heat that bloomed uninvited across his skin.

They sat like that for a while.

Suho was scrolling with his phone with one hand, the other gently resting on Sieun’s shoulder, his arms laid across Sieun’s chest, grounding and warm. Sieun didn’t move. He just laid there, head comfortably nestled in Suho’s lap, pressing a cheek against his abdomen like it was the most natural thing in the world.

Until—

“Sieunnie.”

A finger poked at his cheek through the fabric.

“Aren’t you hungry?”

Sieun grunted, noncommittal, but the question made him pause. He tuned in to his own stomach, listening for any signs of complaint that he might’ve missed earlier.

Silence. But he felt hollow.

Sieun cleared his throat. “How long was I asleep?”

“About…four hours? M’not sure,” Suho replied absentmindedly.

“...Four?” Sieun scoffed. “Aren’t you numb?”

“What?”

“Your legs. Aren’t they dying?”

“Oh.” There was a beat, then Suho shifted beneath him. Sieun felt the faint jiggle as Suho wiggled his legs dramatically. His head rattled slightly from the motion, earning a groan. “Nah. They’re chill,” he said casually.

Sieun tugged the windbreaker down away from his face. “...Can I sit up now?,” He looked up, wide-eyed and a little bleary, at Suho, only to catch him already staring down at him.

“M—Mmm. Yeah,” Suho averted his gaze. “Whatever you want.”

“Great,” Sieun said plainly, slowly propping himself upright. The room wobbled faintly at the edges, but it wasn’t nearly as bad as earlier. Manageable.

He sighed and stretched, arms overhead, back arching until his spine popped. “Finally.”

Suho watched, lips quirking up. “You look like a cat uncurling after a nap.”

“Do you always narrate what I do?”

“Only when it’s cute.”

Sieun turned his head, half-lidded eyes staring at Suho. “...Didn’t you ask if I was hungry?,” he mumbled, tone clipped and desperate to change the subject.

Suho scoffed at the forced transition, but ultimately ignored it. “Mhm. So…?” He kept his eyes at Sieun as he rose from the couch.

“Are you?” Sieun deflected the question.

“Definitely.” Suho tilted his head, smile lazy. “But I think I have bigger concerns right now.” Suho shifted his brows upward, a subtle nod to Sieun.

With a sigh, Sieun ran a hand down his face. “Fine. Maybe. A little.”

Suho beamed, already stretching his arms dramatically like he was warming up for a grand mission. “Perfect. Chef Ahn is reporting for duty.”

Sieun blinked. “Chef Ahn doesn’t even have anything to cook with.”

Suho, with his smile faltering, tilted his head. “Huh?”

“My humble abode offers you nothing,” Sieun said plainly. “I was half-expecting you to get food delivered or something.”

“In this weather? Are you crazy?”

“Mmm. Probably,” Sieun replied, shrugging.

Suho sighed like he’d just been personally challenged by fate. “Alright then. Mission accepted.” He spun on his heel and marched into the kitchen anyway, flicking on the lights like he was about to discover treasure. Sieun watched from the couch, arms crossed, as Suho opened the fridge with all the confidence of a seasoned chef, only to pause.

A long silence followed.

“…You have, like, the kimchi from earlier, two eggs, and half a bottle of gochujang,” Suho reported flatly. “And I think that milk is expired.”

“Sounds about right,” Sieun called back, not even blinking.

Another pause.

“You live like this?”

“Yeah. But I wasn’t expecting company.” Sieun deadpanned. “Or to be sick. Or for said company to suddenly decide to become domestic.”

Then, silence. Again. As if Suho was reconsidering his life choices.

“Ah, right,” Sieun exclaimed, like remembering something vital to Suho’s mission. “Top-leftmost cupboard.”

Excited with his new-found hope, Suho quickly opened it, only to be met with a fortress of instant noodle packets in various brands and flavors. 

“...Seriously?”

“Yeah,” Sieun said, expression unchanged. “Sounds about right.”

Suho stared at the stash like it had personally offended him. “You’re telling me you had this stockpile of sodium bombs the whole time?”

“They’re versatile,” Sieun shrugged. “And shelf-stable. And edible.”

Suho pulled out a random packet and turned it over, expression unreadable. “Do you just… live off this?”

“Not all the time,” Sieun replied, blinking slowly. “They have a little brother named ‘ triangle kimbap.’ ”

“What, also known as onigiri?” Suho joked back, tossing two ramen packets onto the counter. “Fine, instant ramen it is” he declared, resigned. “But it’ll be the best damn bowl of instant ramen you’ve ever had, Yeon Sieun.”

Sieun nodded sagely, like he was letting a soldier off to war. “You’re really going all out, huh?” Sieun mumbled, dragging himself up and padding toward the kitchen, swaying just slightly from the lingering weight of his fever just to sit down at a stool and watch Suho.

Suho sighed. “If I’m feeding my dying wife—”

“Not your wife,” Sieun interrupted, voice flat.

“—I’m doing it right,” Suho finished without missing a beat, a smug grin on his face.

Sieun didn’t reply. He just leaned against the counter and watched Suho work: blue, long sleeves rolled up, face scrunched in concentration, the sound of rain battering the windows as a soft backdrop to the clatter of a pots being rummaged.

Once the pot was set down, Sieun heard the flick of the stove and the familiar hum of heat kicking in. There was a kind of soothing rhythm to it. Water boiling. Packaging crinkling. Chopsticks tapping against steel. 

Despite everything, Suho was making it work.

He moved around like he knew the space, like he’d been there countless times before, reaching over for the leftover green onions without asking for help, snipping them into little rings with scissors handled by practice fingers.

Sieun adjusted comfortably in his stool, eyes fluttering shut again for a moment. Everything smelled like comfort: warm broth, spice, something eggy and good. Homey, even. And it was strange, because this was the first time he felt that way under the roof of his own apartment.

But then Suho called, “Yeon Sieun. Wakey wakey.”

Sieun peeled one eye open.

Suho stood in front of him holding two steaming bowls, both simple but lovingly made. Ramen with soft-boiled eggs nestled perfectly on top, a small scattering of green onions dancing along the surface. The broth shimmered.

“Chef Ahn delivers,” he said with a grin, nudging Sieun’s leg with his knee. “Come on. Eat before the noodles get soggy.”

Sieun blinked slowly at the bowl handed to him, fingers wrapping around the warm ceramic.

“You put green onions.”

“You had green onions.”

“...Fair enough.”

They ate in companionable silence, the kind that only came with comfort and familiarity. Rain still fell against the windows in gentle, steady taps, a background to the quiet slurps and occasional soft exhales when the heat hit just right.

“Not bad,” Sieun muttered eventually, halfway through his bowl.

Suho’s chest puffed. “A compliment! I should be knighted.”

“You boiled water and put noodles in it.”

“Boiled water with style,” Suho corrected, mouth full of noodles. “That’s artistry.”

Sieun huffed a laugh, quiet and genuine. And for a moment, that was enough. Just ramen, rain, and Suho.

After finishing the last sip of broth, Suho stretched his arms over his head and stood up with a satisfied sigh. “Alright. Sit tight, kitten. I’ll clean this up.”

Sieun, head still heavy from the fever, already had his cheek laid on the dining table. “How domestic.”

“Don’t push your luck,” Suho called over his shoulder, carrying both bowls into the kitchen.

From his spot, Sieun could hear the faucet turn on and the clink of dishes being set in the sink. He gave it maybe thirty seconds before he got bored.

Suho didn’t like to be disturbed when he had his mind set on something. Sieun should know. He’d tested it more than once just to get back at Suho for being relentlessly and constantly annoying toward him. But every single attempt was met with the same thing: a quiet, unyielding, impenetrable wall. 

He didn’t like it when Sieun intentionally fidgeted behind him at red lights, shifting his weight side to side on the back of the motorcycle just to be a nuisance. He didn’t like it when Sieun tapped his spoon against his bowl in a lazy rhythm while Suho tried to focus on something he was writing. He didn’t like it when his phone rang constantly from Sieun texting him, spamming him with individual letters even when they’re together side-by-side.

Suho never snapped. Not once. But his silence always turns cold, uncharacteristically so.

Still, while Suho was busy at the sink, sleeves rolled up and forearms damp from suds, Sieun’s fever-flushed mind burned with bright ideas.

Something inside Sieun flipped like a switch.

“Ahn Suho,” he called out lazily.

“Mmm?”

Sieun slowly stood up and trudged his way towards Suho. “I think you dropped a noodle on the floor.” Sieun stood directly a foot behind him, Suho’s broad back facing Sieun threateningly close.

“I think I’m about to miss a whole Sieun off the balcony,” Suho shot back, not turning his head.

“You wouldn’t.” Sieun grinned, placing his forehead right in the middle of Suho’s back. “I’m sick.”

“Tempt me more and we’ll find out.”

A soft splash of water followed as Suho rinsed something off with an annoyed flick of the wrist. The sponge scraped against a bowl with slow, wide circles. Sieun, emboldened by the lack of a true threat, placed his palms over Suho’s shoulders and leaned further forward to peek over them. 

“Mmm. You missed a spot.”

“I will smother you with this sponge.”

Sieun blinked. “Is that a threat?”

“A promise.”

His grin widened. His plan was working.

With his fever temporarily forgotten, Sieun’s fingers ghosted down from Suho’s shoulders to the broad of his back, then down to rest at his waist. “M’bored, Suho-yah.” He drummed his fingers lightly along Suho’s hips in a childish rhythm. “Clean faster.”

Still, Suho said nothing. Not a word.

Which only encouraged him further.

Sieun gently poked at his sides. “What’s the matter, Ahn Suho? Cat got your tongue?” He asked, his voice a little too close to a purr.

A beat of silence passed.

Sieun’s fingers drummed a lazy rhythm against Suho’s waist again. “Faster.”

Suho didn’t look back. Just flicked water off his fingertips into the sink, slow and methodical.

“You’re real brave today, hmm?,” he said evenly. “Must be the fever.”

Sieun blinked. Something about the way Suho said it made the hair on his arms rise. It was low and casual but not without weight. There was no teasing this time. Just a quiet warning, like Suho had drawn a line and was waiting to see if Sieun would cross it again.

He swallowed. “Maybe I’m just bored.”

Suho finally glanced over his shoulder, one brow raised. “And being a brat.”

Sieun smirked automatically, but it faltered halfway. “Is that a complaint?”

“No,” Suho said, turning back to rinse the last bowl. “Just wondering how long you’d keep that up.”

Sieun stood there for a moment longer, hands now idle at his sides, the ghost of that voice still echoing in his chest. It wasn’t sharp nor playful, but it was enough to leave him slightly off-balance. Just enough to remind him that sometimes, Suho didn’t need to try to get under his skin. He just had to talk .

“…Tch.” Sieun pulled his hands away and crossed his arms with a dramatic sigh. “You’re no fun.”

Suho didn’t look back. Just kept rinsing, stacking, wiping like he didn’t even hear the complaint.

Sieun scowled at the back of Suho’s head. “I’m being affectionate here and you don’t care?”

Still nothing. Not even a glance.

Sieun narrowed his eyes. “Wow. Ignored. This is emotional abuse.”

Suho finally turned the faucet off and dried his hands on the dish towel. Then, slowly, maddeningly slow, he turned around, leaned against the sink, and crossed his arms.

“Do you want a reward for being annoying, or do you just like testing me?”

Sieun faltered for half a second.

Then scoffed. “Testing? You? I’m just expressing affection.”

Suho raised an eyebrow. “That what you call it?”

“It is,” Sieun said confidently. “I’m being emotionally vulnerable.”

“Uh-huh.” Suho stepped forward. Just enough that Sieun felt the air shift. “You want to be babied that bad, kitten?”

Sieun’s smirk twitched.

“…Maybe.”

“Then quit trying to get a rise out of me and say so properly.”

Sieun’s face went blank for a second. Calculating. Suho expected him to fold, to go quiet, to retreat back to his shell as usual.

So he didn’t.

He stepped forward instead, slightly tilting his head up to look Suho straight in the eye. Close enough that their chests almost brushed, close enough that they could feel each other’s breaths.

“Okay,” Sieun said, voice low and steady and unwavering. “I want you to baby me.”

Suho blinked, surprised.

Sieun didn’t give him time to recover. “What you were doing earlier wasn’t enough. I want more. I need more,” he continued. “So, c’mon. Just spoil me. I know you want to.” He said with a full chest, fueled by the fever slowly blooming back its way to his skin and the thought of having nothing to hide anymore.

The smugness on Suho’s face cracked just slightly, and that was all Sieun needed. No comebacks. No smirk. Just his tensed shoulders and the noticeable shift in the air between them.

“…Thought s—”

“Yeon Sieun.” Suho cut in, voice quieter now, something weighty beneath it. His eyes searched Sieun’s face, tracing the lines of his expression like he was trying to decode something hidden. “Are you serious?”

Sieun didn’t flinch.

He held the stare, even though his lungs felt too full and his mouth suddenly dry. His throat bobbed with a swallow as he tried to consider the possibilities. What Suho might say. What might change if he said yes. He tried to think logically, rationally, clinically.

But none of those thoughts stuck.

Only Suho did. Just Suho.

And so, after a beat, he gave a single nod. Small. Measured. Certain.

Suho’s gaze didn’t waver, not even for a second. But something in his posture softened like he was trying not to startle Sieun, like he was holding back the kind of smile that could crumble whatever fragile pride was holding Sieun together. His hand slipped fully into Sieun’s, threading their fingers together like it was muscle memory.

“You’re not… fucking with me or anything?,” Suho murmured.

Sieun just scoffed, breathy. “Ahn Suho…”

“I’m being serious, Sieun.”

“…So am I.”

Then Suho stepped in closer, cupping the side of Sieun’s face with the kind of reverence Sieun had only ever read about. His thumb brushed along his jaw, slow and gentle, grounding.

“What do you feel, Sieun?,” he asked, voice gentle and coaxing.

“I’m burning.”

“About me.”

He swallowed. The words kept spilling out, too fast now to hold back.

“You burned my walls down. You burned the distance I spent years building. You burned through it all in just a week.” His voice cracked as he added, “Your touch, Ahn Suho… it scorches me. And I should hate it. I should hate you.”

Suho didn’t flinch.

“Then why don’t you?”

Sieun sighed. “...You know why.”

And Suho smiled.

“No more games, Yeon Sieun,” Suho whispered. “You ask, I’ll give. You need me, I’m here.”

Sieun’s throat tightened. The vulnerability of it all clawed at something in his chest, something that wanted to sob and laugh and collapse into Suho’s hold all at once.

But instead, he did the one thing he knew how to do.

He leaned in.

And Suho didn’t hesitate. Not for a second.

Because neither of them were pretending anymore.

Their lips met in a way that felt less like impact and more like surrender.

It wasn’t dramatic, wasn’t sharp or rushed. It was slow. Unfamiliar. Warm. The kind of kiss that spoke without needing words, two lips screaming I’ve wanted this for so long, I’ve been waiting, I’m here now.

Sieun’s hands gripped at the hem of Suho’s shirt, unsure of what to do with himself, with the pressure in his chest that pushed against his ribs like a wave. Suho, meanwhile, tilted his head slightly, deepening the kiss just enough to make Sieun's breath catch.

Then he pulled back, just enough to speak against Sieun’s mouth.

“I’ve been holding back,” Suho said, low, quiet, like a confession. “Since day one. Since the second you looked at me like you wanted me dead.”

Sieun’s eyes fluttered open, brows slightly furrowed.

“And I kept thinking, he’ll hate me if I push. He’s too careful. But then, you… you let me in.

Suho's voice faltered just a little, and that more than anything made Sieun dizzy. He wasn’t used to this Suho. “Between those… silly night drives and your door code, Yeon Sieun…”

“You didn’t have to,” Suho whispered. “But you did.”

Sieun swallowed. His throat burned. “I didn’t think you’d stay.”

“I told you I would. I showed you I would.”

Another beat passed. Then Suho cupped both sides of his face and rested their foreheads together.

“So,” he said, voice a little steadier now. “If you want to be spoiled, just say it. If you want me to hold you, kiss you, take care of you when you're sick or when you're not, when you’re annoying or bratty or impossible, say it. You don’t have to hide.”

Sieun blinked, lips parted in a soft daze.

“Because I will,” Suho said, gently brushing his nose against Sieun’s. “I want to.”

Silence again. But this time, it felt safe.

Sieun exhaled, barely above a whisper. “Okay.”

And that was all Suho needed.

He smiled, not his usual grin, but something quieter, a little broken at the edges.

“Good.”

Then, without another word, he tugged Sieun forward and wrapped his arms around him. Full-body. Protective. Possessive.

Sieun buried his face into the curve of Suho’s shoulder.

Maybe later, they’d tease. Maybe later, they’d fall back into old rhythms.

But not now.

Now, there was only the sound of rain, the warmth of a fevered body, and the long-overdue truth finally, finally spilling into the space between them.

“Fuck you, Yeon Sieun,” Suho muttered. “You and your emotional vulnerability.”

Sieun didn’t know how they ended up like this. He lost himself somewhere between peppery kisses and mumbles of sweet nothings that he wasn’t sure anymore how they got bacak in his room. Their limbs were tangled, Suho’s arm draped over his waist, their legs overlapping under the sheets like they’d been doing this forever. It should’ve been awkward. Unbearable, even. He hated being touched when he was sick. Or in general. But this... wasn’t that.

He knew they definitely shouldn’t be cuddling when he was sick. He tried warning Suho, tried telling him that being in close contact with someone with a fever was a bad idea. He was only met with a reply about Suho being built different.

“Made me too sappy.” Suho buried his face under the crook of Sieun’s hot neck, his words muffled by skin. “Now I’m not cool in your eyes anymore.”

Sieun could feel Suho’s breath each time he exhaled, warm and steady against the shell of his throat. Suho’s fingers rested lightly against his wrist, thumb brushing slow, rhythmic arcs into his skin like he was playing the softest instrument. Each pass felt grounding. Like a beat he could follow.

“...You? Cool? In my eyes?” Sieun asked, dry.

Suho’s breathing halted. “Am I not?”

“Never.”

“Not even when I fought those baseball dudes?”

“No. I wanted you dead.”

“Not even when we were driving around town?”

“Okay,” Sieun sighed. “Maybe a bit.”

“That’s not enough, Sieun-ah…”

“Well, it’s not my fault yo—” 

Sieun’s sentence was cut off with small yelp, his whole body stiffening.

There was something cold and hard nipping at the skin just below his jaw, at the sensitive spot beside his pulse.

“Suho,” he gasped. “What—-”

“Mmm, sorry,” Suho said, entirely unapologetic. “Couldn’t help it.”

“You—!” Sieun wriggled out of his grasp. “Get away from me.”

Suho’s grip was firm, inescapable. His mouth found its way back, but this time with soft, fleeting kisses over the place he bit, lips warm against Sieun’s overheated skin. “No. Never.”

“Ahn Suho, you—”

Sieun shivered as something slick dragged across his neck. A slow, deliberate sweep of Suho’s tongue. Languid. Sinful.

He exhaled without meaning to.

“S–Suho…” he whispered, voice dangerously close to a whimper.

Suho only hummed, the sound vibrating gently against Sieun’s throat as he pressed more butterfly kisses along the slope of his neck, featherlight and maddening.

“You’re disgusting,” Sieun said, weakly.

“You’re letting me,” Suho whispered against his skin, and Sieun could hear the grin in it.

Groaning, Sieun pushed Suho’s face away from him. “Get out.”

“Nope.”

“I hate you.”

Suho leaned in again, brushing the tip of his nose against Sieun’s cheek. “No, you don’t.”

Silence followed as their limbs remained tangled, the record of the clouds spinning soft pitter-patters in the background. Suho’s laughter had faded into the gentle rhythm of the music, his warmth melting into Sieun’s side again, as if nothing could ever be enough distance between them.

“I hate you,” Sieun said, breaking the comfortable silence.

“You love me.”

“No, I don’t.”

“Hmm,” Suho leaned closer, practically getting on top of Sieun as he pressed another kiss right at the center of Sieun’s throat. “Even if I made you another playlist?”

Silence.

“Sieunnie?”

“...What?”

“I said I made you a playlist.”

Sieun blinked, his fingers twitched where they rested over Suho’s back, clutching him just a bit tighter. “You were on your phone all day,” he murmured, eyes shut. “That’s what you were doing?”

Suho nodded, his cheek brushing against Sieun’s collarbones. “Mhm. It’s called: For when you miss me but don’t want to say it,” He said with a small, self-satisfied smile.

Sieun stared. “That’s the dumbest title I’ve ever heard.”

“Fits, doesn’t it?”

Of course it did. But Sieun wasn’t willing to admit that.

“What, you want a reward?”

“I have you. It’s enough.”

Sieun didn’t answer.

Sieun felt his weight shift—a stretch, a small sigh—as Suho remained half-draped over him, one arm still curled securely around Sieun’s waist like he couldn’t stand to let go completely.

A soft unlock sound. 

A few slow taps.

Then.

Music.

Something gentle, melodic.

“Is that—”

“ For when you miss me but don’t want to say it? ” Suho repeated the playlist title shamelessly, the same proud grin audible in his voice. “Yeah. Sent it to you, too.”

“...I’m not listening if that’s the title.”

“You will,” Suho said with certainty, already flopping back down atop Sieun like a human blanket. “C’mon. I put my heart into it, you know.”

Sieun chuckled. “Of course, you did.”

“You’re one to talk,” Suho muttered. “You can’t even make one.”

“Shut up.”

“You shut up.”

“Let’s shut up.”

And they did. 

But not the tense kind of silence. This one was slow, and warm, and full. The kind of quiet that wrapped around them like a blanket, pressed into every corner of the room like steam curling off a hot mug.

The playlist played on, songs bleeding into one another seamlessly. A soft strum here. A humming chorus there. Lyrics Sieun didn’t know, but somehow understood.

Suho stayed close, cheek resting against Sieun’s chest now, just above his heartbeat. His breath warmed the fabric of Sieun’s shirt. One of his fingers traced idle shapes against Sieun’s side, as if to keep himself from dozing off first.

Somewhere between the third and fourth song, Sieun stopped pretending he wasn’t tired.

Suho's playlist played softly on his phone, the screen dimmed, the sound just loud enough to fill the room without demanding attention. A soft strum of guitar. A voice too sincere for its own good. Lyrics Sieun didn’t know, but something about them felt like they had been written with him in mind anyway.

They weren’t talking anymore.

No teasing. No arguing. No bratty remarks to cover up how fast Sieun’s heart still beat whenever Suho so much as touched him.

Just stillness.

Sieun didn’t ask what song was playing now. He didn’t need to. It didn’t matter that he didn’t know the lyrics. He knew what they were trying to say. He knew what Suho was trying to say. Every chord, every verse, every quiet moment between tracks was another sentence Suho hadn’t said out loud, but didn’t have to.

This was Suho’s language. And for once, Sieun was listening.

Maybe that’s what music was. Not just sound, but closeness. A way to be known without the awkwardness of words. A way to let someone in.

His fingers curled lightly against the blanket, his breathing slowing as the melody smoothed over the edges of his thoughts. He could feel sleep pulling him down, but it didn’t feel heavy like before. Not like when he used to sleep just to escape.

Now, he didn’t mind drifting.

Not when Suho’s playlist was playing quietly by his ear.

Not when the warmth blanketing him felt like home.

Not when he’d finally figured it out.

That music, in the right hands, could sound like love.

And Suho had been playing it for him all along.