Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

the summer air at the ranch was heavy with the smell of freshly cut grass, mixed with the distant hum of cicadas and the soft thuds of gloves hitting punching bags from the boxing gym nearby. the ranch sprawled across acres of land, far from the noise of new york city, surrounded by endless trees that swayed gently in the warm june breeze. it looked almost peaceful, like a place people came to escape. but for the athletes living inside its cream-colored dormitories, it was anything but rest. it was work. every hour of every day was dedicated to practice, discipline, and perfection.

the main building was shaped like a long rectangle, its large glass windows reflecting the soft orange light of the evening sun. inside, long wooden hallways branched into different sections — the skating rink, the gym, the medical wing, and the dormitories where the athletes lived. the cafeteria sat at the center of it all, a large open space with high ceilings and round tables, always buzzing during meal times.

tonight, the cafeteria was especially crowded. trays clattered, voices blended into one loud murmur, and laughter echoed off the tall walls. it hummed with a restless, almost chaotic energy, packed to the brim with people. trays clattered against each other, a sharp, metallic sound that cut through the air, mingling with the occasional screech of a chair dragged across the tiled floor or the faint clink of a fork slipping off a plate. voices blended into a thick, relentless murmur—a mosaic of conversations, some hushed, some loud, weaving together into a low roar that seemed to vibrate in your chest.

lines twisted around the serving stations, where stainless steel counters reflected the warm glow of heat lamps. workers in hairnets moved like clockwork, scooping portions with practiced flicks of their wrists, their faces blank but their hands never pausing. every now and then, someone would dart through the crowd, balancing a tray piled high with food, weaving past clusters of people standing in knots, catching up or arguing over who said what. the floor, speckled with crumbs and the occasional spilled drink, bore the evidence of the evening’s rush. it was messy, loud, and overwhelming—but somehow, in the middle of it all, there was a strange kind of warmth, like the cafeteria had become the beating heart of the place for the night.
the sturdy tables in the cafeteria were battle-scarred, their surfaces scratched and worn from years of heavy use. packed tightly under harsh fluorescent lights, they held a chaos of trays, water bottles, and gym bags—some meticulously neat, others strewn with crumpled napkins and half-empty cups. each bore the weight of heaping plates, from grilled steak to steamed kale.

at one table near the center sat sieun.

his dark, brown hair was slightly tousled, the soft strands falling gently over his forehead. his skin was pale, almost glowing under the warm lighting, only a faint flush on his cheeks hinting at a long day of training. the thin fabric of his light blue training jacket clung to his lean, small frame, the sleeves slightly bunched at his wrists, marked with faint sweat stains from the rink. at his side, his skates rested on the floor, their laces meticulously tied together in a neat bundle, the blades glinting faintly under the table. across from him sat his two best friends, nico and jamie, who had come to visit the ranch for a few days. nico slouched back, one arm draped over the chair, his dark hoodie a stark contrast to sieun’s lighter tones, while jamie leaned forward, elbows on the table, his dark hair bouncing as he gestured animatedly, his laughter cutting through the cafeteria’s din.

nico, always animated, was halfway through a story about a boy back home while jamie absentmindedly fiddled with his camera, as usual.

“i’m telling you,” nico said, leaning forward, his voice dropping to a whisper, “he totally looked at me. twice.”
he looked absurdly serious for someone talking about a hallway glance, elbows braced like he was sharing state secrets.

sieun laughed softly, poking at the salad on his plate. “you always think that, nico.”

jamie rolled his eyes with theatrical flair, already lifting the camera to his face. the lens glinted in the afternoon light as he adjusted the focus, his finger poised above the shutter.
“okay, hold still, both of you,” he muttered, half-serious, half-amused.

the camera clicked, a soft mechanical snap that somehow felt louder in the golden quiet of the common room. it captured them just as they were — sieun leaning slightly into the frame, nico grinning like he was trying not to laugh.

“perfect,” jamie said with satisfaction, lowering the camera and checking the screen. “i’m documenting this visit. you’ll thank me when you’re famous, sieun.”
sieun rolled his eyes playfully, but his smile betrayed him - wide, a little crooked, the kind that always felt more like a reflex than a performance.

“i’m already famous,” he said, the words light and teasing. but his slow, delicate voice held a softness that pulled people in whether he meant it to or not. jamie didn’t answer right away. he just looked at sieun, like he was already framing the next shot in his mind.

unnoticed by sieun, a pair of eyes lingered on him from across the room — steady, unreadable, and unwavering.

at a table tucked near the far wall, half in shadow from the low-slanting light, sat a boy with the posture of someone who knew how to keep still.
his jet-black hair, still damp from training, was slicked back but already coming undone, a few strands falling rebelliously across his forehead. his skin held the faint sheen of sweat and effort, collar of his t-shirt stretched slightly from being tugged loose. broad shoulders bore the weight of discipline, his arms resting on the table with casual strength. his knuckles were scabbed, bruised — the quiet evidence of a life spent throwing punches. his friend beside him was saying something, gesturing animatedly about a coach or a match or a stupid rumor, but suho didn’t respond.

his attention was elsewhere. locked.

on a boy across the room — smaller, delicate in frame, all soft lines and pale skin under the harsh cafeteria lights.

sieun.

he was laughing, that much was clear. head tipped slightly toward the boy next to him, lashes lowered, mouth curved in a smile that pulled at something in suho’s chest before he had words for it. but it wasn’t the smile that held him in place. it was what came after.

because the moment sieun’s gaze drifted, away from his friend, away from the conversation, his expression changed. not dramatically. not in a way anyone else would notice. but suho noticed. the smile dimmed, not into a frown, but into something quieter. emptier. like a candle slowly snuffed under glass. he saw the way sieun’s fingers stilled on his fork. the way his eyes didn’t settle anywhere for long, like he was watching for something that might catch him off guard.

it wasn’t loneliness. it wasn’t sadness, exactly. it was something heavier, practiced, buried, wearing the shape of someone trying very hard to seem fine.

and suho, who rarely paid attention to anyone outside the ring, found himself sitting straighter.

“hey,” his friend nudged him lightly with an elbow, breaking the silence between bites of a protein bar. “you zoning out again? who’re you looking at?”

suho blinked, pulled back from whatever distant thought had taken hold of him. his eyes dropped to the table, lashes casting soft shadows on his cheekbones.
“no one,” he said, too quickly, the edge of his voice just a little too casual.

his friend snorted, unconvinced. “sure. let me guess.” he twisted slightly in his seat, angling himself to follow where suho had been staring. “oh. you mean the figure skater? that’s sieun, right?”

suho didn’t answer, didn’t move, didn’t even look up.

“yeah, that’s him,” his friend continued, amused. “kid’s a big deal around here. gold medalist.”
still, suho said nothing.

his fingers tapped once, absently, against the edge of his tray. a slow breath passed through his nose, and against better judgment, his gaze lifted again — just briefly — seeking out that familiar profile across the room.

sieun was listening to something one of his friends was saying, lips curved faintly, though he didn’t seem to be hearing it all. his hand rested lightly around a water bottle, unmoving.

suho didn’t know what he was looking for. only that he couldn’t quite stop.

then, with a practiced indifference, he turned away.

after a while, the cafeteria began to thin out, trays scraping, chairs dragging, the echo of laughter fading into tired chatter. sieun’s half-eaten salad sat forgotten between him and his friends, wilted leaves pushed to one side of the plate like an afterthought.
jamie finally stood, stretching his arms overhead with a groan.

“come on, before we get roped into kitchen duty,” he muttered, slinging his camera strap across his chest again.

nico grinned and grabbed his tray. “you mean before you try to photograph the dish pit like it’s high art.”

sieun just smiled softly, rising with a quieter rhythm. his sleeves slipped down over his hands again as he gathered his things, shoulders slightly hunched like he was already bracing for the cooler air outside.

they stepped out into the open dusk, the cafeteria doors swinging closed behind them with a hollow thud.

gravel crunched beneath their sneakers as they walked the narrow path back toward the dormitories. the warmth of the day still lingered in the air, but a gentle breeze had started to roll in, brushing against their faces, rustling the trees in a way that sounded like distant whispers.
jamie walked ahead, humming something under his breath, already checking the photos on his camera. nico ambled beside sieun, hands in his pockets, kicking the occasional stone into the grass.
inside sieun’s room, the light was dim, softened by the late evening creeping through the thin curtains. the air smelled faintly of detergent and eucalyptus, a scent clinging to the pillowcases. they kicked off their shoes without ceremony, collapsing onto his bed and chairs like they belonged there.

nico sprawled over the desk chair, legs dangling off one armrest. jamie flopped onto the bed beside sieun, still clutching his camera like it was part of his body. the room buzzed faintly with the residue of the long day, training, cafeteria noise, the heat of too many bodies in one place. but now, there was just the hum of the desk fan and the sound of jamie tapping through photos.

“you know,” jamie started, casual but with that pointed tone that meant he wasn’t going to let it go, “there was someone staring at you during dinner.”

sieun turned his head slightly, brows furrowed. “staring?”

“yeah.” jamie didn’t look up from the screen. “asian as well. dark hair. kinda intimidating looking,” jamie scrolled a little more, then paused. “look.” he angled the screen toward sieun. “i was filming you guys messing around with the spoons, but i caught him by accident.”

sieun leaned in.

on the small screen, the footage shook slightly, laughter in the background, nico mid-sentence — and then, a flicker. across the cafeteria, blurred by distance but still sharp enough to register, a boy. dark-haired. broad shoulders. resting still at his table like a stone statue while everyone else moved. and his unwavering eyes fixed squarely on sieun.

even through the grain of the video, the stare felt precise. intentional.

sieun’s mouth parted, just barely.

“see?” jamie grinned. “caught in 4k.”

sieun flushed, barely noticeable but real, a soft bloom of pink across his cheekbones. he reached up, brushing his hair behind his ear with a nervous flick of his fingers.
“maybe he was just… looking around,” he offered, though it didn’t sound very convincing.

nico leaned forward with a knowing smirk. “nah. that was not just looking around. trust me. i know what looking around is. this guy was totally checking you out.”

sieun let out a shaky laugh, shaking his head.

“you two are impossible,” he mumbled, trying for playful, but his voice came out a little breathy.

jamie tossed the camera onto the bed beside him and leaned back, folding his arms behind his head.

“whoever he is,” he said, eyes half-lidded with mischief, “he’s definitely seen something he liked.”

sieun said nothing for a moment, lips pressed into a thin line. but his gaze drifted back to the frozen image on the camera’s screen, that quiet intensity, locked across the room.

the conversation drifted after that. niko had shifted to sit cross-legged at the foot of sieun’s bed, idly flipping through some magazine he’d grabbed from sieun’s desk, though his eyes weren’t really focused on the pages. jamie lay sprawled sideways across the only chair in the room, tapping his phone screen now and then, half-distracted, half-listening.

the glow from sieun’s small desk lamp bathed the room in warm, amber light, casting long, lazy shadows across the pale walls. the edges of everything softened — the rumpled blankets, the open book on his nightstand, the camera still resting where jamie had left it. outside, the sky had darkened to deep navy, pierced by a scattering of stars. through the slightly cracked window, the steady hum of crickets threaded through the air, a quiet song of summer just lingering.

“we’re heading back to the city, it’s getting late,” nico said as he stretched, pulling on his hoodie and patting his pockets for his phone. “you better visit soon. not just ghost us like last time.”

sieun smiled, standing to walk them to the door. “i will,” he said, soft and sincere.

jamie ruffled his hair on the way out. “don’t get too famous without us.”

and just like that, they were gone, their laughter fading down the hallway, swallowed by the quiet hum of the dormitory walls. sieun closed the door behind them and stood there for a moment, letting the silence settle around him like a blanket. the overhead light buzzed faintly, but the lamp beside his bed was gentler, kinder.

he returned to the edge of his mattress, sinking down slowly. for a long while, he just sat.

the room felt too still, too echoing now that his friends had left. he picked up the camera one more time, thumb brushing over the playback button. the video jumped to life, grainy and brief, but there he was again. the boy.

sieun stared at the screen.

don’t be stupid, he thought. he was probably just looking around.

he turned off the camera, placed it gently on the nightstand, and lay back against the pillows, eyes open in the dark. he didn’t know why, but something about that boy’s eyes stayed in his mind longer than he expected.

he thought about them all night.

***

sieun woke early, slipping into his skating gear, black fitted pants, a thin long-sleeve performance shirt, and his jacket. tying his skates over his shoulder, he made his way to the rink. the ranch always smelled faintly of fresh ice, leather, and sweat, but sieun found comfort in it. the cold air of the rink bit at his cheeks as he stepped onto the glassy surface, beginning his morning drills.

halfway through his routine, blades whispering against the ice in sharp, practiced rhythms, sieun was lost in the familiar pull of muscle and breath. his body moved on instinct, gliding, turning, accelerating into a tight spin, but his mind was always a step ahead, tracking imperfections, recalibrating in real time. he coasted to a stop near the boards, chest rising and falling beneath his jacket. the rink lights buzzed faintly above, casting a cool glow across the empty space. it was quiet, save for the distant hum of machinery and the dull click of his blades against the edge of the ice.

from the hallway outside the rink, he heard the faint buzz of a phone echoing in the stillness, a sound that broke through the mental fog like a pinprick.

during a short water break, he slipped off the ice, breath still heavy, and jogged toward the locker room. the moment he unlocked his cubby and checked the screen, the flicker of calm unraveled.

shawn:
start getting ready. i will see you tomorrow after the practise.

that was all it said. short. cold. deliberate.
the words sank into him like ice water poured down his spine.

his stomach dipped, tightening with a feeling he didn’t want to name.

shawn owned the ranch — a private, invitation-only training facility nestled in the hills of upstate new york, far from the busy city, press and oversight. he’d built it from the ground up over twenty years ago, and in that time, it had produced fifteen world-class champions. medalists. record-breakers. olympians. six months ago, he’d signed a million-dollar sponsorship deal with the olympic committee itself — a contract that cemented his status as one of the most powerful figures in the world of competitive sports.

athletes across the country begged for a chance to be accepted to the ranch. only a few were ever chosen.

sieun had been there for a little over a year now. long enough to understand what made the place run — and what it could take from you. long enough to know that shawn didn’t ask for things. 

he was the one who picked out your skates. the one who decided your choreography, your music, your meals. he watched every practice, every press interview, every blink and breath. to the outside world, he was a visionary. to sieun, he was something more complicated.

he stood still for a second longer than necessary, the cold air biting at his sweat-soaked skin, phone still in hand. then, quickly, like touching something hot — he shoved it back into the locker, slammed the door, and turned away.

not now, he told himself. not here.
he needed to finish the routine. get through the drills. keep his hands steady. he couldn’t afford to let his head slip. not even for a second. not if he wanted to be perfect. so he stepped back out onto the ice, exhaling a slow, controlled breath, the burn of his lungs grounding him. and though his limbs moved the same way they always did, precise, elegant, unstoppable — something had shifted.

hours later, after pushing through the last of his drills and forcing his body through a cold-water cool-down that left his skin numb and aching, sieun made the slow walk back toward the dormitories. the sun had already dipped behind the trees that edged the field, casting long amber shadows across the worn gravel path. each step felt heavier than the last, like the air itself had thickened.

he didn’t speak to anyone on the way back. barely looked up. just one foot in front of the other, arms curled around himself despite the lingering heat in the air.

his room greeted him with its usual stillness. he stepped inside and closed the door behind him without turning on the light, letting the soft dusky glow from the window hold the space in a gentle half-shadow. he tossed his phone and keys onto the desk — the sound muted against the old wood. the room was small. neat. almost sterile, in a way that didn’t come from cleaning but from routine. there was nothing spontaneous in it. no clutter, no mess, no evidence of boyhood or comfort. just structure.

the extra bed, the one that used to belong to his roommate, had been taken out months ago.
shawn had said he needed the space. that he deserved the privacy now that his training was intensifying. you’ve outgrown the distraction, he’d said. this is better for you.

sometimes sieun wondered if it had ever been about him at all.

he peeled off his jacket and let it drop gently over the back of the chair, then ran his fingertips along the edge of the desk. the old posters taped to the wall, champions mid-spin, gold medals around their necks, arms raised in the air — felt more faded every time he looked at them. their smiles were still bright. too bright. they reminded him what was expected. what he owed.

laughter drifted faintly from the far end of the hallway. older boys, probably still buzzing from practice, trading cards and jokes and someone’s contraband bag of candy.

sieun didn’t go out there anymore.

he rubbed both hands over his face, dragging them slowly down until they fell to his lap, then reached for his planner. it sat in its usual place, right corner of the desk, cover perfectly aligned with the edge. he flipped it open.the pages were filled with tight, careful handwriting. nothing out of place.

• morning practice: 6am
• conditioning: 8am
• schoolwork: 10am
• private training: 1pm
• choreography: 3pm
• evening drills: 6pm
• stretch & recovery: 8pm

seven items. every day. every week. no gaps.

his eyes flicked to the next page.

• math midterm: friday
• literature assignment due: thursday
• history reading: finish by wednesday

his chest ached, not from soreness, not from physical fatigue, but from the quiet weight of all of it. the feeling that everything was held together by a thread he couldn’t let slip. that if he paused, even for a second, it would all fall apart.
he leaned back in the chair, eyes closed, exhaling through his nose. he was tired in a way sleep didn’t touch.

and then—
a sharp knock.

three quick raps against the door, firm. intentional.

sieun’s eyes snapped open. he looked toward the door, then at the clock. his stomach tightened. the kind of tight that curled in on itself.

he quiet sound echoed in the stillness of the room, making his heart skip a beat. sieun’s hand hovered just above the door handle, breath caught in the hollow of his chest.

shawn.

he didn’t need to see the face to know who was waiting on the other side. the sharp knock, impatient, demanding was shawn’s signature. for a moment, sieun braced himself, steadying the tremor in his fingers. he rehearsed the words he might say, the calm he’d try to wear like armor.

but when he pulled the door open slowly, the figure standing there wasn’t who he expected.

it wasn’t shawn.

it was the boy from the cafeteria.

up close, suho seemed even taller, his broad shoulders filling the doorway like a shadow. the dim light from the hallway caught the sharp lines of his face, strong jaw, dark eyes that held something unreadable, calm but watchful. suho’s expression was steady, quiet, and a little cautious, like he was weighing his words carefully before he spoke.

“hey,” suho said softly. “sorry to bother you, but i just wanted to introduce myself. i’m pretty new here—live just a few doors down on the same floor.” he nodded lightly in the direction.

sieun blinked, caught off guard by the sudden, gentle interruption. his eyes flickered up, meeting suho’s steady gaze with a mix of curiosity and caution. a small, polite smile tugged at his lips, tentative but sincere. “oh,” he said quietly. “hi, i’m sieun.”

suho smiled back, a quiet warmth threading through his words. “yeah, i know. i’m suho.”

there was a pause, awkward, weighted with unspoken thoughts. both of them standing there, caught between politeness and something more fragile.

“you’re the figure skater, right?” suho asked, lips curling into a small, easy smile that didn’t quite reach the guarded flicker in his eyes. “i saw you on the ice a few times — you’re pretty damn good.”

sieun’s cheeks flushed, heat rising softly beneath his skin. a shy smile flickered on his lips as he glanced down for a moment, fingers twisting nervously at the edge of his sleeve before meeting suho’s eyes again.
“oh, thanks,” he said softly. “i’ve been skating for a while… it’s kind of all i know.” he shifted slightly, the weight of the moment settling awkwardly between them. “and you’re…?”

“mma,” suho said, leaning casually against the doorframe, arms flexing under the shirt as he shifted his weight. “just started training here last month.”

“oh.” sieun returned a polite smile, trying to mask the flicker of surprise that passed through him. “welcome, then.” his voice was soft but genuine, though an unspoken distance lingered — like he was still measuring this new presence in his carefully contained world. suho noticed how sieun held the door only half-open, almost as if shielding himself behind it.

then suho’s expression shifted to something sharper, wry.

“someone’s getting kicked out tonight,” he said with a faint shrug, voice laced with dry humor. “one of the boxers. caught drinking. bunch of people are gathering by the back patio to watch him pack up and leave.”

for a long moment, sieun just stared at him. the news caught him off guard. kicked out? in this place, rules were ironclad, one misstep and you vanished like you never existed.

“oh, i see,” sieun finally whispered.

suho’s eyes softened, reading the hesitation in sieun’s stance.

“i was wondering if you wanted to come,” he offered gently, voice almost a quiet invitation, as if sensing sieun’s reluctance. “i don’t know many people here yet.”

immediately, sieun’s mind started racing. his body tensed involuntarily, already hearing shawn’s voice in the back of his head. you need to rest. early practice tomorrow. no distractions.

still, it wasn’t that late. and shawn wasn’t knocking at his door right now. besides… he hadn’t been out around people like that in weeks.

sieun bit his lip, glancing briefly down the empty hallway before looking back up.

“are… are others going too?” he asked quietly.

“yeah,” suho nodded. “mostly the older trainees.” he gave a small smile, “ the usual ranch drama from what i heard.”

sieun hesitated for a beat longer, feeling his heartbeat quicken in that familiar way, the fluttering mix of nerves and something dangerously close to excitement that always came when he let himself imagine stepping out of the lines, even if just for a moment.

“…okay,” he finally murmured, barely audible, voice trembling like a fragile thread. “just for a bit. let me grab my jacket.”

suho stepped aside, watching quietly as sieun disappeared into the small room. the soft scrape of feet against the floor filled the space.

the boy’s hoodie hung from the old wooden coat rack. he pulled it over his slim frame, the soft grey fabric swallowing his small shoulders. in the dim light, the faint outline of love bites along his collarbone were briefly visible before the hood settled over him.

they walked side by side down the long corridor, their footsteps slow and measured, echoing beneath the gentle hum of fluorescent lights. the air smelled faintly of cleaning products and something metallic — the scent of the dormitory, sterile and constant.

sieun stole a few cautious glances at suho, who moved with a natural steadiness, no stiffness, no tension. his body seemed used to being pushed and pulled in ways different from the rigid drills and sharp precision that defined sieun’s own training.

suho caught his eyes and smiled softly, a warmth that reached his gaze without words. “first time seeing someone get kicked out?” he asked, voice low and easy.

sieun glanced at him shyly, fingers twisting nervously inside his hoodie pocket. “well, no.”

“happens more than you’d think, huh?” suho asked with a knowing shrug. “is it true the committee doesn’t play around with the rules?” his tone was light, but the weight behind the question lingered.

sieun’s voice dropped even lower, almost swallowed by the quiet. “no, they don’t.” he swallowed hard. “mistakes… aren’t tolerated.”

the night air met them like a cool breath, sharp against the faint warmth left clinging to sieun’s skin from the dormitory halls. above, the sky spread wide and empty, a deep black canvas dotted with stars barely visible through the soft orange glow of the ranch’s outdoor security lights. they followed the path toward the back patio, the gravel crunching under their sneakers. the closer they got, the louder the quiet murmur of voices became—low conversations, punctuated by occasional bursts of nervous laughter, like kids pretending not to care while secretly feeding on the drama unfolding before them.

the back patio was a flat concrete slab that jutted out behind the main building, bordered by short iron railings and overlooked by the dark line of tall trees that surrounded the ranch. a few metal benches sat along the edges, mostly unoccupied. tonight, the patio was unusually crowded, maybe twenty or thirty people gathered in small clusters, their faces dimly lit by the harsh, buzzing floodlights mounted to the building’s rear wall.

sieun instinctively slowed his steps as they stepped into the light, feeling the way everyone’s attention seemed to pull toward the center of the commotion.

there he was — the boxer.

tall, broad-shouldered, maybe seventeen or eighteen. his face flushed with anger, jaw clenched so tightly it looked like it might snap. he stood beside one of the committee’s transport vans, roughly shoving handfuls of clothes and belongings into a large duffel bag, his movements sharp and uncoordinated with fury. his training jacket, once pristine, bearing the committee’s proud crest — lay crumpled on the ground like discarded skin.

two supervisors loomed nearby in black jackets, their arms crossed, eyes hard and cold as stone. one of them held a clipboard tucked against his chest, occasionally scribbling notes while the other simply watched, lips pressed thin with disapproval.

sieun swallowed, standing closer to suho now, almost instinctively seeking his presence. the tension in the air was thick, like a rope pulled tight, one wrong move away from snapping. some of the other trainees whispered quietly in small circles.

sieun kept his head slightly lowered, hiding behind the loose hood of his gray sweatshirt, but his ears caught every word. it was the same rule drilled into all of them: no substances. zero tolerance. one strike and you’re gone.
the boxer zipped up his bag with a violent tug before flinging it over his shoulder. his mouth twisted as he barked something under his breath at the supervisors, too low to hear—but one of the men stepped forward immediately, cutting him off with a sharp gesture.

“watch your mouth,” the supervisor said coldly.

sieun’s chest tightened. he hated watching this. the humiliation. the way the supervisors stood like vultures, taking quiet satisfaction in the fall of someone weaker. sieun swallowed, the back of his throat tightening.

suho, noticing the shift in his expression, leaned in slightly and whispered, “strict place, huh?”

sieun gave a tiny nod, his voice barely a breath. “sometimes i feel like… they’re waiting for you to mess up.”

suho glanced at him sideways, his brow knitting slightly. “yeah,” he agreed under his breath. “i think they’re the ones who mess these kids up.”

sieun’s chest ached at that. he kept his gaze forward, his fingers curling slightly into the sleeve cuffs of his hoodie. the boxer was finally shoved toward the van door by one of the staff members. the heavy metal door slammed shut behind him, rattling loudly into the silence. the engine started, headlights slicing through the night, before the vehicle slowly pulled away down the gravel road and disappeared into the dark tree line. as the van faded from view, the energy around them shifted. the tension bled away, replaced by soft murmurs as the crowd began to break apart, small groups drifting back toward the dorms.

a few skaters in committee jackets walked past them, giggling nervously, pretending they hadn’t been thrilled to watch. “serves him right,” one of them whispered to another.

sieun stayed rooted in place a moment longer, watching the empty spot where the van had been. the pit in his stomach hadn’t loosened.

“we should head back,” one of the skaters muttered, yawning. “curfew’s soon.”

the small crowd slowly began to disperse as the scene ended.

“let’s go back,” suho finally said gently.

as the group broke apart, sieun and suho quietly slipped back toward the dormitory building. the halls felt emptier now, their steps quieter, almost intimate beneath the low hum of the lights.

at sieun’s door, they both paused.

“thanks for coming,” suho said, his voice low and softer now, like he didn’t want to break the quiet. “i see that this place can be… intense.”

sieun smiled faintly, his lips pulling slightly at the corners but not quite reaching his eyes. “it’s not so bad. i’m used to it.”

suho looked at him for a moment longer, his eyes kind. “you shouldn’t have to be.”

the words sank into sieun like a stone in deep water, unexpected and heavy. his throat tightened, but he managed a small nod before reaching for the handle. “goodnight, suho.”

“goodnight, sieun. i will see you around.”

the door closed softly behind him, leaving him alone again with the familiar silence of his room. he stood for a moment, letting out a shaky breath. his eyes drifted toward his desk, scattered practice schedules, piles of schoolwork, notes about upcoming exams that loomed like dark clouds over his already packed days.

private session tomorrow.

he could almost hear shawn’s voice in his head again — syrupy, sharp.

his stomach twisted, nausea curling in his gut.

he lay down on his small bed, curling into himself slightly. but even as he tried to shut it all out, suho’s voice lingered like a whisper against his ribs:

“you shouldn’t have to be.”

his thoughts kept circling back, not to tomorrow’s early practice, not to shawn’s message sitting unread on his phone — but to suho.

the way his voice had sounded tonight, so calm and steady. like an anchor. the way his dark eyes had watched him, not like everyone else did, with expectations, or lust, but watched him gently, kind. his heart beat quietly in his chest, an unfamiliar warmth spreading through him that had nothing to do with fear or anxiety, and everything to do with the boy who had knocked on his door tonight.

he imagined suho again, standing a little too close, hands in his pockets, voice soft as he asked him to come outside. the night air on his skin. suho’s easy smile that barely tugged at his lips. the quiet comfort of his presence beside him, even in the middle of something so ugly.

his mind slipped further, half-dreaming as he laid there, now imagining suho’s fingers brushing his hands gently, sitting next to him on the edge of his bed, their knees barely touching. suho laughing softly at something dumb, his hand reaching out to gently fix a loose strand of sieun’s hair, tucking it behind his ear like it was the most natural thing in the world. and maybe, just maybe, if he let himself go far enough, he could imagine suho leaning even closer, his forehead resting gently against his, both of them breathing the same air, lost in the kind of closeness sieun never allowed himself to want.

his cheeks flushed at the thought, pulse quickening beneath the sheets. it felt dangerous, but comforting. like standing near a fire on a frozen night.

his stomach fluttered. sieun wasn’t used to this kind of warmth.
it scared him, in a way. it felt fragile — like if he touched it too hard, it would shatter.

and yet, tonight, it was enough to finally pull him under.

when sleep did come, it was filled with soft, blurred dreams, flashes of dark eyes, of suho’s steady presence beside him, of standing together beneath the quiet stars.

and for the first time in a long while, sieun didn’t wake up afraid.

Chapter Text

the cold air inside the arena was heavy with anticipation, like a living thing pressing against every corner of the vast space. the ice stretched out, a gleaming, glassy sheet reflecting the thousand flickering lights above. sieun’s skates kissed the ice softly as he stepped onto the rink, the thin blades cutting faint silver trails in his wake. the sharp, crisp sound of metal meeting frozen water was a whisper beneath the roar of the crowd.

around him, the audience was a sea of expectant faces, eyes bright with excitement and nerves. the murmurs rippled like waves, each breath held collectively, waiting. the air smelled faintly of popcorn and sweat, mingled with the cool scent of the ice. overhead, banners fluttered gently in the artificial breeze of the ventilation, old and new records celebrating champions past, daring the present to carve their names into history.

sieun adjusted the collar of his sleek costume, the fabric shimmering subtly under the bright lights—a deep midnight blue that caught the glow and shimmered like starlight. the warmth of the crowd felt distant, almost otherworldly, compared to the chill that settled deep in his bones. his breath came out in small clouds, each one a fragile moment suspended in time. his fingers tightened briefly around the edge of his gloves.

the coach’s voice, calm but urgent, echoed faintly in his mind, a tether grounding him in the chaos. the countless hours of early mornings, grueling drills, bruises and tears — all funneled into this singular moment. the music swelled, the first notes filling the arena like a call to arms, and sieun stepped forward, blades sliding with precise grace. his body moved with fluid power, a dance between strength and vulnerability. the edges of his skates carved deep arcs into the ice as he launched himself into the first jump — a flawless axel, spinning fast, suspended briefly in the air before landing smoothly, the crowd catching their breath. the pressure tightened, but he kept his focus, eyes locked ahead, muscles coiled for the next move.

a series of triple jumps followed — lutz, flip, salchow — each one executed with exacting perfection. the applause swelled with each landing, a wave of sound that carried him forward. the commentators’ voices floated through the speakers, layered over the music, painting a vivid picture for the crowd and those watching at home:

“sieun’s technique is impeccable tonight, every jump clean, every landing secure. you can see the hours of dedication in every muscle, every turn. this isn’t just skating, it’s storytelling on ice.”

“his speed through the transitions, the seamless flow from jump to spin, it’s artistry and athleticism wrapped in one. the crowd is completely captivated.”

as the routine built toward its climax, sieun prepared for the final sequence: the triple axel, his signature move. the ice seemed to vanish beneath him as he leapt, spinning rapidly, defying gravity and time itself. he landed with a soft yet definitive scrape, bending low to absorb the impact, a perfect finish to a flawless routine. the music faded into a gentle whisper, and for a moment, silence hung in the air — heavy, expectant. then, like a sudden rush of wind, the arena exploded into applause. cheers, whistles, the stomping of feet reverberated off the walls. flowers and scarves rained down from the stands as the crowd rose to its feet, offering tokens of admiration and respect.

sieun’s chest heaved with exertion, sweat tracing icy lines down his temple, but a calm serenity settled over him. he skated slowly toward the edge, where his coach waited, eyes bright with pride, a steady hand resting briefly on sieun’s shoulder. together, they moved off the ice, hearts pounding, to stand beneath the glaring lights in the silent tension of waiting for the scoreboard to reveal the final verdict.

the announcer’s voice cut through the noise, crisp and deliberate: “ladies and gentlemen, your champion tonight — sieun. republic of korea.”

but the words felt distant, almost surreal. sieun closed his eyes briefly, letting the weight of the moment settle deep inside him.

“sieun has earned his spot with this performance,” the commentator’s voice rang clear, “a true master of the ice, ready to represent korea on the world’s biggest stage. beijing is just around the corner, and if tonight’s routine is any indication, we’ll be seeing his name at the top of the podium.”

“absolutely,” another voice chimed in, “see you in beijing, sieun.”

as the applause faded and the crowd’s focus shifted, cameras pivoted smoothly away, catching sieun’s steady smile and the brief embrace with his coach. but when the flashes dimmed, sieun’s smile faltered just a little. the weight of what came next settled over him like a shadow, heavier than the cheers.

with slow, measured steps, he made his way toward the tunnel leading backstage, toward the locker room, where the air inside was heavy, saturated with the mingled scents of sweat, worn leather, and the faint antiseptic sting of cleaning products lingering from earlier. fluorescent lights buzzed overhead, their harsh glow casting long shadows across the cold, tiled floor and the rows of steel lockers lined up like silent sentinels. the noise from the arena beyond was muffled now, reduced to a distant roar and the scattered clatter of footsteps — a stark contrast to the electricity sieun had just felt on the ice.

he stepped through the door, the sharp scrape of his skate blades against the floor echoing softly. he pulled off his gloves slowly, letting the adrenaline drain from his fingers, replaced by a mix of exhaustion and relief. his muscles hummed with a dull ache, every movement deliberate and careful. the bright lights made his skin feel raw, the flush of exertion still blooming across his cheeks.

shawn was already there, leaning casually against the lockers, arms crossed. his dark eyes flicked up as sieun entered, a slow, measured smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. “you did well,” he said, voice low, almost a purr in the quiet room.

he was in his early forties, though he wore the years like a perfectly tailored suit, not a strand of hair out of place, his salt-and-pepper stubble cleanly edged around his jaw. his body, still athletic, was dressed in a fitted black quarter-zip and slacks that clung neatly to his frame. the overhead lights cast sharp shadows along his cheekbones and jawline, making his expression hard to read — stern, yet smooth. the kind of face that could convince a room of anything.

sieun paused by the benches, heart skittering in his chest. his hand was still curled around the strap of his duffle bag, body slightly tense beneath the layers of his warmups. “thank you,” he murmured, trying to keep his voice even. it came out soft. tired.

shawn pushed off from the lockers, steps soundless on the rubber floor, closing the distance in a few slow strides. he stopped close, too close, until sieun could feel the quiet radiating heat of him, the familiar scent of his cologne sharp and clinging: cedarwood. the fluorescent lighting caught the angular lines of his face. his jaw was tight, expression unreadable but not cold. not kind, either. something else entirely lingered there, a particular kind of attention. the kind sieun had learned to recognize. his lips curled faintly as he spoke again.

“better than well,” he said, low and deliberate. “the axels were clean. sharp. you owned the ice tonight.”

sieun’s chest tightened, not with fear, not exactly, but with a tangle of things. a brief flicker of pride, of satisfaction that someone had noticed how hard he’d pushed. but under it, something else stirred. a quiet, creeping unease. the way shawn looked at him, not like someone proud of a skater, but like something else entirely. like something he believed belonged to him.

“i worked hard,” sieun said softly, his gaze dropping to the scuffed tile between them. he spoke carefully, measured, the way he always did when they were alone. “i wanted to make you proud.”

“proud?” shawn echoed, his tone dipping, his voice suddenly so close it brushed the shell of sieun’s ear. he took another step forward. sieun didn’t move. didn’t dare.

“you don’t want to make me proud,” he murmured, almost gently. “you want to make me happy. understand the difference.”

sieun nodded once, barely perceptible.

but he understood. god, he understood.

sieun’s breath caught in his throat, the air suddenly feeling thick, almost suffocating. he shifted backward until his shoulder pressed against the cool metal of a locker, the coldness a stark contrast to the heat pooling in his chest. “i’m doing my best.”

“your best?” shawn’s voice was sharper now, cutting through the quiet like a blade. “your best isn’t enough. not for what i expect from you.”

a cold shiver ran down sieun’s spine as shawn’s hand slid slowly over his shoulder, lingering just a moment too long, fingers tracing a path that made his skin crawl with a mix of fear and confusion. “you’re my favourite sieun, you know that?”

sieun’s throat tightened, panic flickering behind his eyes, but shawn’s gaze pinned him in place, unyielding. “and you know how important it is to… repay the people who make your success possible.”

the locker room felt smaller now, closing in with every word, every look, every inch of space shawn claimed. the hum of the fluorescent lights, the distant echo of cheers, the metallic scent all mixed into a dizzying haze.

sieun swallowed hard, trying to find words that wouldn’t betray him, but his voice came out barely a whisper. “i… i just want to skate.”

“and you will,” shawn said, voice softening but laced with something darker. “but you’ll do it my way. or you won’t do it at all.”

the silence stretched between them, thick and tense, before shawn suddenly stepped even closer, his breath brushing against sieun’s cheek. for a moment, his heart fluttered, confused by the strange gentleness in the movement. then shawn’s lips pressed softly, briefly against sieun’s — a kiss so fleeting it might have been imagined, yet unmistakably real. sieun’s eyes widened, breath hitching, but shawn pulled away slowly, a dark smile curving his lips.

“we both know what i expect, sieun.” shawn murmured low, voice dripping with something that felt like both promise and warning. „tonight. after all, we have much to celebrate.”

sieun’s body stiffened, a flush of heat and fear flooding him at once. he nodded, voice barely audible, “i know, but-”

the sudden knock on the locker room door sliced through the thick, charged silence like a sharp blade. both sieun and shawn froze, their eyes locking for a moment, a silent warning passing between them. shawn’s hand, which had been resting lightly on sieun’s cheek, lingered for a heartbeat longer. the faintest tremor betrayed an unspoken tension beneath his carefully controlled facade. then, with a slow, deliberate movement, he leaned in and pressed his lips gently against sieun’s again, a brief, feather-light kiss, almost reverent, like a possession marked in secrecy. sieun’s breath hitched, caught between shock and something darker, more tangled. shawn’s lips parted, and with a soft sigh, he withdrew, smoothing the fabric of his shirt as if trying to iron out the cracks in his own patience.

“don’t talk back,” shawn murmured low, his voice both a warning and a promise, eyes dark and unreadable as he moved to the door. „tonight, sieun.”

the weight of the moment seemed to press in, compressing the very air until it was nearly suffocating. then came the knock again, sharper, more insistent, and suddenly the spell broke. shawn straightened, his expression shifting swiftly from something possessive and guarded to a mask of controlled civility. he squared his shoulders, exhaled quietly, and turned the handle.

the door swung open on its hinges, releasing a flood of brighter, warmer air scented faintly with summer blooms and fresh hope. there, standing in the doorway, were sieun’s friends, faces alight with genuine joy, arms laden with bouquets of wildflowers and ribbons, their smiles wide and unguarded. the contrast was stark: the vibrant life and light spilling in from the hallway, crashing against the dim, closed-off world inside the locker room. sieun’s heart thudded wildly in his chest, caught in a strange whirl of relief, fear, and shame. his breath hitched, eyes darting away as his friends stepped in, laughter bubbling between them like a fragile shield against the darkness that lingered just beyond the door.

shawn, cold and distant once more, took a slow, steadying breath, his lips curving into a tight smile. “they’re here to congratulate you on your gold medal,” he said, voice smooth but edged with something like menace.

the friends moved closer, their voices weaving through the heavy atmosphere like a warm breeze trying to stir the stagnant air. they laughed softly, their eyes sparkling with pride and genuine happiness, completely unaware of the silent war waging just beneath the surface. sieun managed a small, shaky smile, the flowers feeling oddly heavy in his hands, as if the weight of their bright petals carried all the pressure and fear he was trying to bury deep inside. shawn stood rigid by the door, watching every gesture, every glance, his gaze sharp and possessive, like a hawk circling its prey. the faintest crease formed between his brows, a shadow flickering over his face as if the arrival of sieun’s friends cracked the delicate mask he wore. yet outwardly, he played the part of the supportive mentor perfectly, nodding politely, offering brief, measured words of congratulations, his voice calm and controlled like a well-rehearsed script.

the chatter in the locker room rose like a warm tide, voices bright and buzzing with excitement, laughter spilling over the scent of fresh flowers and sweat-streaked jerseys. sieun’s eyes scanned the doorway, and then he saw him — suho, stepping in with calm confidence, carrying a bouquet of tall, golden sunflowers, their vibrant petals glowing like miniature suns in the muted fluorescent light.

his heart skipped, an unexpected flutter that sent warmth rushing through his chest. the world seemed to tilt just slightly, as if time softened around suho’s presence. sieun’s lips curved into a genuine smile, rare and fragile, as his gaze drank in every detail, the deep navy jacket stretched over broad shoulders, the zipper left casually undone, which somehow made suho look effortlessly perfect, both strong and approachable.

a thousand words hung unsaid in that moment, but suho broke the silence with a low voice, steady and sure. “congratulations, sieun. you were incredible out there.”

before sieun could answer, suho stepped forward and pulled him into a tight hug, firm but gentle, like a lifeline in the storm. sieun felt the steady beat of suho’s heart against his own, the warmth of his arms a refuge from the suffocating pressure still clinging to his skin. suho’s arms wrapped firmly around sieun, grounding him in a way words never could. sieun’s breath slowed, his chest rising and falling against suho’s steady heartbeat, the warmth of the moment weaving through the cold tension that had settled deep inside him. he felt the rough texture of suho’s jacket under his fingers, the faint scent of sweat mixed with pine and something faintly sweet. suho’s cheek was pressed lightly against his temple, and sieun could feel the faint prickling of the soft stubble there, a contrast to the smooth skin he knew so well. it was the kind of closeness that reached beyond spoken language, carrying years of shared struggles, stolen moments, and unspoken promises.

time seemed to slow, the murmur of the other voices fading into a distant hum as sieun savored the rare feeling of safety. his hands trembled slightly, clutching the sunflowers, the bright petals trembling like fragile hopes, but suho’s grip steadied him, a silent reassurance.

and then, from the corner of his vision, the shadow returned. shawn’s eyes, dark and calculating, traced the line where suho’s hand rested on sieun’s back. there was something sharp there, almost predatory, a flicker of possessiveness, of warning. shawn’s fingers twitched, barely noticeable, as if itching to reach out, to reclaim what he thought belonged only to him. sieun’s heart tightened at the sight, the warmth of the hug suddenly mingling with the cold bite of fear. 

shawn’s lips pressed into a thin line, a sigh barely audible but heavy with meaning, before he turned away, stepping back into the shadows of the room. the weight of his gaze lingered, dark and suffocating, even as his figure melted into the background noise, leaving sieun caught between the light of suho’s embrace and the shadow of shawn’s glare. they slowly pulled apart from the hug, the warmth between them lingering like a soft ember against the cool, sterile air of the locker room. sieun’s fingers brushed gently over the sunflowers suho had handed him, petals that looked almost too bright, glowing golden even in the dim light. each thick green stem felt rough and solid in his hands, grounding him in a way he hadn’t expected. the flowers were vivid against the faded walls and the faint scent of sweat and cleaning chemicals, a small splash of life in the otherwise muted room.

sieun’s gaze flickered up to meet suho’s, and he felt the heat rise in his cheeks, a blush creeping slowly that he tried, and failed to hide. “you didn’t have to,” his voice came soft, almost breathless from the sudden closeness and the gentle pressure of suho’s hands still warm from the hug.

suho’s eyes softened, a subtle curve lifting the corner of his mouth into a small, knowing smile. “i know,” he said quietly, his tone steady but gentle, “but i wanted to. figured you could use a little sunshine right now.”

a small laugh escaped sieun’s lips, quiet but real, as some of the tightness in his shoulders loosened. the tension he’d carried all day, the exhaustion, the pressure, felt like it had softened, just a little. “yeah,” he admitted, “i guess i can.” he shifted the flowers carefully, cradling them like something fragile, afraid the rough stems might crush their delicate beauty.

sieun leaned casually against the lockers, arms crossed over his chest. “so,” he began, voice light and easy, as if trying to cut through the weight hanging in the room, “how was it? the whole competition thing? must’ve been a nightmare, right?”

sieun’s eyes drifted to the direction of the rink, the memory of the ice sharp and clear in his mind, the scrape of blades carving the frozen surface, the soft echo of his skates slicing through it. “intense,” he said, voice low, “exhausting. but when i landed those axels… it was like everything just disappeared.”

suho’s gaze never wavered, steady and calm. “i saw you. looked perfect out there. like you owned the ice.”

sieun’s smile was shy but sincere, a flicker of pride shining through the fatigue. “thank you,” he said, “means a lot coming from you.” his eyes fell back to the sunflowers for a beat, tracing the curve of the petals, before flickering back to suho. “did you… really come all this way? just for this?”

suho shrugged, the motion casual but with a quiet conviction behind it. “yeah,” he said, a faint grin tugging at his lips, “your friends dragged me along. said it was important to be here. didn’t argue. figured i’d see if you could actually pull it off.”

sieun laughed softly, shaking his head, the sound light and relieved. “i’m glad you did.”

for a long moment, the noise of the busy locker room, shuffling feet, muffled conversations, the sharp clang of lockers faded into the background. the warmth from the sunflowers seemed to seep into sieun’s skin, a small reminder that here, now, something real could still grow.

the night had folded itself into a velvet shroud by the time they made it back to sieun’s hotel room, the city of tokyo humming softly beyond the tall windows like a distant pulse. neon signs bled their colors into the glass, casting streaks of pink, blue, and gold across the walls, as if the very heart of the city had crept inside to join the celebration.

the room wasn’t particularly large, a standard competition hotel suite, but tonight it felt like a little sanctuary carved out from the noise of the world. warm, almost cozy. bags and jackets were tossed carelessly over the armchairs and desk, and on the small coffee table in the center, a spread of snacks had begun to gather: bags of chips hastily grabbed from a convenience store, a few boxes of pocky, and several gleaming bottles of cheap but sufficient champagne and soju. one of his friends had even brought along a few colorful paper cups from the lobby café, adding a ridiculous charm to the scene.

sieun kicked off his shoes near the door, his skates still resting in their bag by the wall, the weight of competition finally sliding off his slender shoulders. his muscles ached in that pleasant, worn-out way, like he had poured every ounce of himself onto the ice and left it there. but the adrenaline still hummed faintly in his veins, a distant echo of the crowd, the lights, the perfect landings. his friends were already chattering excitedly as they set up, voices overlapping in bursts of laughter and teasing. their happiness was infectious, warm, like a blanket wrapping around him.

suho moved comfortably among them, surprisingly at ease despite being the new addition to their little group. he had taken off his jacket and draped it neatly over the back of a chair, revealing a simple black turtleneck that clung to his frame in a way that drew sieun’s gaze more than once. his hair was still slightly tousled from the wind, and a faint roughness of stubble darkened his jawline, a soft shadow that made him look a bit older, more mature in the dim light of the room.

“okay, okay—” one of sieun’s friends clapped loudly, drawing everyone’s attention. “first things first: the champion deserves a proper toast.”

there was a flurry of activity as they popped open the champagne, the cork flying with a muted pop that made them all laugh. bubbly liquid foamed and spilled slightly over the edges as it was poured into the flimsy paper cups, and they passed them around with clumsy excitement. sieun accepted his cup with both hands, eyes bright, but somewhere deep inside his stomach twisted, like a thin thread pulling tighter.

tonight.

shawn’s voice slithered up through the cracks of his mind, wrapping around his ribs like cold fingers. his throat felt suddenly dry, but he masked it with a smile, raising his cup like the others.

“to sieun,” suho said softly, his voice lower than the others, but somehow it carried more weight. his dark eyes met sieun’s across the short distance, warm and steady, grounding him for a brief, precious second.

“to sieun!” the friends chorused, their voices bursting like fireworks in the small room.

they clinked their cups together, the thin rims making a soft, uneven chime. the champagne fizzed on his tongue, light and sweet, its bubbles tickling the back of his throat. he let the laughter around him wash over him like a tide, anchoring himself to the warmth of his friends, to suho’s quiet presence beside him.

soon, the conversation shifted to the competition again, how clean his landings were, how the triple axel seemed almost effortless, how the commentators were already calling him korea’s brightest hope for beijing.

“i swear,” one of his friends grinned, “the entire arena was holding their breath during your final jump. i almost passed out.”

“i almost puked,” another laughed.

sieun laughed too, the sound soft and real, his head falling slightly to the side where suho was sitting close. “i was terrified, honestly. my legs felt like jelly right before takeoff.”

suho gave a low chuckle, the corner of his mouth lifting. “didn’t show at all. you looked like you were flying.”

his words made something flutter in sieun’s chest, a gentle warmth that tried to chase away the cold coil still buried in his stomach. he caught himself glancing at suho’s hands as they rested casually on his lap, long fingers curled loosely, strong and steady. and for a heartbeat, sieun wanted nothing more than to just fall into that steadiness, to borrow some of that calm strength for himself.

more drinks were poured, snacks were passed around. the room grew louder, looser, the alcohol softening their voices and smoothing their edges. his friends leaned into each other, giggling at inside jokes, old memories, silly stories from their shared years on the circuit. sieun found himself drinking a bit faster than usual, hoping to keep up, hoping to dull the gnawing awareness under his skin. each sip blurred the sharp edges a little more, but never enough to completely silence the quiet dread.

“we both know what i expect, sieun.”

his gaze flickered toward the dark screen of his phone lying on the nightstand, as though half-expecting a message to blink onto the display. but nothing came. not yet.

suho’s voice broke gently into his thoughts. “you okay?”

sieun blinked, turning toward him. suho was watching him closely, eyes kind but perceptive, as though he could see something beneath the polished surface sieun tried so hard to maintain.

“yeah,” sieun said quickly, managing a small smile. “just… tired. it’s been a long day.”

suho nodded, his gaze never quite leaving his face. “of course it has. you’ve earned this.”

“i still can’t believe you actually came all this way,” sieu said suddenly, his voice a bit softer, like he was momentarily tuning out everyone else in the room.

suho glanced over again, smiling - that easy, boyish grin that always seemed to melt something inside sieun. “told you,” he said, voice light but warm, “your friends wouldn’t take no for an answer. plus, you think i’d miss seeing you land that axel live? not a chance.”

sieun blushed slightly, taking another small sip to hide the warmth rising to his cheeks. the alcohol buzz only made it worse. “still… it means a lot,” he said, eyes dropping to the sunflowers resting on the side table, petals still bright and open under the lamplight.

suho followed his gaze, a small chuckle escaping him. “glad they survived the flight.”

“i love them,” sieun admitted, voice small but honest.

the sunflowers were bright, vivid, unknowing.

their eyes met again, lingering for a moment longer than casual conversation allowed. it was enough to make sieun’s pulse flutter, enough to momentarily drown out the darker thoughts creeping along the edges of his mind. sieun’s breath hitched slightly, the blush creeping back into his cheeks.

the laughter around them continued, but for sieun, time seemed to slow, the warmth of suho’s nearness pressing against the cold that refused to fully leave his chest.

“alright,” nico grinned, scanning the circle of friends gathered around the low table. “if we’re gonna do this properly — we’re playing never have i ever. come on. gold medal calls for gold-tier entertainment.”

groans and chuckles rippled through the group, but no one protested. a few more drinks were poured, fresh shots for those who dared, and the little circle closed in tighter, legs folded under bodies, arms brushing lightly against one another. the soft rustle of hotel sheets and creaking of the bed frame underscored the warmth of their little cocoon, far away from the cold night pressing against the glass windows. sieun shifted closer to suho without quite realizing it, their shoulders brushing as they adjusted to fit into the tight circle. his skin tingled faintly where they touched, the casual closeness making his chest tighten and loosen all at once. suho smelled faintly of cedarwood and fabric softener, the kind of scent that settled in and stayed.

“i’ll start,” nico announced, raising his shot glass dramatically. “never have i ever… broken a bone.”

laughter followed. a few hands lifted, including suho’s, who tipped his glass back and swallowed easily.

“mma,” suho grinned when sieun glanced at him, his tone light but teasing. “comes with the job.”

sieun chuckled, lowering his gaze quickly before anyone caught the soft smile tugging at his lips.

the game circled around, each question light, playful, enough to keep the air charged but still easy, still safe. the alcohol made everything a little funnier, a little brighter, like the edges of the night had blurred just enough to feel cozy rather than sharp.

“never have i ever… kissed someone in secret,” jamie said, grinning mischievously as he looked around the group.

a wave of laughter rippled through the room. a few hands shot up instantly, followed by the clinking of glasses and the smooth burn of alcohol swallowed down. sieun’s hand hesitated just for a breath, his fingers twitching around his glass. his gaze flickered downward, eyes focusing on the bright yellow of the sunflowers suho had brought earlier, now resting gently on the nightstand like a quiet reminder.

but he didn’t lift his drink.

beside him, suho’s hand moved calmly, deliberately raising his own glass and tipping it back with a quiet, easy sip. he didn’t say anything, didn’t offer an explanation, but when he set the glass down, his eyes briefly met sieun’s. there was a flicker of amusement there, maybe even a hint of something unspoken, and sieun felt the air between them tighten, a thin, invisible string pulling taut. the others didn’t catch it. they were too busy laughing, nudging each other, guessing stories that would remain untold.

nico wagged his finger dramatically at suho. “oh-ho, secretive, huh? now that’s suspicious.”

suho only chuckled softly, his voice smooth. “some things are better kept secret.”

sieun’s pulse quickened, the simple exchange sparking a strange swirl inside him, half excitement, half nerves. he swallowed, trying to ground himself in the familiar comfort of his friends’ laughter, but the weight of suho’s glance still lingered, humming quietly in the back of his mind.

the game pressed on, moving through silly confessions, embarrassing childhood stories, and harmless dares. every so often, suho’s arm would graze against sieun’s as they shifted in the tight space, and each brief touch sent little jolts of electricity dancing under sieun’s skin. outside, the city lights glittered softly against the black canvas of the sky, their glow filtering faintly through the sheer hotel curtains. the room itself felt like a bubble suspended in time, laughter mixing with the clink of glass, the rise and fall of voices, and the quiet hum of the air conditioner whispering in the background.

at some point, nico yawned exaggeratedly, leaning heavily against jamie. “okay, i might be out,” he groaned, blinking slowly. “jet lag is kicking my ass.”

one by one, the others started to fade as well, retreating to the second hotel room next door, their laughter dissolving into tired murmurs. soon, it was just sieun and suho sitting side by side on the floor, their backs resting lightly against the edge of the bed, the empty shot glasses scattered like tiny monuments around them. the silence between them was soft, comfortable, but charged, as if the laughter had stripped away all the distractions, leaving only the quiet thrum of what was left unsaid.

their eyes held for a moment, and sieun’s breath hitched slightly, a flicker of warmth pooling low in his stomach, tangled with the sharp edge of something more dangerous, something he tried hard not to think about. don’t think about shawn. not now.

and then —

buzz.

the sharp vibration against the floor made him flinch ever so slightly. his phone, lying face-down beside the scattered glasses, lit up briefly before dimming again. the sudden intrusion sliced through the tender moment like a cold draft sneaking into a warm room. sieun’s gaze flickered to it, hesitating. his body stiffened almost imperceptibly, though he quickly masked it with a small, tight smile. suho, sensitive as always, noticed the change immediately, though he said nothing, simply watching him with quiet curiosity.

slowly, sieun reached for the phone, his fingers brushing the smooth screen as he flipped it over. the name glowing there in stark, simple text made his stomach twist into a tight, uncomfortable knot.

shawn:

don’t make me wait too long.

i’m in my room. you know where.

come soon.

his breath caught for a moment, pulse quickening in a way entirely different than before. the pleasant warmth of the alcohol was quickly replaced by a heavy, sickening weight sinking into his stomach. the words weren’t overtly threatening, but the sharp undertone, the pull of control, wrapped around his chest like iron bands.

“everything okay?” suho’s voice was gentle, almost careful. he hadn’t leaned closer, hadn’t pressed, but his eyes, dark and steady, were reading him like a book.

sieun forced his face to soften, plastering on a small smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes. “yeah,” he whispered, his voice thinner than before. “just… coach stuff. you know.”

suho studied him for a long moment, his brow barely furrowing, like he was weighing whether to believe him. but in the end, he only nodded once.

“you work too hard,” suho said softly, almost like an offering, like a lifeline he was gently tossing toward him. “he shouldn’t be texting you about work in the middle of the night.”

sieun’s lips twitched into something resembling a laugh, though it was hollow, a little brittle around the edges. “it’s kind of part of the deal,” he murmured.

suho shifted and he leaned back, propping his elbows on the edge of the bed behind him. his voice lowered, quieter, but steadier.

“you are still a kid.” he let the words hang in the space between them, his gaze briefly flickering toward sieun’s face before settling on some invisible point across the room. “it’s not fair.”

sieun didn’t answer. the weight of the text still sat like a stone in his stomach, but the warmth of suho beside him, steady and calm, helped soften the edges. for a moment, neither of them spoke, and only the hum of the city outside filled the silence. time slipped by like honey, their empty glasses casting faint distorted shadows across the table beneath the soft glow of the lamp. outside, the streets of tokyo shimmered with neon reflections, the world bustling on. sieun’s phone sat dark and still now, facedown where he’d placed it after reading shawn’s text. the longer it stayed untouched, the heavier it seemed to grow, like it was breathing, like it was waiting.

suho stretched his arms slowly above his head, letting out a soft sigh, his muscles flexing. his hair was still slightly tousled from the long flight, a few strands falling into his eyes. sieun glanced at him through lowered lashes, heart tightening for a reason entirely different now. he’s so close. he wished he could freeze this moment, the safety of suho’s voice, the softness of his eyes, the comfort of being wanted for no reason other than himself.

suho leaned forward slightly, gaze locking onto sieun’s again. “you sure you’re okay?” his voice was quieter now, more careful — like he was stepping gently into dangerous waters, not wanting to spook whatever fragile balance sieun was trying to hold onto.

the distance between them was barely a few inches now, and sieun could feel the steady hum of suho’s presence, warm and grounding, like the low vibration of a heartbeat close by. the soft glow of the bedside lamp caught in suho’s dark eyes, making them gleam like polished onyx, and for a moment, sieun couldn’t tell if the warmth blooming in his chest was from the alcohol, or simply from being seen like this. from being cared for. he swallowed, wetting his lips nervously, eyes darting briefly to his phone again before quickly pulling back to suho. the heavy silence wrapped around them like a weighted blanket.

“yeah,” sieun whispered, his voice catching in his throat. “just tired.”

suho didn’t push. he simply watched him, his expression unreadable for a beat too long. but in his eyes, there was a kind of softness that made sieun’s stomach twist. not pity, not suspicion, but a gentle, quiet kind of worry that made it even harder to breathe. the truth of it was too sharp, too precise, like a needle threading through his ribs. he lowered his gaze, fingers tracing the rim of his empty glass, feeling the cool condensation beneath his fingertips.

sieun’s throat tightened. please don’t look at me like that, he wanted to say.

finally, suho sat back again, letting out another slow exhale. his jaw tensed briefly, as if he was biting back something unsaid. but when he spoke again, his voice was light, gentle.

“you know,” suho said, offering a small smile of his own, “when this season’s over, you should come visit me. i’ve got a spare room.”

sieun’s breath caught. his eyes flickered up to meet suho’s, and for a moment, his heart ached so deeply it almost felt physical.

he swallowed hard. “maybe,” he whispered. “that sounds… nice.”

the silence that followed was softer now, warmer — like a balm carefully placed over raw skin. suho was watching him, leaning back against the bed frame, legs stretched out before him, hands folded loosely in his lap. he was still so calm, so steady. like an anchor.

sieun’s phone vibrated again.

a short, soft buzz.

he reached for his phone with slow, careful fingers, as if touching it might make the words burn hotter against his skin. his eyes darted briefly to suho, who had noticed, of course he had, but said nothing. suho simply watched, his expression unreadable, but his gaze sharp.

the message was shorter now. colder.

shawn:

don’t make me come get you.

sieun’s stomach flipped, a quiet sickness rolling low in his gut. the warmth from the alcohol was long gone, replaced by something sharp and cold. his fingers curled tightly around the phone for a moment, like he could crush the words if he just squeezed hard enough.

“we should probably call it a night,” sieun said too quickly, pushing himself up from the floor, wobbling slightly as the alcohol still swam faintly in his head. “it’s been a long day. I will see you tomorrow, okay?”

for a moment, suho hesitated, as if he might reach out, might pull him back down, might try to break through the wall sieun was building between them. but instead, he only offered a small nod, his voice softer now, almost tender. “get some rest.”

“i will,” sieun whispered.

they stood for another breathless beat, neither one quite willing to move first. then suho offered one last small smile, stepped towards the door, and slipped out into the quiet hallway. the door clicked softly behind him. the dim glow of the bedside lamps spilled across the cream-colored walls, bathing the space in a warmth that felt too gentle, too peaceful for the storm twisting inside his chest. for a moment, sieun simply stood there, motionless, his hand still resting on the cool metal handle, as the weight of the night pressed down like an invisible hand on his shoulders.

his phone buzzed once more

he didn’t look.

with a quiet breath, he set it face-down on the nightstand, where the screen flashed briefly before going dark again. the room fell into a heavy, almost suffocating silence, broken only by the distant hum of the city filtering through the windows. he moved toward the bathroom, feet padding softly against the plush carpet. the mirror greeted him with his own tired reflection, eyes rimmed faintly red from alcohol and fatigue, the faintest sheen of sweat clinging to his skin, and the soft flush on his cheeks not entirely from the drinks.

he stared at himself for a long moment.

his fingers moved on autopilot, unbuttoning his shirt with slow, deliberate motions. the fabric slipped from his shoulders like water, pooling gently at his feet. each layer came off in turn, the simple white undershirt, the soft pants — until he stood bare beneath the harsh fluorescent light, his skin pale and smooth, scattered with faint marks.

he stepped into the shower.

the first hit of hot water stole his breath for a moment, but he quickly adjusted, letting it pour over him, washing away the sweat and the lingering smell of the hotel room and for a fleeting second, it almost felt like the water could wash away the dread coiling tighter inside him. his hands moved mechanically across his skin, scrubbing lightly, as though trying to erase something invisible clinging there.

as the steam filled the room, fogging the mirror behind the glass, sieun let his head fall forward under the stream. his damp hair clung to his forehead, water dripping slowly down the curve of his spine.

he lingered longer than he should have.

when he finally stepped out, the room was thick with steam. he wiped a hand across the mirror, clearing a narrow path to see his reflection once more. his skin gleamed faintly, flushed from the heat. his hair, still damp, curled slightly at the ends. he dried off slowly, methodically, his movements deliberate, almost ritualistic. like preparing for a performance.

he chose his clothes carefully. nothing too obvious, nothing too revealing. soft grey sweatpants, a clean black t-shirt that clung just faintly to the lines of his shoulders. enough to look casual. enough to look presentable.

he leaned into the mirror again, inspecting himself. not too flushed. eyes still glassy from the alcohol, but manageable. he pressed cool fingertips beneath his eyes, trying to ease the faint shadows there, patting at his skin lightly. it wouldn’t matter to shawn, he knew, but he needed to feel like he still had some control. even if it was just over his reflection.

his heart thrummed louder now, a steady drumbeat inside his chest.

he glanced at the clock.

late.

sieun drew one last deep breath, gathered the thin threads of composure still hanging inside him, and stepped back into the hallway. each step toward shawn’s room felt like sinking slowly into cold water. the hallway leading to shawn’s suite felt unusually long tonight, each step echoing dully beneath sieun’s shoes, as though the carpet itself recoiled from his weight. the hotel’s muted lights flickered above, casting tired golden halos across the corridor, while the distant hum of the city below buzzed faintly through the sealed windows. tokyo’s neon heartbeat pulsed far beyond these walls, vibrant and alive, but here everything was still. thick.

he stopped in front of the door, staring at the smooth polished wood, the brass numbers glinting in the dim light. his stomach twisted, tightening into something cold and sharp. the faint scent of expensive cologne and cleaning agents clung to the air, sterile and sharp. for a moment, his hand hovered mid-air, reluctant, before finally curling into a loose fist.

he knocked. once. twice. soft.

the door opened almost immediately, as if shawn had been standing right behind it, waiting. he stood there, tall and imposing, dressed down in dark sweatpants and a fitted long-sleeve shirt that did little to soften his broad, intimidating frame. his hair was slightly damp, like he had just showered, and the faint scent of his cologne mixed with the warmth of the room behind him, flooding into the hallway like an invisible tide. his expression was unreadable at first: smooth, cold, controlled. but his eyes, sharp and glittering with something meaner.

the door had barely clicked shut before shawn’s calm mask began to crack.

as sieun stood just inside the room, shawn’s cold gaze pinned him in place. the dim lamplight glinted off the glass in his hand, catching the sharp line of his jaw as he took a long, deliberate sip of his drink, swirling the amber liquid between his teeth before swallowing.

“you really made me wait tonight,” he said, voice low and deceptively smooth.

sieun shifted his weight slightly, chest tightening. “i… i was just—”

“just what?” shawn cut in sharply, his tone snapping like a whip. his eyes narrowed. “just too busy drinking with your little friends? too busy having a celebration of a success that you reached only thanks to me?”

sieun’s mouth opened, but the words caught in his throat, sticking like glass. his heart pounded. “i didn’t mean to—”

“oh, but you did.” shawn’s voice was soft now, but dripping with venom. “you knew i was waiting. i texted you. more than once.” he stepped closer, the weight of his presence like an invisible hand tightening around sieun’s throat. “you saw them. i know you saw them. and yet…” he smiled coldly. “nothing. not even a little response for me.”

sieun swallowed hard, chest rising and falling under the pressure. “i’m sorry.”

“sorry,” shawn repeated, his voice darkening. “always sorry. but you still disobey me, don’t you?”

his hand shot out, grabbing sieun’s chin with a bruising grip, forcing his head up until their eyes met. sieun’s breath quickened as shawn leaned in closer, their faces inches apart, the smell of alcohol sharp between them.

“you forget your place so easily, sieun.” shawn’s voice was quieter now, more dangerous. “he’s making you bold, isn’t he? suho? you like having someone else fussing over you, hm?” his fingers dug harder into sieun’s jaw, making him wince. “but you belong to me.”

without warning, shawn’s hand flew up and struck him — hard, open-palmed, across the cheek. the sound of the slap cracked through the heavy air like a gunshot.

sieun stumbled back a half step, his head snapping to the side. a sharp sting bloomed across his skin, hot and immediate, leaving behind a bright, pulsing burn that radiated across his cheekbone. the breath hitched painfully in his throat, his eyes stinging. but he didn’t cry. he just stood there, small, breathless, his shoulders tense, his chest rising and falling too quickly while shawn loomed above him. the silence after the slap was deafening.

“look at me,” shawn commanded softly, his voice now a dangerous purr.

slowly, trembling slightly, sieun turned his head back, lifting his eyes up. his vision swam briefly from the force of the blow, but he steadied himself, breathing through his nose. shawn studied him for a long moment, his expression unreadable, as though inspecting a piece of fragile glassware for cracks. then he exhaled, and as quickly as his anger had flared, it simmered, not extinguished, but pulled back into that cold, careful control he wore so well.

“only us tonight,” he whispered again. “are you happy?”

sieun hesitated, his voice barely a whisper when it finally slipped out. “yes.”

he stepped back, his voice silk-wrapped steel. “on your knees.”

sieun’s breath caught for a moment, his stomach twisting, but he didn’t hesitate. with a quiet, mechanical grace, he lowered himself to the carpeted floor, the soft fibers pressing into his knees. his hands settled uncertainly on his thighs, fingers curling slightly as he fixed his gaze somewhere in the space between shawn’s shoes and the bedframe, not daring to meet his eyes. the heavy quiet closed around them like a second skin.

shawn moved, slow, deliberate — the shuffle of his polished shoes muted against the plush carpet. he circled sieun once, as though inspecting him, the air shifting with each careful step. then he stopped, standing directly in front of him.

shawn’s hand came down, fingers brushing beneath sieun’s chin, lifting his face with calculated gentleness.

“look at me,” he said softly.

sieun’s eyes fluttered upward, meeting shawn’s gaze - sharp, possessive, full of something cold that pretended to be affection.

“good boy,” shawn whispered again, voice dark and sweet like poisoned honey, his thumb stroking lightly across sieun’s lower lip. “just like that.”

he held sieun’s gaze for a long, pulsing moment, letting the power hang heavy in the air, the unspoken weight of everything between them pressing down like an invisible hand. then shawn’s other hand slid through sieun’s hair, fingers threading slowly, deliberately, the touch deceptively gentle.

“so obedient now.” shawn finally spoke, voice low, curling around the room like smoke. 

„you think i didn’t notice the way he looks at you?” shawn continued, the words slipping between his teeth like venom. “the way you look back at him?”

sieun shook his head weakly, voice catching. “it’s not—”

“don’t lie to me.” shawn’s voice hardened, slicing clean through the air. shawn’s movements were methodical, pulling the zipper down with a slow, controlled motion, then sliding the pants down over his hips, the hem brushing against his legs before pooling around his ankles. his bare skin was pale under the warm glow of the lamp, smooth and taut, muscles flexing subtly as he shifted his weight. through it all, shawn’s eyes never left sieun, watching, waiting, the faintest smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth, a cruel satisfaction hidden beneath the calm exterior.

shawn’s fingers tightened slightly at the nape of sieun’s neck, his voice dropping to a low, rough murmur that rumbled in the stillness of the room.

“look how hard you made me,” he said, the words sharp and heavy, laced with a dark, twisted satisfaction. „you should be grateful. i could have anyone, but i chose you. get to work. just like i taught you,” shawn commanded, voice low and edged with impatience.

sieun’s fingers trembled slightly as they reached out and closed around shawn’s cock, the familiar motion both mechanical and strange in the dim light. his eyes began to glaze over, the edges of his vision softening, the steady hum of his thoughts slowing into a dull fuzziness. the room was filled with the sounds of breath and skin, a symphony of quiet desperation and control. the soft, slick rhythm of sieun’s hand moving up and down echoed faintly beneath shawn’s deep, uneven breaths, the wet sound of skin meeting skin growing louder with each steady stroke. it filled the heavy air like a pulse, like a heartbeat, blending with the low creak of the floor beneath sieun’s knees as he shifted slightly for balance.

the world around him seemed to dissolve into those sounds, the quiet hiss of shawn’s breath catching in his throat, the soft slap of flesh, the stifled groans that rumbled deep from shawn’s chest, vibrating through the space between them. every noise seemed amplified inside sieun’s head, vibrating against the cottony haze that had begun to settle behind his eyes.

shawn’s fingers threaded through sieun’s hair again, tightening just enough to remind him of who was in control, who he belonged to. “that’s it,” shawn breathed, his voice rough and ragged, dripping with possessive pleasure. “look how perfect you are.”

sieun barely heard him. the edges of his mind were softening, his thoughts dissolving like sugar in hot water. his only anchor was the heat of shawn’s body in front of him, the heavy weight of his cock twitching in his hand, the raw, unfiltered sounds filling the air like thick fog.

his breath came out warm and shaky against shawn’s skin as he slowly leaned forward, his lips parting obediently, instinctively. his mind didn’t resist, it simply followed the path it had been trained to walk. his tongue flicked softly over the flushed head, tasting the bitter salt that lingered there, his eyelids fluttering at the familiar, dizzying rush that followed. he took him in with a slow, practiced ease, the thickness filling his mouth, pressing against his tongue, stretching his jaw as shawn’s breath hitched sharply above him.

“fuck,” shawn groaned, his voice breaking as his fingers flexed tighter in sieun’s hair, guiding his pace. “that’s my good boy. just like that.”

his mind floated somewhere far away, deeper into that hazy subspace where there was no fear, no hesitation, only the need to please, to serve, to offer himself entirely. every muffled moan that escaped him vibrated softly around shawn, drawing another broken gasp from above, feeding the twisted warmth that pulsed through his own chest. he let go of everything else, the tension, the dread, the weight of shawn’s earlier words, and simply focused on the rhythm, the sound, the feel of it all.

the tight coil inside shawn snapped loose with a shuddering breath, a guttural growl tumbling from deep in his throat as his fingers tangled fiercely in sieun’s hair, pulling him closer, harder.

“fuck, you make me so damn hard,” he hissed, voice rough and dark like molten steel. “look at you, taking me like this… god, you’re mine.”

sieun’s lips were slick and warm around him, his throat tightening with the taste of surrender, and shawn’s grip tightened, part possessive, part desperate. the low hum of his moans filled the room, growing urgent, raw, jagged with need.

then, with a rough tug, shawn pulled back, his eyes burning with dark fire. “on the bed,” he ordered, voice clipped but heavy with promise.

sieun obeyed instantly, rising on shaky legs and moving toward the pristine bed. shawn crawled onto it after him, the heat radiating from his body like wildfire. before sieun could brace himself, shawn’s mouth was on his neck, hot, demanding kisses trailing in a maddening path all around. each press of shawn’s lips left a burning imprint, a silent claim, moving slowly from the curve of sieun’s jaw down to the hollow just above his collarbone, lips brushing lightly as if memorizing every inch.

“you belong to me,” shawn whispered against his skin, breath warm and ragged, “every inch, every sound, every desperate little gasp.”

finally, shawn’s fingers curled around sieun’s waistband, easing the pants down over the boy’s hips until they pooled softly at his knees. the room seemed to hold its breath as sieun remained laying there, exposed, vulnerable, and utterly claimed. shawn’s eyes flicked down, sharp and hungry, catching the subtle but undeniable evidence of sieun’s body betraying him. a slow, cruel smile curved his lips.

“look at you,” shawn murmured, voice low and teasing, “already so hard for me. can’t even hide it, can you?”

the words wrapped around sieun like chains, a mix of shame and twisted pride tightening in his chest. shawn’s hand closed around him, firm and commanding, the heat of his touch sending a sharp rush straight through him. sieun’s breath hitched suddenly, a soft gasp slipping past trembling lips as a wave of helplessness and strange relief tangled inside him. his fingers curled into the sheets beneath, gripping tightly, while his eyes fluttered shut for a moment, caught between the sting of shame and the pull of something he couldn’t resist.

his cheeks burned, heat spreading like wildfire beneath shawn’s gaze. he swallowed hard, the vulnerability raw and exposed in the quiet room. the man’s fingers tightened around him, slow and deliberate, drawing out the tension as sieun’s breath hitched again, shaky and uneven. shawn’s grip didn’t falter, his fingers moving with deliberate care as he leaned in close, voice dropping to a low, almost tender whisper. „i love you, sieun.” each word thick with something dark.

he added a couple more slow strokes, the motion both commanding and strangely gentle, watching sieun’s reaction carefully. he then uncapped the small bottle of lube he kept nearby, the faint scent of something cool and clean filling the air as he squeezed a generous amount onto his fingers. the gel glistened under the dim light, slick and smooth, catching sieun’s attention despite the knot of tension tightening in his stomach. shawn’s movements were deliberate, slow, as he prepared, his eyes never leaving sieun’s face, watching every flicker of emotion that passed across it.

then, with careful precision, shawn reached behind sieun, his touch gentle but insistent as he slowly began to stretch him, easing inside with a patience that both calmed and unnerved. sieun’s breath hitched, sharp and shallow, caught somewhere between discomfort and something more complicated, his body responding despite the tight coil of nerves twisting in his chest. shawn’s grip was firm yet steady, his eyes dark with intent as he measured every movement, making sure sieun was ready before going further.

his fingers moved slowly, rhythmically, sliding in and out with deliberate care. each movement was measured, coaxing sieun’s body to relax and respond, the slick warmth of the lube making the motions smooth and almost tender. sieun’s lips parted softly, a faint gasp escaping him, eyes fluttering but never breaking away from shawn’s gaze. their eyes locked, raw, intense, unspoken words swirling between them, holding each other in a fragile balance.

“relax,” shawn murmured low, his voice a mixture of command and something softer, almost… reluctant. “just like this.”

sieun nodded slightly, lips trembling, swallowing hard as the sensations stretched and pressed into places he wasn’t sure he wanted to feel. the tension in his body slowly began to unravel, the haze of subspace pulling him under, dulling the sharp edges of shame, replacing it with a quiet surrender.

suddenly, shawn’s fingers slipped deeper, finding that sensitive spot inside sieun with unexpected precision. a sharp, loud moan tore from the boy’s throat, his body jolting in response as the sudden rush of sensation crashed over him like a tidal wave. his eyes squeezed shut, mouth falling open in a raw, desperate gasp, the air trembling around him with the intensity of the moment.

“there it is, baby,” shawn murmured low and rough, his voice thick with satisfaction. “are you ready for me?” shawn’s voice was low, rough around the edges, like gravel sliding softly through silk. his eyes didn’t waver from sieun’s — they searched, probing, demanding a truth beyond words.

sieun’s breath hitched, his chest tightening. the warmth of shawn’s hand lingered where it touched him, every nerve ending alive, every inch trembling beneath the weight of expectation and something he barely understood. he swallowed hard, voice barely more than a whisper. “i… i think so.”

shawn’s gaze softened for a fraction, just enough for sieun to catch a flicker of something almost human beneath the cold mask, a pause, a breath, maybe a hint of care. “good,” shawn said quietly, the single word a promise and a warning all at once.

sieun’s lips parted, words caught somewhere between his throat and the urge that pulsed beneath his skin. “i want to be—” he started, then stopped, unsure how to finish, unsure if shawn even wanted to hear.

“wanting isn’t always enough,” shawn interrupted, his voice steady but not unkind, “but i’ll take it for now.” he shifted slightly, fingers still steady and slow.

shawn slowly withdrew his fingers, the cool air hitting the sensitive skin making sieun shiver involuntarily. wthout breaking eye contact, shawn shifted his weight, sliding carefully on top of sieun. the soft rustle of fabric against skin was almost drowned out by their mingled breaths, shallow, quick, charged with raw electricity. his lips found sieun’s with a sweetness that belied the harshness of everything else, slow, deliberate, full of a strange kind of reverence. the kiss lingered, deep and gentle, as if he was trying to seal something unspoken between them.

pulling back just enough to meet sieun’s gaze, shawn’s voice was low and certain. “no one compares to you,” he whispered, the words wrapping around sieun like a fragile promise, a twisted comfort.

as shawn eased inside, his movements slow and deliberate, he pressed a finger gently against sieun’s lips, silencing any thought or word. his voice, soft and low, dripped with a dangerous sweetness. “shh, it’s just us now. no one else matters. you’re safe here, with me.”

sieun’s breath hitched, his chest tightening as the flood of sensations overwhelmed him, he pressure, the closeness, the weight of shawn’s voice wrapping around him like a fragile shield. his eyes fluttered shut for a moment, surrendering to the rush, the tangled mix of fear and aching need.

shawn’s hand cradled sieun’s cheek, thumb tracing slow, soothing circles as he whispered more promises, his voice both tender and possessive. “you’re doing so well, baby. just like i knew you would.”

sieun’s moans spilled out before he could stop them, raw and unfiltered, trembling with need and surprise. his breath came in ragged gasps, his body arching instinctively toward shawn’s steady rhythm. “it… it feels-” he whispered, voice shaky but urgent. “please.”

shawn’s eyes darkened with something fierce, a slow, cruel smile tugging at the corner of his lips. “does it feel good?” he murmured, voice low and teasing, fingers tightening slightly on sieun’s cheek.

without breaking the pace, shawn’s movements grew faster, deeper, a relentless push and pull that sent waves crashing through sieun’s body. the soft sounds of their mingled breaths and shawn’s quiet groans filled the room, wrapping around them like a private symphony.

“look at you,” shawn murmured between thrusts, “losing yourself for me. so beautiful when you’re mine.”

sieun’s voice wavered, breath trembling as he gasped, “i’m… so close, sir. so close.” his hands gripped the sheets tighter, nails digging into the fabric as his body tensed beneath shawn’s relentless rhythm.

just as his body was ready to break, right at the edge, shawn suddenly slowed his thrusts, then stopped entirely, holding himself deep inside. the sudden stillness made sieun cry out, a desperate, broken sound, his head tossing back against the pillow, fingers clawing uselessly at the sheets.

“no—no, please…” sieun whimpered, his voice raw with need, his entire body trembling with the unbearable denial.

shawn’s hand gripped his hip firmly, holding him down, his breath hot against sieun’s ear as he leaned in close, his voice smooth but sharp.

“you thought i’d let you come that easily?” shawn whispered, biting softly at his earlobe. “after you ignored my messages? after making me wait?” his tone darkened, but there was a twisted softness underneath, like a sharp knife wrapped in silk.

sieun could only shake his head weakly, delirious, his words falling apart. “i… i didn’t mean to—please, sir, i—”

shawn pulled back slightly, his hand sliding between sieun’s thighs, teasing him with just the lightest touch, not enough to give relief, but enough to drive him further into madness. “you want to come?” he asked, voice low, teasing. “then you’ll have to work for it, baby. prove how sorry you are. prove you deserve it.”

shawn’s hand slid slowly up sieun’s trembling thigh, fingers tracing over his flushed skin, before gripping his hip and guiding him upward. his voice dipped even lower, rough and thick with authority, though it never lost that dark sweetness that always made sieun’s head spin. he shifted underneath, settling back against the headboard, his bare chest heaving slightly with each breath. his hands slid up to sieun’s waist, helping him sit up and straddle him, the sheets rustling beneath their bodies as they moved.

sieun’s legs felt shaky, his muscles weak from the overwhelming build-up, but he followed the guidance instinctively, his knees spreading wide on either side of shawn’s hips. the flushed tip of shawn’s length pressed hot and heavy against him again, and sieun gasped at the sensation — his entire body already raw with need. shawn looked up at him, hands tightening possessively around his waist, steadying him. his voice softened.

“you can do it, baby. nice and slow. make me feel how much you want it.”

sieun bit down on his lip, his whole body flushed and glistening under the dim light. with a shaky breath, he reached back, guiding shawn inside him once again. the stretch made him gasp, his head falling forward slightly as he sank down, inch by inch, taking him fully. a long, shuddering moan spilled from his lips as he finally settled, the fullness dizzying, the ache sweet and unbearable all at once.

“good boy,” shawn whispered breathlessly, his hands now stroking up and down sieun’s sides. “now move for me. make me lose it.”

sieun started to rock his hips slowly, the friction sending sparks through his nerves, the wet sounds of their bodies filling the thick air of the hotel room. each movement sent shawn deeper, making him groan low in his chest, his grip flexing against sieun’s flushed skin.

“that’s it… just like that,” shawn praised, his voice rougher now. “show me how much you want to come.”

the boy’s breath came in short, sharp gasps, his head tilting back as he rolled his hips with a desperate rhythm, chasing the unbearable pleasure that pulsed through his entire body. his thighs trembled beneath him, muscles burning as he rode shawn, every thrust sending jolts of heat curling deep inside him.

the room pulsed with the slick, rhythmic sounds of their bodies moving together, punctuated by sieun’s breathy moans and shawn’s low, hungry groans. the air was thick and humid, saturated with sweat and the sharp scent of sex, wrapping around them like an invisible cocoon that dulled everything outside these four walls. shawn’s fingers dug into sieun’s waist, guiding his pace with subtle but commanding pressure, his eyes locked onto the boy’s flushed, sweat-slicked body. he watched him with something close to reverence — like sieun was the most beautiful, fragile thing he’d ever touched.

“fuck, you’re so tight,” shawn groaned, voice low and rough as he tangled his fingers deeper in sieun’s hair, pulling his head back just enough to expose his neck. “you feel so fucking good riding me like this. god, you’re driving me insane.”

sieun only answer was a broken whimper as his movements grew more frantic, his hips stuttering as the pleasure spiraled higher. his mind was swimming, dizzy, every nerve ending aflame, lost in the hazy fog where pain, need, and bliss all bled together. he leaned forward slightly, palms pressed against shawn’s chest for balance, his nails dragging over flushed skin as his rhythm faltered, his breathing fractured.

“p-please… sir—” his voice cracked into a high, desperate moan. “i… i can’t— i’m so close—”

“keep going.” shawn’s voice darkened, the possessive edge curling back into it as he pushed his hips upward, meeting sieun’s rhythm with deep, punishing thrusts. “show me how badly you want it.”

the new depth pulled a sharp, helpless cry from sieun’s throat, his entire frame shuddering as the pleasure threatened to break him entirely. sieun’s hips moved with growing desperation now, each motion slick and hungry, the wet sounds of him sliding up and down shawn’s cock filling the room in obscene rhythm. his breath came out in little broken gasps, high-pitched and whimpering, as his body trembled with the effort to hold back the climax threatening to crash through him. shawn’s eyes darkened, half-lidded as he watched sieun fall apart right above him. his hands gripped tighter around his hips, fingers digging into the soft skin like he owned every inch — guiding, controlling the pace, slowing him down just when he tried to move faster.

“fuck, baby… look at you,” shawn rasped, voice rough and filthy. “bouncing on my cock like you were made for it. you feel how deep i am inside you? riding me like you own me.” shawn chuckled darkly, his grip tightening as he forced sieun to grind in slow, agonizing circles instead of the quick pace his body begged for. „you’re so greedy, baby. you want to come so bad, don’t you? but you didn’t listen earlier… left me waiting, didn’t you?”

sieun sobbed softly, his voice breaking. “i’m sorry, sir. i’m— i’ll be good, i swear—”

“mm.” shawn’s hand slid up, cupping sieun’s flushed face, his thumb brushing over trembling lips.

his other hand slipped between his thighs, finding his neglected cock, flushed, leaking, desperate. sieun nearly screamed when shawn’s fingers wrapped around him, stroking slow, torturous strokes in rhythm with the punishing grind of his hips.

“feel how hard you are?” shawn whispered against sieun’s parted lips, voice low and thick. “so fucking needy for me. i could keep you like this for hours. desperate and dripping, begging to come.”

sieun’s body shook violently, his eyes glassy and unfocused, mouth falling open with soft cries. “please, sir, please— i’ll do anything— anything— just let me—”

shawn licked into his mouth with a messy, possessive kiss, stealing the end of his sentence. he swallowed his sobs, groaning into his mouth as his own hips finally started to thrust up into him, driving harder, deeper, as the wet slap of skin echoed louder in the room.

“you wanna come, baby?” shawn panted into his ear, voice wrecked but still in control. “you want me to fill you up while you fall apart for me?”

sieun was nearly crying now, nodding frantically, his voice breaking. “yes—yes, sir, please—need you so bad—”

before he could finish, shawn’s mouth closed around one of his nipples, tongue swirling slow and deliberate while his fingers pinched the other, adding a sharp contrast of sensations that tore a strangled cry from sieun’s throat. the moment his tongue dragged firmly across the sensitive bud, sieun’s entire body seized — his back arched sharply, a loud, broken moan echoing through the room as the orgasm ripped out of him, untouched, overwhelming, raw. his release splattered between them, his whole body trembling violently, his breath hitching and choking in uneven gasps as shawn kept his mouth latched, sucking gently through every wave, prolonging the spasms until sieun was completely spent and collapsing against him, utterly wrecked.

sieun barely had time to catch his breath before shawn shifted beneath him. his hands, strong and steady, gripped his hips and guided him backward until his trembling body sank into the mattress, completely spent and sprawled out beneath him. sieun’s chest still heaved, flushed and glistening under the soft lamplight, his oversensitive nerves twitching with every brush of air. but shawn wasn’t finished.

with a low growl, shawn slid back on top of him, his weight pressing sieun into the mattress, their bodies slick and hot against each other. the boy whimpered softly, eyes fluttering open, still dazed from his own climax.

“shh…” shawn whispered, lips brushing over sieun’s damp temple, “i know, baby. i know you’re sensitive.” his voice was sweet and coaxing, but the hunger beneath it was undeniable, insatiable. “but i need to feel you. just a little more. you can take it for me.”

sieun whimpered, squirming slightly under him, his thighs twitching from the lingering shocks of pleasure. “sir… it’s— it’s too much—” he breathed, voice cracking.

“fuck— so tight, baby—” shawn groaned, his voice heavy with pleasure, eyes locking onto sieun’s tear-filled gaze. “still gripping me like you’re desperate for more.”

he started moving, shallow at first, but quickly building pace, chasing his release now with a single-minded, desperate hunger. sieun whimpered with every thrust, his body jerking, caught somewhere between overwhelming sensation and the helpless, dizzying need to take everything shawn gave him.

“baby,” shawn panted, leaning down to kiss along sieun’s jaw, his thrusts growing rougher, deeper. “still so perfect even like this — fucked out and trembling under me.”

sieun couldn’t form words anymore, only broken, breathless moans spilled from him, his fingers clutching at the sheets, toes curling tight as shawn pounded into him, merciless in his need.

“almost there,” shawn growled, his pace faltering for only a second as his own release built like fire in his gut. “gonna fill you up, baby, make sure you remember who you fucking belong to.”

shawn’s breath turned ragged, each thrust harder, deeper, his hips slamming into sieun’s overstimulated body with a steady, relentless rhythm. the room was filled with the wet, obscene sounds of their bodies meeting, the sharp creak of the mattress under their weight, and the desperate little gasps and moans that tumbled from sieun’s swollen lips. the boy’s eyes rolled back slightly, overwhelmed, the overstimulation blurring the edges of his mind into a dizzy haze. tears pricked at the corners of his eyes, sliding down his flushed cheeks as his body struggled to keep up, nerves set alight, muscles trembling, but his voice still spilling soft, breathless whimpers that only seemed to spur shawn on more.

shawn licked a trail up sieun’s cheek, tasting the salt of his tears. his thrusts grew erratic, chasing his peak now, his voice breaking between heavy, desperate groans. one of his hands slid up to cup the back of sieun’s head, fingers tangling into the damp strands of his hair, holding him still as he panted against his ear.

“fuck— gonna fill you up so good,” he hissed, his voice trembling. “take it all, sweetheart. take everything.”’

with a final, deep thrust that pressed sieun firmly into the mattress, shawn’s whole body shuddered violently. his breath stuttered out in a broken moan as he spilled deep inside, hips jerking with the force of his release. he held himself there for a moment, buried to the hilt, his body still shaking as the aftershocks rippled through him. their skin stuck together, slick with sweat and heat, breaths mingling in the thick, humid air of the room. finally, shawn collapsed gently onto sieun’s trembling body, his weight grounding him, lips brushing sweetly along his flushed neck.

“you did so good for me, baby,” he whispered softly now, his tone turning sweet again, like a twisted reward. “so good.”

sieun whimpered softly, body limp beneath him, his skin still tingling and oversensitive, tears drying slowly on his cheeks. he couldn’t speak, too wrecked, too dizzy, but shawn’s body against his kept him grounded in the storm.

their breaths matched, soft, uneven, mingling in the quiet dark, until finally the world blurred, the hum of the world outside fading into nothingness.

just one floor below - suho’s sunflowers wilted quietly, forgotten, a fragile reminder of a warmth sieun couldn’t reach tonight.

Chapter Text

“you sure you don’t mind doing this?”

suho’s voice broke softly through the steady hum of the city, his head turning slightly over his shoulder as he pushed open the glass door to the small boutique. the faint chime of the bell above them rang out, delicate against the muffled sounds of new york’s late afternoon.

sieun stepped inside behind him, the cool breath of air conditioning wrapping around them like a quiet relief after the heavy warmth outside. he smiled, adjusting his thin cardigan as his eyes swept over the store’s clean, polished interior, walls lined with sleek, neatly arranged rows of gloves, headgear, wraps, and training equipment. the soft scent of new leather and faint rubber filled the air, oddly calming.

“no,” sieun answered, his voice carrying a light warmth as he followed closely. “i kind of like it, actually.”

he paused, scanning the array of gloves displayed in every shade imaginable, bold reds, muted greys, glossy blacks, deep blues that reminded him of midnight skies. his gaze softened as he continued, teasing, “i never realized there were so many different types of gloves. plus—” he lowered his voice a fraction, the playful edge curling into his words, “—i get to be the one who decides what color you’re going to punch people with. that’s power.”

suho let out a quiet laugh, a rich, deep sound that made something soft stir in sieun’s chest, that strange, fluttering pull that always seemed to settle there whenever he was near.

“you take this responsibility very seriously, huh?” suho replied, his mouth twitching into a small, amused smile.

he turned fully now, standing just a step closer than necessary. the golden afternoon light caught the edge of his dark hair through the glass storefront, making his sharp features look even softer somehow, a kind of warmth that belonged to these rare days away from the ranch, away from training, away from everything that always felt heavy.

“of course,” sieun said lightly, but the sincerity behind his words was real. he let his fingers drift along the shelf as they walked together, brushing against the smooth surfaces of the displayed gloves. “it’s important, right? if you’re going to be in the ring, you should at least look good doing it.”

“ah, so it’s about aesthetics now.” suho grinned, bumping his shoulder gently against sieun’s as they continued slowly down the narrow aisle. “didn’t know i had a personal stylist on my team.”

“you do now.” sieun smiled back, feeling that tiny spark dance beneath his ribs again at the contact. there was something so easy between them today, light, simple, unspoken. as if the entire city existed only to hold this little bubble for the two of them.

they stopped near the back wall where the newest models were displayed, rows of gloves with flawless stitching, some matte, others glossy, some classic, others more daring in color.

sieun reached out and plucked a pair of bright red gloves off the shelf, holding them up with a playful raise of his brow. “these scream intimidation, don’t they?”

suho chuckled again, shaking his head. “i don’t know. feels a bit too much like i’m trying too hard.”

“hmm.” sieun pretended to consider, carefully placing the red pair back on the rack before scanning the options once more. his eyes caught on a set resting just slightly apart from the rest, a deep, rich midnight blue, almost black, but with a soft, metallic sheen that caught the light whenever he shifted his angle.

he plucked them free, turning them over in his hands thoughtfully before offering them to suho. “these.”

suho accepted them, running his thumb over the smooth leather thoughtfully. “blue.”

“it suits you,” sieun added softly, his voice almost shy now. “quiet but dangerous.”

he tried to play it off with a tiny grin, but even he felt the faint warmth creeping up the back of his neck as suho looked at him, really looked at him, for a moment longer than necessary. their eyes held for a second, neither of them speaking.

“blue it is, then,” suho finally said, his voice softer.

they moved toward the register, the brief spell breaking into something quieter, more familiar again. outside the glass storefront, the late afternoon sun had begun to dip lower in the sky, softening the sharp edges of the buildings and setting the city in a honeyed glow. as they stepped back onto the sidewalk, the bag swinging lightly from suho’s wrist, the air felt cooler now, touched by the first hint of evening. they walked side by side in silence for a little while, letting the noise of the streets rise and fall around them. the city buzzed as always, taxis weaving between cars, the clatter of delivery bikes, snippets of conversations from people passing by, but none of it seemed to touch them.

after a few blocks, suho’s voice slipped in gently, like a small ripple across still water.

“i’ve got a fight coming up,” he said, not looking at sieun at first.

sieun’s steps slowed a fraction, his heart giving a tiny jump. “oh?”

“yeah. next weekend. first one back in the circuit.” he glanced sideways at sieun, giving him a small, almost self-conscious smile. “it’s not a big one, but… it matters.”

sieun was quiet for a moment, studying the way suho’s brow furrowed ever so slightly, like some part of him was carrying more weight than he wanted to admit.

“are you nervous?” he asked softly.

suho let out a breath that sounded almost like a laugh, but not quite. “a little. i want to win. but it’s not just that.”

he paused again, then slowed his pace slightly until they were perfectly in step.

“i want you there.”

the words landed heavy but soft between them, like a stone gently dropped into water. sieun felt his breath catch for a second, surprised but not surprised at all. there was a raw sincerity in suho’s voice that made his chest ache.

“me?”

“yeah.” suho’s voice was low, steady now. “i’d feel better knowing you’re there. you don’t have to, but i’d like it.”

sieun bit his lip lightly, glancing down at the sidewalk before meeting suho’s eyes again. “of course i’ll come.”

suho’s smile returned, small but warm, with that flicker of something deeper always hiding behind it.

“good,” he said softly. “i’ll send you the details.”

they kept walking through the city, neither rushing nor lingering, just moving together, two figures folding naturally into the rhythm of new york. above them, the sky had turned a deeper shade of violet, and the first scattered lights of the skyline had begun to glow, like embers flickering to life. the sidewalks grew busier as evening drew more people into the streets, couples hand-in-hand, friends laughing, office workers spilling out of tall glass buildings. but even with all the noise, the city somehow felt far away from where they were. sieun barely noticed the people around them. his awareness kept circling back to suho,  the quiet sound of his breath beside him, the easy way his hands swung at his sides, the faint brush of his sleeve every time their arms almost touched.

after a while, it was sieun who spoke first, his voice low as though he was breaking some unspoken spell.

“i haven’t really done much like this in a while,” he said, giving a small, almost self-conscious glance around them.

“shopping?” suho teased lightly.

“shopping. walking. just… being out like this.” sieun’s lips quirked into a small smile. “i forget how good it feels to step away from all of it sometimes.”

“from training?”

sieun nodded, his gaze drifting toward the glowing windows of a bookstore they passed. “from training. from the ranch. it’s easy to get stuck inside it, you know? like you start thinking that’s all there is.”

his voice was quiet, not heavy exactly, but thoughtful, tinged with that kind of weariness suho understood all too well. the endless discipline. the routines. the pressure.

“you deserve a break,” suho said gently, glancing up at him. “you work harder than anyone i know.”

sieun smiled again, but this time there was a flicker of something softer behind it — something vulnerable.

“it helps, having you around.”

the words weren’t dramatic. they weren’t said with any grand flourish. but they sank deep, curling somewhere inside suho’s chest like a secret only the two of them knew.

“i like being around,” suho answered, his voice quiet too.

they walked a little longer until suho glanced up at the soft neon glow of a small diner on the corner, its red sign buzzing faintly against the darkening sky.

“you hungry?” suho asked.

sieun smiled, grateful for the easy shift in mood. “always.”

the diner was small and cozy, the kind of place that felt untouched by time. vinyl booths, slightly sticky menus, the faint aroma of coffee and fried food lingering in the air. the waitress led them to a corner booth near the window, and they slid in across from each other, the table slightly too narrow to keep their legs from bumping underneath.

they ordered simple things, burgers, fries, two tall glasses of soda that sparkled under the fluorescent lights.

as they waited, the quiet settled comfortably between them again. sieun found himself studying suho in the warm, dim lighting. there was a soft glow to his skin, the faint shadow of stubble along his jawline catching the light every time he moved. his eyes, always so steady and sharp in training, looked softer here, more open.

“how’s your hand feeling?” sieun finally asked, referring to the minor injury suho had been nursing for the past few weeks.

“good enough.” suho shrugged lightly. “still a little stiff, but nothing i can’t handle.”

“don’t push too hard.”

“i won’t.” his gaze lifted, meeting sieun’s across the table. “i know you worry.”

sieun looked down, his smile turning a little shy. “of course i worry.”

their food arrived, breaking the tension like a warm breeze, and they settled into easy conversation, talking about nothing, everything. old movies, favorite songs, a few funny stories from the ranch. suho made him laugh more than he had in days, and every time he did, that invisible thread between them seemed to pull tighter. after they finished eating, they lingered a little longer, neither wanting to break the quiet peace that had wrapped around them like a cocoon. outside, the streets had thinned. the city’s earlier rush had softened into something calmer, more intimate.

eventually, suho glanced at his watch. “i should get you back soon.”

sieun’s stomach dipped slightly at the thought of their night ending, but he nodded. “okay.”

they stepped back out into the night, the air cooler now, brushing against their skin like a soft whisper. they walked slowly toward the subway station, neither rushing. when they finally reached the stairs leading underground, suho paused, his hands stuffed loosely into the pockets of his jacket. for a moment, he just looked at sieun, his dark eyes unreadable in the low light.

“thanks for today,” he said softly.

“you don’t have to thank me.”

“i know.” suho smiled, that quiet, warm smile sieun always found himself wanting to chase. “but i still mean it.”

they stood there for a moment, caught in the space between words, between the electric buzz of the city around them. sieun’s heart thudded softly in his chest, the unspoken things hanging between them heavy, charged.

“wish you didn’t have to go all the way back tonight,” suho murmured, almost like an afterthought. “it’s late.”

sieun gave a small shrug, his fingers brushing the edge of his sleeve. “it’s fine. i’m used to it.”

he was. the ranch was home now, or the closest thing to it. not because he loved it, but because it was what he had. commuting from the city every day wasn’t an option, not with his training schedule, and not with no real place to go back to. things with his parents were… complicated. distant. it was easier to stay put. suho didn’t live there full-time. he only came in for camps, during the summer, or in short bursts around big events. he’d spent the whole summer at the ranch, and sieun had almost gotten used to having him there. but that stretch had ended, like it always did. suho would be back in january for a four-week block, but that still felt far away.

“text me when you get in?” suho said quietly.

sieun nodded, eyes lifting. “you always say that.”

“and you always forget.”

sieun huffed a breath of something like laughter, the corners of his mouth tugging up. suho smiled too, small but real.

“i’ll see you next weekend,” sieun whispered finally, his voice thinner than he meant it to be.

“yeah,” suho replied, his voice equally soft. “and… sieun?”

he looked up at him.

“it means a lot. that you’ll be there.”

their eyes held for a moment longer, as if neither wanted to move, neither quite ready to leave the safety of this moment.

and then, softly, like breaking the surface of water, they said their quiet goodbyes.

sieun watched him go, suho’s figure folding back into the city, and stood there for a beat longer before finally descending into the station, the night wrapping around him like silk.

*

it was one of those late september afternoons where the heat still seemed to stick to your skin like honey, heavy and sweet. the kind of day where the sky hovered somewhere between pale blue and soft gold, blurring the horizon. cars murmured along the avenues, distant horns bled into each other, and the low buzz of conversation drifted from café tables and open storefronts.

sieun made his way through the crowded sidewalks, weaving between tourists and locals with practiced ease, but inside, his pulse was quick and uneven. he clutched the thin strap of his crossbody bag tighter, nerves curling in his stomach as the event center finally came into view, a low, wide arena tucked between taller buildings, its glowing marquee announcing the mma bout. “fight night - ahn vs. ramirez.”

seeing suho’s name lit up like that sent another strange, dizzy shiver through sieun’s chest. it was different than watching him spar back at the ranch, or hearing him talk about training. this was real. this was official. and somewhere deep inside, a small part of him hated how helpless it made him feel, to sit in the audience, to not be able to protect him when he stepped into that cage.

the crowd thickened as he got closer, people in athletic gear, fans wearing fighter merch, buzzing with anticipation. sieun spotted nico and jamie waving from near the entrance, their faces bright with excitement.

“there you are!” nico called out as sieun approached. “we saved you a spot.”

sieun smiled, grateful for the familiar faces as they led him inside, the blast of air conditioning brushing cool against his flushed cheeks. the interior was dim, all polished concrete floors and harsh spotlights aimed directly at the cage sitting dead center beneath a towering web of steel beams and glowing screens. every seat in the arena seemed to pulse with restless energy, people shifting, chatting, leaning forward in their chairs with wide eyes.

they found their seats close to the front, not far from the edge of the cage. the metal mesh glinted under the lights, casting geometric shadows across the floor. even sitting, sieun’s heart wouldn’t calm. he bounced one knee unconsciously, eyes locked on the cage like it was some kind of living thing.

“you okay?” jamie asked quietly, leaning over to him.

“yeah,” sieun answered, though his voice came out a little thin. “just… i’ve never seen him fight like this before.”

“don’t worry,” nico grinned, clapping a hand on his shoulder. “suho’s got this. he’s been training like a beast.”

sieun smiled faintly but kept his eyes forward. in the distance, fighters were finishing their warmups under the sharp eyes of their coaches. music pulsed from overhead speakers. everything felt sharper somehow, the smell of sweat and disinfectant, the heavy thud of gloves hitting pads, the flicker of camera flashes in the stands.

and then, finally, it was time.

the announcer’s voice boomed through the speakers, the crowd roaring as suho’s name was called. sieun’s breath caught as he saw him, suho stepping out beneath the harsh lights, calm and composed, wrapped in his black robe with his team trailing behind him. his face was unreadable, the expression he wore before every match: steady, focused, cold in a way that was almost unrecognizable from the suho sieun knew.

but sieun still saw it — the small flicker of his eyes scanning the crowd, as if searching for something. searching for him.

their eyes met.

just for a moment. but it was enough. sieun gave him a small, almost imperceptible nod, his lips parting in the softest smile. suho’s gaze softened, barely, before he turned again, stepping into the cage.

the door clanged shut behind him.

the air thickened, buzzing with restless energy as both fighters approached the center of the ring. suho’s opponent was taller, stockier, his face stern beneath the harsh glare of the lights. the ref gave them final instructions, their gloved fists tapping briefly before they retreated back to their corners.

the bell rang.

round one.

the fighters closed the distance like two storms colliding. sieun held his breath without realizing it, eyes wide and unblinking as suho moved with fluid grace across the canvas. his black shorts clung to his hips, his gloves gleaming under the harsh overhead lights. sweat already shimmered along his temples, catching the glow like tiny stars. his opponent was broader, heavy in his stance, thick legs planted like roots. ramirez — ranked higher, stronger by weight, a reputation for knocking men out within minutes. but suho — suho was quicksilver. the first few seconds were a tense dance. feet shifting, eyes locked, reading, testing. suho flicked out a few light jabs, feints, not meant to land, but to measure distance, test reactions. ramirez answered with a low kick, thudding into suho’s thigh with a sharp snap that echoed up into the stands. sieun winced.

and then came the flurry.

ramirez lunged forward with brutal hooks, heavy punches that whistled through the air, dangerous if they landed. suho ducked, twisted, weaving through them with the effortless precision sieun had seen countless times at the ranch, but this time, it wasn’t practice. the margin for error was razor-thin. one hit clipped suho’s ribs, a dull, wet sound. suho staggered back half a step, teeth clenched, breath sharp.

sieun’s stomach flipped.

but suho recovered instantly, circling out, finding his rhythm again. quick jabs to the body, a sharp knee to the midsection as ramirez charged again. the crowd roared with every exchange, the pulse of it vibrating through sieun’s chest like a second heartbeat. by the time the first round neared its end, sweat glistened off both fighters. suho’s breathing stayed measured, shoulders loose even as his opponent grew more frustrated, throwing wilder punches. sieun saw it, that edge of control suho always had. the discipline. the patience.

round two.

the bell rang again. both men rose from their corners like coiled springs. ramirez came in hotter this time, aggression cranked higher. he knew he was behind. the force of his punches rattled against suho’s guard, fists slamming into forearms with a thudding brutality that made the crowd flinch.

“come on, suho,” sieun whispered under his breath, hands tightening in his lap.

suho absorbed the storm, moving, slipping, letting the blows glance off as he waited for an opening. his footwork was poetry, never still, always calculating.

then it came.

a mistimed overhand from ramirez, just wide enough.

suho ducked low, hips dropping beneath the swing, and shot forward like a bullet. his shoulder collided into ramirez’s midsection with brutal force, arms locking around his opponent’s waist as he drove him back into the canvas. the takedown was clean, loud, a crack of bodies hitting mat.

the arena erupted.

“yes!” nico shouted beside sieun, jumping halfway to his feet. but sieun couldn’t move. his entire body was frozen, breath trapped somewhere in his throat.

suho transitioned instantly, straddling ramirez’s hips, pinning him with terrifying efficiency. his gloves pressed down against the man’s throat, not choking, controlling. his legs hooked outward, balancing every shift in ramirez’s desperate attempts to buck him off. time slowed. every second on the mat felt stretched, heavy with tension. suho’s breathing was calm, lips parted slightly, eyes focused like a hunter waiting for the final break. ramirez thrashed beneath him, throwing elbows, twisting, trying to bridge and roll. but suho adjusted, always one step ahead, always leaning into the momentum, neutralizing it.

when ramirez finally left his neck open for just half a second, suho slid his arm under the chin, locking the choke in with terrifying speed. his other arm clasped behind his bicep, tightening like a vice.

sieun’s heart stopped.

the ref knelt in close, eyes sharp, ready.

seconds passed.

ramirez’s arm slapped once against suho’s back.

the ref dove in, pulling them apart. it was over.

the roar of the crowd surged up like a crashing wave, crashing against the walls of the arena. suho pushed himself to his feet, breathing heavy but calm, his chest heaving under the bright lights. his glove lifted briefly in silent victory as the ref raised his arm.

and for one blinding, surreal moment, suho turned his head, found sieun’s face in the sea of strangers. their eyes locked across the spinning, flashing arena lights. sieun smiled, breathless, proud, and deeply shaken all at once.

the crowd’s roar still echoed faintly in the distance as sieun made his way through the maze of corridors behind the arena. the air back here was thick with sweat, adrenaline, and the sharp, sterile scent of disinfectant. staff hurried past, voices clipped and urgent, but it all faded into a blur as he followed the signs toward the fighters’ locker rooms. his heart was still racing, the pulse of the fight clinging to his skin like static electricity. even now, long after suho’s hand had been raised, sieun could feel the adrenaline vibrating in his fingertips. pride burned warmly in his chest, mixed with something softer, something tender and aching.

when he finally reached the door, it stood slightly ajar. the faint creak of hinges filled the otherwise quiet hallway as he pushed it open, peeking inside.

suho sat on the bench, head slightly bowed, breathing deep and slow. his bare torso glistened under the fluorescent lights, his skin flushed and marked with bruises that were already beginning to bloom purple and red across his ribs and shoulder. one trainer knelt beside him, carefully dabbing at a cut just above his eyebrow with a piece of gauze.

but even bruised and battered, suho looked devastatingly beautiful.

his hair was damp, curling slightly where sweat clung to the strands, and the light sheen across his chest traced the sharp lines of his muscles. his lips were parted as he exhaled, soft and swollen from the impact of the fight.

he looked up the moment he heard the door.

their eyes met.

a small, exhausted smile pulled at suho’s mouth, the kind that sent a warmth rushing through sieun’s stomach. “hey.”

sieun exhaled, suddenly realizing just how tightly he’d been holding himself together. “hey,” he answered softly, stepping inside and closing the door behind him.

the trainer offered them both a polite nod, finishing his work quickly before gathering his things and slipping out of the room, leaving the two of them alone in the quiet hum of the fluorescent lights.

sieun approached slowly, like he didn’t want to break the fragile peace hanging in the air. “you okay?” his voice was barely above a whisper.

suho chuckled, but it came out a little hoarse, like his throat was raw from the fight. “yeah. just sore.” he gestured toward the empty space on the bench beside him. “sit.”

sieun did, perching lightly, his knees brushing against suho’s as they faced each other in the cramped space. for a moment, neither of them spoke. sieun let his gaze travel over suho’s skin, the bruises, the small cuts,  each one making his stomach twist with a mixture of worry and admiration.

“you were incredible out there,” sieun finally said, his voice small but full of conviction.

suho’s smile deepened, eyes softening as he looked at him. “thank you for coming. it… meant a lot, having you here.”

sieun’s cheeks flushed faintly, the confession catching him off guard in the warmth of the small room. “i wouldn’t have missed it.”

suho leaned back slightly, one hand reaching out to brush a damp strand of hair from sieun’s forehead. his fingers were rough and warm, lingering for a moment longer than necessary. “you were nervous, weren’t you?” he teased gently.

sieun let out a quiet laugh, nodding. “terrified.”

“it’s not easy, watching someone you care about take hits like that.” suho’s voice was soft, thoughtful.

the words hung between them like something fragile and unspoken, and sieun’s breath caught slightly at the weight of them.

“no,” he admitted quietly, his voice thinner now. “it’s not.”

suho’s hand slid lower, cupping the side of sieun’s neck, thumb brushing lightly across his jaw. “but you were here anyway.”

sieun swallowed, his heart hammering beneath his ribs. “of course.”

for a long moment, neither of them moved. the air between them was thick with tension, not sharp or dangerous, but warm, heavy, almost intimate. the distant hum of voices and footsteps in the corridor outside became background noise to the soft rhythm of their shared breaths.

“you were really… beautiful out there,” sieun whispered before he could stop himself. “strong.”

a soft chuckle rumbled low in suho’s chest. “beautiful, huh?”

sieun flushed, ducking his head, but suho’s hand tipped his chin up gently, forcing their eyes to meet again.

“you’re beautiful too, you know,” suho said, voice lower now, his thumb grazing lightly along sieun’s lower lip, as if testing some invisible boundary between them.

sieun’s breath trembled, eyes flickering down to suho’s mouth, not just a glance, but a slow, unguarded pull, like something in him had been waiting for this without knowing it. it wasn’t just curiosity or lust. it was ache. longing. no one ever called him beautiful in a gentle way, he had been called pretty before, sure – but always in the heat of something dark, breathless and dirty. so pretty like this, so beautiful for me, they’d murmur, when he was gasping, pilant, when his mouth was open.

sieun body went still, not from fear, but from the weight of expectation, not suho’s, but his own. years of being touched like a performance, like currency, like a means to an end, and suddenly here he was, standing in front of someone who wasn’t reaching for him, wasn’t taking. someone whose thumb had brushed his lip so gently it made sieun feel seen rather than claimed.

suho’s mouth, that soft, steady mouth — was so close. not pressing, not coaxing, just there, waiting. and sieun realized, with startling clarity, that he wanted to be kissed. not because he had to, not because it was asked of him, but because he wanted to know what it felt like to be chosen that gently. his heart pounded, loud and uneven, the air between them thick with silence and something fragile, electric. his gaze clung to suho’s lips, every nerve in his body tuned to the moment, hoping, just barely, that maybe, finally, someone would lean in without wanting to take something away from him.

but suho didn’t.

he just let his hand drop softly to his lap, never breaking eye contact, like he knew, like he understood. suho wasn’t pushing him. he never did. instead, he just smiled, small, knowing, and heartbreakingly gentle.

“we should get you out of here,” sieun finally whispered, voice barely above the hum of the locker room lights.

suho hummed softly. “probably a good idea.” his tone was light, but exhaustion laced every word, like his body was beginning to crash now that the adrenaline had drained away. he shifted carefully, wincing slightly as his ribs protested the movement.

without thinking, sieun reached out, steadying him, hands light on suho’s arm. “careful.”

suho’s eyes flicked up again, that same quiet warmth swimming behind them. “you’re gonna start making me feel spoiled.”

“good.” sieun managed a shy smile. “someone has to. you hungry?”

“starving,” suho admitted with a small grin. “but i probably shouldn’t eat much tonight.”

“okay. then something small,” sieun decided, already pulling out his phone, his tone light but firm. “soup, maybe.”

suho smiled again, his voice low. “do you want to come over?”

sieun hesitated for half a beat, glancing up at him with a soft, teasing lift of his brows. “well… don’t you want to celebrate your victory with everybody? your friends, your team—”

but suho shook his head gently, his voice lowering even more, warm and certain.

“i want to celebrate it with you.”

the way he said it made sieun’s chest tighten, his heart pressing up against his ribs in a fluttering rhythm. suho’s eyes were steady, open, not playful this time, just quiet honesty laid bare between them. sieun swallowed, his lips parting slightly as he tried to suppress the heat rising in his cheeks. even after all this time, suho had a way of making him feel weightless and heavy all at once.

“okay,” he said softly, his voice barely audible. “then… let’s celebrate.”

they gathered his things together in a kind of quiet ritual, siun folding suho’s hoodie, gathering his gym bag, slipping the zipper closed as if tending to something precious. suho watched him the entire time, his gaze trailing over the curve of sieun’s shoulders, the delicate precision of his hands, the way his brow furrowed slightly in concentration. it stirred something in suho’s chest that was much heavier than simple gratitude, something softer, deeper.

but then, like a match struck too close to silence, the door burst open.

“there you are!” someone shouted, too loud, too bright, the way only friends could be when the adrenaline of victory was still rushing under their skin.

a group of teammates spilled into the room in a blur of arms and grins and movement. shoes squeaked on the floor, and the careful silence between sieun and suho was shattered like glass dropped on tile.

“trying to sneak off without saying goodbye?” one of the boys laughed, already pulling suho into a one-armed hug.

another voice rang out behind him. “the night’s just getting started!”

the room swelled with heat and laughter again, celebration curling into every corner, dragging them back into the noise. sieun blinked disoriented, his heart still beating in the quiet rhythm of the moment they’d just lost. beside him, suho exhaled softly, the smallest shake of his head like he was brushing off the noise before it could fully take hold. he smiled, not wide, not performative, but that quiet version that meant he was still present. still with him. “i’m serious, guys,” suho said, voice low but steady. “i don’t feel too well. i think i’ll call it a night. we can celebrate another time.”

there was a beat of silence, a shift in the air as a few heads turned to glance between them, sieun with his still-pink cheeks, suho with the steadiness in his voice. no one said anything, but something unspoken passed through the group. curiosity. understanding. restraint.

someone clapped suho on the back. another raised a bottle in mock salute. no one stopped them. sieun felt suho’s fingers brush against his, barely a touch, like a question. sieun answered by curling his own hand around suho’s, and for a second, that was all that existed. a silent agreement in the middle of the chaos.

suho gently tugged him toward the door.

they slipped out quietly, the warm, crowded air falling away behind them like a heavy coat shrugged off. the hallway was dimmer, still echoing faintly with noise, but less urgent. and then, a few more steps, the back door of the building groaning open — and they were outside. the night wrapped around them instantly. it was cooler than it had been earlier, the air sharpened with the hint of coming autumn. not cold, not yet, but enough to raise goosebumps along sieun’s arms. the city spread out before them, alive with distant sirens, headlights slipping down damp pavement, the low throb of music from a nearby rooftop.

sieun shivered instinctively, wrapping his arms around himself. he didn’t say anything — he didn’t have to.

suho noticed.

without a word, he reached up and unzipped his jacket. the movement was unhurried, almost casual, but there was something deeply deliberate in the way he slipped it from his shoulders. then, stepping closer, he draped it over sieun’s frame, the sleeves falling long past his wrists. the jacket was warm, still carrying the heat of suho’s body, and it smelled like him, like clean detergent and something grounding sieun could never quite name. it made his chest tighten, sharp and full.

“you okay?” suho asked softly, barely more than a breath, his eyes searching sieun’s face with that same steady care.

sieun nodded, his fingers curling into the jacket’s fabric like he was holding onto something fragile and real. “yeah,” he whispered, and meant it. “better now.”

they walked side by side, their hands brushing and finally intertwining, the simplicity of the gesture carrying more weight than words ever could. the night stretched ahead, open, uncertain, but for now, they had this fragile moment carved out just for themselves.

suho hailed a cab, holding the door open for sieun with a small, almost shy smile.

the drive wasn’t long, just a few quiet blocks, but sieun spent most of it sneaking small glances at suho out of the corner of his eye. under the streetlights, suho’s face looked different somehow, calmer, softer without the fight adrenaline running under his skin. his knuckles, still faintly reddened from the match, rested loosely on his knee.

the cab pulled up in front of a small brick building tucked away on a quieter street, its windows glowing dimly behind thin curtains. there was nothing flashy about it, simple, old, a little worn, but it felt solid. lived-in.

“here we are,” suho murmured, reaching for his wallet.

“you sure it’s okay for me to come in?” sieun asked, lowering his voice.

suho glanced at him with a little smile. “of course. you’ll meet my grandma.”

they walked up a narrow staircase, the wooden steps creaking faintly beneath their feet. the hallway smelled faintly of old wood, cooking oil, and something flowery, lavender, maybe. suho unlocked the door and pushed it open quietly. the apartment was small but warm, filled with soft lamplight. a few potted plants sat in the windowsills, and framed photographs lined the narrow hallway walls, old family pictures, faded school portraits, and a few shots that looked like they were taken at amateur fights.

“come in,” suho whispered. “she’s probably still awake.”

as if on cue, a soft voice called from the next room. “suho-yah?”

“yeah, i’m home.”

his grandmother appeared in the doorway, a small woman, her hair pulled back into a loose bun, wearing simple cotton pajamas. her face lit up when she saw him, and then her eyes shifted toward sieun with curiosity but warmth.

“ah, you brought a friend.”

sieun bowed politely, feeling his nerves flutter a little. “hello. i’m sieun.”

“ahh, such good manners.” she smiled, waving her hand gently. “come inside, make yourself comfortable.”

the apartment was quiet except for the faint hum of an old fan in the corner. the living room was filled with bookshelves, a small couch with handmade crochet blankets, and the smell of freshly brewed barley tea.

“i was just about to sleep, but i’ll leave you two to talk.” she smiled kindly before patting suho’s arm. “don’t stay up too late.”

“goodnight.” suho whispered as she shuffled back to her room, the door clicking softly behind her.

once they were alone, sieun let out a quiet breath. “she’s really sweet.”

“yeah.” suho smiled, looking down for a moment. “she’s everything, really.”

he gestured for sieun to sit on the couch, taking a seat next to him, their knees almost touching. for a moment, neither of them spoke — just sitting in the soft glow of the lamp, letting the quiet fill the space between them.

“this is where you live?” sieun finally asked, his voice hushed, reverent.

suho’s smile turned softer, a little private. “yeah. it’s been home for a while now.”

sieun looked around again, as if trying to piece together suho’s life like a quiet puzzle. “it’s lovely.”

“most people expect something different.” suho’s voice was quiet, not exactly guarded, but deliberate. he glanced down as he spoke, folding his hands together like he was grounding himself, steadying the moment with the weight of his own fingers. “i don’t talk about this stuff much.”

sieun didn’t respond right away. he could feel the shift in the air, the pause between them stretching long and fine like spun glass, not yet fragile enough to break, but delicate. careful. something was coming. something real. he waited, his body still, his hands folded in his lap, fingers clenching and unclenching slowly as he tried to silence the soft rush of nerves fluttering in his chest.

“i grew up in a group home,” suho said finally. the words were soft, almost hesitant. “bounced around a lot when i was a kid. it wasn’t great.”

the statement landed like a stone in sieun’s stomach. he didn’t know why it hit him the way it did, maybe because suho had always felt so solid, so composed. like someone who had roots. like someone who belonged. and now, suddenly, sieun could see the cracks beneath all that calm. he could see the bruises time must’ve left behind, hidden under a skin of quiet resilience.

his throat tightened, and he didn’t even realize he’d been holding his breath until he forced it out.

“my grandmother… she didn’t know about me until i was almost eleven,” suho went on, voice gentle, measured. “when she found out, she came and got me. she didn’t have much, but she made sure i had a place that was safe. that was enough.”

safe. the word echoed in sieun’s mind like a bell tolling in a distant church. not happy, not easy, not even good. just safe. and that was enough. the weight of it hung in the room like a thread of silk, fine, glimmering, but strong. sieun felt it stretch between them, invisible but undeniably there.

he swallowed, his voice low and a little hoarse when he finally said, “she must love you a lot.”

“she does.” suho looked up then, and their eyes met in the quiet. the light in the room was dim, but it caught in suho’s eyes, made them gleam like dark water, still and deep. “and… i guess i wanted you to see this part of me too,” he said. “i don’t let many people in here.”

that admission made something in sieun’s chest ache. not because he felt special, but because he knew what it meant to carry a story alone for so long it stopped feeling real until someone finally asked for it.

“it must’ve been hard.” his voice came softer now, gentler, as if he were speaking to a bruise, one that had never fully faded. “moving around like that. not knowing where you belong.”

a breath escaped suho, short and quiet. a little laugh, but not quite. “it was.” his mouth twisted slightly. “you learn how to protect yourself early. how to shut things out. people don’t really want the complicated version of you, you know?”

he turned his head just a little, and when he looked at sieun again, there was no mask left. just quiet sincerity. a kind of tired truth. “you figure out what to show, what to hide. what keeps people from leaving.”

those words hit too close.

sieun looked down quickly, his lashes casting faint shadows across his cheeks. he felt his fingers tighten where they rested on his thigh.

because he did know. he knew exactly what that meant.

he lifted his gaze slowly, eyes tracing suho’s face, the lines softened by shadow, the steady warmth in his gaze that didn’t flinch even when sieun looked back at him too long.

“i get that,” he murmured. “sometimes… i feel like i’ve spent most of my life trying to be exactly what people wanted me to be. what they expected.” his voice thinned out on the last word, like it hurt to say it out loud.

suho tilted his head just slightly, his attention sharpening.

“on the ice?”

sieun nodded. once. twice.

“on the ice. at the ranch. with the committee. even now, sometimes.” he exhaled, but it didn’t feel like release. it felt like confession. like peeling something open that had been sealed too tightly for too long.

but suho didn’t ask for more. he didn’t prod, didn’t press. he just listened.

and then, slowly, he shifted closer on the couch, not touching, not intruding, just… offering warmth. proximity. something that felt like a soft place to land.

“but you don’t have to do that here,” he said. “not with me.”

sieun blinked.

those words, they struck something deep and old and aching inside him. not because he didn’t believe them. but because he wanted to. he felt it tremble through him, slow and quiet, like spring water soaking into dry soil. like something trying to bloom where nothing had grown in years.

“thank you,” he whispered. his throat burned, but not in the way it usually did when he was holding something back. this time it was something breaking free. “it means a lot.”

suho smiled then. small. real.

“you don’t have to explain yourself, sieun.” he said softly.

his name, hearing it like that, gentle and certain, made sieun’s breath catch. his pulse was quickening, warm and golden beneath his skin, but it wasn’t fear. it wasn’t panic. it was relief. it was something electric and soft at the same time. he let out a slow breath, and when he looked at suho again, his eyes shimmered faintly.

“suho…” he said, the name feeling heavier in his mouth, but no less right. “you make me believe there’s something good waiting for me.”

and for once, it didn’t feel like a wish. it felt like truth, small and quiet, but growing.

right there in the quiet, with nothing but suho’s eyes on him and the dark pressing gently against the windows, sieun let himself believe it too.

just for a moment.

Chapter Text

suho, you make me believe there’s something good waiting for me.

the camera’s red light blinked steadily across from him, a slow, unblinking eye mounted atop its cold, metallic tripod. it stood like a sentinel, still and clinical, aimed directly at his body, fragile and exposed, his limbs trembling faintly under the bright, unflinching glare.

the light on the camera didn’t flicker. it watched without mercy. and sieun, even in that thick haze of quiet dread, could feel it swallowing him whole, frame by frame.

he wanted to close his eyes.

but—

suho… suho, you make me believe there’s something good—

the thought stuttered through his brain like a skipping record, brittle with longing.

then came the sting. sharp and fast.

a pinprick of steel to his arm, the needle sliding beneath skin already mottled from previous wounds, some fresh, some old, some so buried they barely whispered their stories anymore. he didn’t flinch. his arm lay limp at his side, fingers curled loosely like petals closing against frost. he felt the liquid enter him, cold first, like melted metal sliding through his veins, then burning, then spreading warmth. but not comfort. this warmth had weight.

this warmth dragged.

there is something waiting for me.

wait for me—

please—

wait—

the edges of the room began to shimmer, the lines between walls and ceiling bending inwards, curving like they wanted to fold him into something shapeless. colors bled into each other, sharp whites blooming into blinding yellows and indistinct gray. his heartbeat slowed, or maybe he just stopped hearing it.

sound dulled. air thickened. each breath dragged through him like syrup, sticky and slow.

he blinked, once, twice, the weight of his eyelids unbearable. and when they opened again, it was as if he were peering out from beneath water. the camera, the ceiling, the outline of the room, all of it distant. all of it watching.

and then there was shawn.

his voice, that voice, curled through the fog like smoke. it was low and smooth, coaxing in the way people calmed horses before breaking them.

“there we go… that’s it, baby. just let go. no need to fight it. you’re so beautiful like this.”

beautiful.

you’re beautiful, suho had whispered one night, his hand gently brushing hair from sieun’s face, voice thick with something unspoken, as if the word was too sacred to say out loud. and sieun had believed it, just for a second, it made him feel human.

but now-

you’re so beautiful like this.

like this.

slack-jawed, pupils blown. barely conscious.

his lips parted, a shallow breath slipping out between them, but there were no words. none that could find their way through the molasses inside his mouth, none that could push past the aching stillness in his lungs. his body felt unreal. like it had drifted slightly out of alignment with his mind. he could feel everything, the fabric beneath his thighs, the pulse in his neck, the sweat gathering under his arms, but none of it felt like his.

the camera adjusted, its lens twitching quietly, re-focusing. sieun heard it, that tiny mechanical sigh, and it made something cold shudder along his spine. a shape moved in the blurred corner of his vision.

shawn.

his shadow passed through the halo of light, drawing closer. sieun couldn’t lift his head. a hand, familiar, deliberate, reached out. fingertips brushed his cheek, slow and practiced, like a lover’s caress. soft. gentle. too gentle.

sieun’s breath hitched again, chest rising faintly. his lashes fluttered, heavy under the drug’s weight. he was still in his body, but the parts of him that mattered were receding. fading. he felt shawn’s hand drift lower, trailing down his neck, pausing over his collarbone. the air was too quiet. sieun blinked once more, his thoughts thick and distant. suho’s name tried to form on his lips, but the muscles didn’t work anymore.

sieun’s eyes rolled back beneath their heavy lids, lashes fluttering like wings caught in the last gust of wind before a storm. his breath hitched once, shallow, uncertain, before it faded into something quieter, something more automatic. his chest barely rose now, like even that small motion was asking too much of him. the mattress underneath him felt far away. not soft, never soft, but solid, pressing up against his spine like an accusation. the sheets were thin and scratchy beneath his back, smelling faintly of bleach and sweat, and something sour beneath that, something that clung to the room like rot hiding behind perfume.

his fingers twitched, but even that small motion was out of sync with his will, like it belonged to someone else. like he was piloting his body through a fog he couldn’t part.

his arms lay useless at his sides, slack and boneless. his legs wouldn’t move. even breathing felt like dragging air through syrup. and still, inside, he was awake. his mind floated behind his eyes like a trapped thing, alive and panicking.

he wasn’t unconscious. he was held. held in this body, this room, this moment.

and then—

click.

the door opened.

the sound was small. casual. out of place, almost, like someone walking into a quiet office, not a nightmare. he barely registered the movement, but his eyes, unfocused and slow, caught the blur of new feet crossing the threshold. heavy boots. black. worn. not shawn’s.

his stomach clenched, a slow, cold coil turning under his navel, not from the drug, not from the pain. from recognition. it meant someone new. a new weight. a new gaze. new pair of hands. the man’s voice followed, low, gravel-thick, distant.

“this him?”

sieun’s heart skipped, then thudded, then kept going. 

shawn’s voice answered, smooth and detached, like a waiter describing a dish.

“yeah. he’s one of my best.”

best. the word lodged deep inside sieun’s chest like a shard of glass. he couldn’t speak. he couldn’t move. but he felt everything. every word, every footstep. he felt the way the air shifted, the way the stranger’s eyes slid over him like cold oil.

“he looks young.” the man’s voice was closer now. closer to the bed, closer to him.

there was no judgment in the words. no hesitation. just a flat, almost curious observation, like he was inspecting meat.

shawn laughed.

“that’s why you’re paying extra,” he said. “he’s exclusive.”

exclusive.

beautiful.

sieun’s lungs burned. his body didn’t move. but deep inside, he could feel himself retreating, pulling inward, inch by inch, trying to vanish into some safe place inside his skull. but the voices kept dragging him back. the man whistled, low and appreciative.

then—

a hand. cold. rough. impersonal. fingers brushed along sieun’s arm, trailing from his elbow to his wrist, not affection, not cruelty. just contact. a test. a preview. his breath stuttered. his throat worked silently, but no sound came out.

“he won’t make noise,” shawn said, matter-of-fact. “he’s been properly prepared.”

the words scraped across sieun’s mind like rusted nails.

the man chuckled. “good. i don’t like when they cry too much.” a low laugh, casual, friendly. as if this was routine.

shawn’s hand landed on his shoulder again, the weight familiar now. the grip was gentle. too gentle. like sugar coating poison.

“he’ll behave,” shawn said. “won’t you, baby?”

sieun’s lips parted. a soundless breath escaped. his body couldn’t form words, but the shame still pulsed through him. he hated that his body still answered. that some part of him still reacted, still obeyed.

“see?” shawn laughed. “perfect.”

perfect.

and then the man knelt beside the bed. his breath hit sieun’s cheek, hot and sour, full of something chemical and cheap. cigarettes. cologne. hunger. the scratch of a zipper brushing against his bare skin made sieun flinch, or he thought he did. he couldn’t tell anymore if it was a real motion or just the urge. he could feel the weight of the man’s presence, heavy, looming, pressing against the edge of his silence. his hands moved slowly. confidently.

a palm on his ribs. fingers brushing the curve of his hip. the narrow line of his waist.

“he’s beautiful, isn’t he?” shawn’s voice. proud, possessive. “you won’t find many like him,” he went on, his voice a poisonous lullaby. “obedient. soft. untouched where it matters.”

the man grunted, one hand moving lower still.

“how old is he?” he asked, his voice rough now, thick with want.

shawn smiled. “old enough.”

the man’s hand gripped his thigh. shawn stepped aside, granting the man full access to the trembling figure on the bed. the man’s hands moved with rough certainty, fingers digging into sieun’s flesh as if marking ownership, mapping territory. sieun’s breath hitched, but the drug kept his body pliant. shawn stayed perfectly still, a dark statue in the corner of the room, watching every twitch, every shudder. his eyes gleamed cold and calculating, the faintest smirk twisting his lips when sieun whimpered softly. the man’s grip tightened, dragging sieun’s hips up against him with a brutal force that left no room for hesitation. sieun’s body arched involuntarily, a sound, part moan, part cry, torn from deep inside him.

shawn’s eyes flicked to the small camera perched silently on the dresser, its red light blinking steadily, recording every moment. sieun’s world blurred, pain and shame and numbness folding into one another like a dark tide pulling him under. his mind screamed, but his voice was lost beneath the weight of shawn’s control, the strangers’ hands, the cold sting of the needle still pulsing in his veins.

the door creaked open again, letting in a sharp rush of colder air that brushed against sieun’s bare skin, making goosebumps rise in unwelcome protest. a woman stepped in, her eyes sharp and cold like broken glass, lips pulled into a practiced smile that didn’t reach the guarded hardness beneath. she wore expensive perfume, a sharp contrast to the stale, recycled air in the room, a scent so heavy it clung to the back of sieun’s throat like a bitter aftertaste. her silhouette filled the doorway first, tall, poised, not hurried. she carried herself with the kind of stillness that came from years of learning how to own every room without ever raising her voice. she was all angles and poise, a slim figure wrapped in a structured coat, designer heels clicking softly on the cheap tile like a countdown. everything about her was deliberate. curated. her heels matched her nails, painted a muted crimson like dried wine. her hair, dark, straight, and severe, was pulled back into a knot that didn’t have a strand out of place. no warmth touched her features. not even an attempt at softness.

shawn stood in the shadows near the door, his posture relaxed but every inch of him pulsing with control and ownership. his dark eyes flicked over sieun with something like satisfaction, but there was no warmth, only the calculating chill.

“he’s ready,” shawn said quietly, nodding at the woman, the authority in his voice leaving no room for refusal.

sieun didn’t know what ready meant anymore. he was always ready.

the woman moved towards sieun, her steps slow and deliberate, like a predator savoring the moment before the kill. her hands, cold and firm, slid over sieunn’s trembling arms, trailing down his ribs with a possessive touch that left no space for comfort. sieun’s body reacted despite the knot of panic tightening in his chest, every nerve raw and exposed beneath her gaze.

sieun’s lips parted, trying to find words, but only a faint, strangled sound escaped. he was a ghost in his own body, the weight of shame pressing down so hard it felt like his ribs might crack. the woman’s eyes flicked to shawn, waiting for instructions, her smile never faltering as she tilted her head slightly, poised to obey.

shawn’s voice cut through the thick silence, calm, cold, and absolute. “he’s fragile, so be gentle at first. start with his neck, kiss it slowly. then move down to his collarbones, trace your lips over the skin there, but don’t rush. make him feel like he’s the only thing that matters, even if he knows it’s a lie.”

the first touch of her lips to his skin was nearly weightless. a whisper of heat at the base of his neck, just below his ear, that vulnerable hollow where his pulse fluttered like a trapped moth. her breath warmed the side of his throat as she lingered there, not yet kissing, just letting him feel her presence. when her lips finally moved, they did so slowly. a gentle drag of skin against skin, the kind that might’ve once meant affection in another life. but here, in this cold, pulsing room with the camera blinking and shawn watching, there was nothing soft about it.

sieun’s eyes didn’t close. he kept them open, glassy, unfocused, staring past her shoulder, past the camera, past the sharp angle of shawn’s jaw.

the kiss deepened slightly, no longer a brush but a press. her mouth moved lower, trailing the column of his throat with eerie precision. she was methodical, moving from his neck to the hollow just above his collarbone. she lingered there. kissed once, then again. she used her tongue this time, just slightly. it made his skin crawl. her hand moved, sliding down his chest, over the flat plane of his sternum. her fingers were spread wide. not groping, just covering. like she was getting a feel for the shape of him. for what she was working with.

she looked up once, glancing at shawn without saying anything. waiting.

“he’s sensitive around the ribs,” shawn said calmly. “but keep going. just stay slow.”

she nodded, then looked down at sieun again. her expression didn’t change. that tight little smile stayed in place, practiced and hollow. she bent again and kissed the edge of his collarbone. her mouth moved lower. sieun barely registered when she adjusted her angle,  just enough to bring her closer to his chest. but the moment her lips brushed across his nipple, his body jerked. a small twitch, almost nothing. except to shawn, who saw everything.

she didn’t pause. she opened her mouth and took his nipple between her lips, slow, controlled, like she wasn’t in a rush. her tongue flicked once, testing. then again, firmer, circling.

sieun gasped.

the sound caught in his throat, sharp and shaky, like it surprised even him.

his back arched slightly from how sensitive everything suddenly felt. the touch was too much, too direct and it lit something low in his stomach. his hands curled in the sheets.

“there it is,” shawn murmured from across the room, voice low with satisfaction. “he’s starting to feel it.”

sieun squeezed his eyes shut.

he made another sound, breathless, small. shawn chuckled.

“he’s responsive there. always has been.”

the woman glanced up briefly, her eyes cool and focused, then bent her head again and switched sides. she sucked the other nipple now, slow and deliberate, her tongue circling the sensitive skin before flicking at the tip. sieun felt heat rising beneath his skin, and it wasn’t just the drug this time. it was the way his body responded— the way the sensation rolled through his chest and tightened his gut.

the woman’s hand slid down with a slow, deliberate grace, her fingers wrapping around sieun’s length like she was claiming a prize. her grip was firm but not harsh, the soft skin of her palm dragging along him as she began to stroke, slow at first, measured, drawing out every twitch, every shallow breath he couldn’t suppress. her thumb circled the sensitive head in teasing, lazy swirls, spreading the growing wetness, and her eyes never left sieun’s face, watching him unravel, watching his lips part and his brows knit together as heat pooled low in his belly.

“such a pretty boy,” she whispered suddenly, her voice low and honeyed, thick with mock affection. “so easy to make you feel good, isn’t it?”

she leaned in, her breath hot against his cheek, and then her lips found his jaw again, planting soft, wet kisses that trailed down to his throat. she sucked lightly at the thin skin there, leaving faint marks as her hand kept working him in a steady rhythm. sieun’s head fell back slightly, eyelids fluttering, his chest rising and falling faster now, every stroke, every kiss winding him tighter.

as the woman continued her slow, steady strokes, keeping sieun trembling under her hand, the man shifted closer. sieun had nearly forgotten he wasn’t alone with her.

he glanced at the man, his pupils were blown wide, swallowing nearly all the colour in his irises, and his chest rose and fell in short, swallow bursts. his fingers found sieun’s hair, guiding his head gently but firmly.

“open up,” he murmured, voice low and rough, almost mocking.

sieun’s lips parted instinctively, his breathing already shallow, his mind swimming from the drug, the touches, the overwhelming heat crawling over his skin. he barely had time to brace himself before the man’s length pressed against his lips, sliding in carefully at first, testing his compliance.

shawn’s voice hummed softly.

“good boy. take him. nice and deep.”

the man’s hand flexed in sieun’s hair as he pushed further, his cock filling sieun’s mouth inch by inch, forcing his throat to stretch and adjust. the woman never stopped stroking him, her pace steady, perfectly timed to the thrusts now moving into his mouth. soft, wet sounds filled the room, the slick drag of the man’s cock slipping past sieun’s lips, the faint squelch of the woman’s hand working him, the muffled gasps and whimpers escaping between each movement. sieun’s eyes watered, his cheeks flushed, saliva dripping from the corners of his stretched mouth.

“breathe through your nose, baby,” the woman whispered sweetly, pressing a kiss to his temple as the man began to pick up pace, his hips rocking steadily, using sieun’s throat like it belonged to him.

the woman’s voice was like silk, cruel and sweet. “you’re doing so good, baby. such a pretty mouth. you were made to be used like this, weren’t you?”

her lips trailed down to his flushed chest, pressing soft, wet kisses along his skin, her breath warm against the sensitive flesh. she circled one of his nipples with her tongue, making him shudder under the dual sensations overwhelming him from both ends. sieun could only let out a strangled whimper around the fullness in his throat, his body arching involuntarily into the woman’s touch, desperate for more even as his head spun, his vision blurring.

“mmh,” the woman cooed, her hand squeezing a little tighter, working him faster. “poor thing,” she whispered, nipping at his flushed ear. “he’s so hard it must hurt.”

the woman pulled back from his chest, her hand giving sieun one last squeeze before releasing him. her eyes gleamed with a mixture of hunger and amusement as she rose to her feet, slowly shedding the last pieces of her clothing with deliberate grace, letting each item fall to the floor in a soft whisper of fabric.

“now, sweetheart,” she murmured, voice dripping like warm honey as she climbed onto the bed, straddling sieun’s hips. “let’s see how much more you can take."

sieun’s breath hitched, his hazy eyes blinking up at her, unable to fully process the electric heat pulsing through his body. his skin burned where she touched him, her fingers guiding him carefully inside her with a slow, practiced motion. she let out a soft sigh as she sank down, taking him inch by inch, her hips rolling as she seated herself fully onto him.

suho… you make me believe-

“mmh,” she hummed, her voice silky against the crackling silence. “just perfect. so full already.”

the tight, wet heat wrapped around him like velvet, pulling a strangled moan from sieun’s throat. the man’s breathing hitched, his movements growing erratic until, with a low, guttural groan, he pushed deep one final time, spilling into sieun’s throat. sieun swallowed instinctively, his vision swimming as the warm liquid coated his tongue. the man knelt beside them, his hand gripping sieun’s hair, forcing his head upright so he had no choice but to look up into the woman’s eyes as she began to move, slow at first, her hips circling, teasing him with every grind and shift.

“look at him,” shawn said softly from nearby, his voice thick with approval. “he loves being used like this.”

the woman rocked her hips a little faster now, her breath growing heavier as she leaned forward, palms pressing into sieun’s chest. her nails scratched faint red lines down his skin, adding another layer of sensation to his overloaded nerves. every glide of her body sent sharp jolts of pleasure slicing through his abdomen, each motion stealing what little breath he had left.

“you feel so good inside me, baby,” she whispered against his ear. “so hard… so eager.”

the woman leaned forward now, her breasts brushing against sieun’s chest as she kissed down his neck, her breath hot against his slick skin. her pace faltered for a moment, her voice breaking into gasps as she reached her own edge.

“god—fuck, you feel so good,” she whispered breathlessly into his ear, her nails digging into his shoulders now for leverage as she slammed her hips down again and again.

sieun’s thighs shook beneath her, his hands gripping the sheets so tightly his knuckles blanched. his moans spilled freely now, every sound raw and broken, his whole body trembling as the pressure inside him climbed dangerously high.

shawn’s voice slid through the room again like silk over a blade. “don’t you dare come yet,” he warned softly, eyes locked onto sieun’s quivering form. “not until i say.”

“please,” sieun choked out for the first time, voice hoarse and wrecked. his hands clenched into the sheets, body arching weakly beneath her.

but shawn only smiled, stepping closer now, his shadow stretching across the bed like something heavy and inescapable. “not yet, baby,” he whispered, voice low and thick with amusement. “you’ll come when i say. you’re not here for your own pleasure, remember? you’re here to please.”

the woman above him cried out as she reached her climax, her body convulsing around him, nails biting hard into his shoulders. “fuck—yes,” she gasped, riding out her high with frantic, shaking movements, her slick walls gripping him in wet pulses that made sieun cry out.

finally, with a soft, almost cruel sigh, she pulled away, sliding off his trembling body. her skin glistened with sweat, her eyes cold and, as if detaching herself from the moment like a professional shedding a mask. the man beside her shifted, his fingers dragging casually over his mouth as he wiped away the last traces of sieun’s taste. his gaze flicked toward shawn with a smirk, eyes glinting with something dangerous. the scent of his cologne still hung heavy in the stale air, mixing with the sharp metallic tang of the room.

“he’s better than i thought,” the woman murmured, voice smooth and low, carrying a mix of satisfaction and entitlement. “so obedient. so… willing.”

“yeah,” the man said, stepping back, his tone a lazy threat wrapped in dark amusement. “i’ll be back for more. this one’s worth the trouble.”

shawn’s lips curved into a slow, victorious smile, eyes flashing with possessive pride as he crossed his arms, watching sieun like a prize he refused to share.

“don’t worry,” shawn said, his voice a dangerous promise. “sieun always delivers. and i always make sure he’s… available.”

they got dressed slowly, methodically, faces blank and eyes averted, until - with one last look, sharp and final, the woman nodded to shawn, her fingers tracing a cruel line down sieun’s cheek before she turned away. the man followed, his steps echoing hollowly as they passed the threshold. the door clicked shut behind them, sealing sieun in the suffocating silence. the weight of their presence lingered, cold and unyielding, pressing down on his skin like a chain he couldn’t break. he lay there, raw and trembling, the echo of their voices and touches swirling in his mind, a dark storm that left him hollow and aching.

shawn stepped forward, the smirk fading from his face, replaced by a hard, focused intensity. his hand settled on sieun’s trembling thigh, fingers curling around the skin like iron bands. his eyes locked onto sieun’s, dark and commanding, no trace of mercy.

“time to finish this, baby,” shawn murmured, voice low and thick with control.

shawn positioned himself between sieun’s legs, his eyes locked onto the boy, dark and intense. with a slow, deliberate movement, shawn pressed the head of his cock against sieun, feeling the resistance before he pushed forward, inch by inch, filling him completely. despite the drugs, sieun's body was tight, unaccustomed to the intrusion. he gritted his teeth, his eyes watering, as the man pushed through the barrier. the pressure was immense, the stretching feeling like it would rip him apart.

he bit down on the pillow to muffle his cry, the pain a stark contrast to the gentle strokes and whispers of earlier. sweat beaded on his forehead, and his hands gripped the sheets in a desperate attempt to find something to anchor to in this overwhelming moment.

"sorry, baby," shawn panted, "i’m too worked up to prepare you… three days off—no filming, no guests, no training, just rest, what do you say?” shawn leaned down, his forehead resting against sieun’s as he began to move, his hips rolling in a slow, deliberate rhythm.

sieun’s sobs racked his body, each one raw and broken, as pain tangled inside him, thick and suffocating. his limbs trembled uncontrollably beneath shawn’s relentless grip.

„how about new skates?” he said again, thrusting slower now, the cold promise lingering in the air. “custom-made. perfect fit. everything you need.”

sieun wanted to say something, anything, but the sobs still caught in his throat, his body too fragile to resist or refuse. shawn’s hand tightened just a fraction, his voice low and slow, each word like a sharp whisper against sieun’s ear.

“you can take the pain,” he murmured, voice thick with false warmth. “you’re so good. so strong.” he paused, letting the words hang, heavy and demanding. “aren’t you, baby? so strong.”

sieun’s breath hitched, a fragile sound caught between sob and whisper.

shawn took it as a cue to quicken his pace, thrusting harder, faster, his grip on sieun's hips tightening. the boy's whimpers grew louder, his body trying to move in sync with the rhythm of shawn's hips. shawn’s hand found its way to sieun’s cock, wrapping around the shaft with a firm, knowing touch. he stroked the boy in time with his thrusts, feeling the heat and the pulse of his arousal. sieun’s eyes rolled back, his mouth parting in a silent scream as the pleasure began to overwhelm him, and a keening sound escaped his throat. the pressure was unbearable, a crescendo of pleasure and pain that coiled tightly in his belly. his cock jerked, spurting hot cum onto his stomach, the force of his orgasm taking him by surprise.

"fuck, sieun, he murmured, his voice low and thick with control. "so fucking perfect. so tight.”

with a final, powerful thrust, shawn’s body tensed, muscles tightening in a desperate, helpless convulsion, as he came inside. he groaned loudly, while sieun’s muscles trembled uncontrollably as sobs started breaking free from his throat once again, thin and fragile, like something already broken. tears streaked down his flushed cheeks, dripping onto the sheets below. his fingers curled into weak fists, grasping at nothing, desperate for something to hold onto. but there was nothing. only emptiness and clarity, as his mind was no longer clouded by pleasure and lust.

why am i like this? his mind whispered cruelly.

why can’t i stop crying?

why does my body betray me every time?

what would suho think if he saw me like this?

the thought of suho made his chest seize tighter. it was like being stabbed somewhere deep inside. his kind eyes. his steady hands. his warm voice calling him sieunnie like he was precious, like he was safe.

he flinched when he felt hands on him, but they weren’t rough. they were gentle, smoothing over his sticky skin like a lover’s caress.

“shh, baby,” shawn whispered, voice dripping with syrupy sweetness as he slipped behind him on the bed, cradling sieun’s trembling body against his chest. “you did so well. so, so well for me.”

he lifted sieun easily, as if he weighed nothing at all, shifting him to sit sideways across his lap. one of shawn’s hands wrapped around sieun’s waist, firm but gentle, while the other reached up to wipe away his tears with a single finger.

“look at you,” shawn cooed, kissing the corner of his mouth softly. “such a good boy. my beautiful boy.”

sieun whimpered softly, unable to stop the fresh tears rolling down. his entire body trembled against shawn’s steady frame.

i want suho. his mind screamed. i want to go home.

but this was home now. this was his world.

shawn continued to stroke his hair, his voice low and hypnotic, like a lullaby meant to drown sieun’s sobs.

“don’t cry, sweetheart. you know i take care of you. you’re safe here with me, aren’t you? no one else understands you like i do. no one loves you like i do.”

his lips brushed against sieun’s temple, his breath warm, words soft but sharp, slipping like poison under the skin.

“all those people out there… they’d never accept you if they knew the things you’ve done. the things you’ve let happen. but me?” his hand slid under sieun’s chin, tilting his face up. “i love you anyway. no matter how dirty you are. no matter how broken.”

sieun bottom lip quivered, and his eyes filled again.

am i broken? is that why suho shouldn’t see me?

his lip trembled, and his voice was a whisper barely even sound. “i didn’t mean to…”

“mean to what?” shawn cooed, brushing the tear from his cheek with a knuckle. “to feel good?”

sieun flinched.

“oh, baby.” shawn sighed like it pained him. “you think i don’t see it? the way your body responds, the way you shake, the way you get so wet for me?”

“stop—” sieun said, a choked sound, but shawn only leaned in closer.

“you don’t have to be ashamed of it. your body’s just honest, that’s all.” he slowly kissed sieun’s mouth. “you think you’re disgusting because it feels good? because you need it?”

sieun looked away, but shawn caught his jaw, turned his face back. his hand slipped lower, resting warm and possessive on sieun’s thigh. “you’re not bad for feeling pleasure, sieun. you’re just mine.”

“i’m the only one who can love you like this,” shawn whispered, kissing his damp cheek again. “you belong to me. you know that, don’t you, baby?”

sieun swallowed hard, his breath hitching as he struggled to find his voice. he hated this part. he hated that small, shattered part inside him that wanted to believe the softness in shawn’s voice. that craved comfort, even from the man who uses him.

“y-yes,” he finally managed, voice cracking.

shawn smiled against his skin, humming approvingly as he kissed along his jawline. “that’s my good boy.”

his fingers slid along sieun’s wrist, gently rubbing small circles. “no one will ever take you from me,” shawn murmured. “and you’d never leave me, would you? where would you even go? you need me.”

sieun’s head spun.

“you’ve got no one else, baby,” shawn continued, kissing the soft skin below his ear. “your parents can’t even stand to look at you. remember that call with your mom? how she said you’re a disappointment? how she hung up without saying i love you?”

sieun flinched like he’d been slapped, eyes stinging with fresh heat.

“and your friends?” shawn scoffed, voice still honeyed, but laced now with scorn. “when’s the last time any of them came to see you?”

his hand tightened slightly on sieun’s hip, grounding him, claiming him.

“your teammates don’t like you either,” shawn spoke again, gentle as ever. “they don’t talk to you because you’re better than them. and they hate that. they hate you for it.”

he tilted sieun’s chin again, forcing his eyes to meet his.

“but me?” shawn smiled. “i’ve seen every version of you. i’ve seen you cry. i’ve seen you beg. i’ve seen you come apart on my fingers, soaked and shaking and ashamed.”

he leaned in, his forehead resting against sieun’s, voice dropping to a whisper meant only for him.

“and i still want you. i still love you.”

sieun blinked, and a single tear slipped down his cheek.

“you belong to me,” shawn murmured, brushing it away with his thumb. “because no one else would keep you. no one else would stay.”

suho, suho, suho-

suho would keep me.

suho thinks i’m beautiful.

the thought came like a whisper in the dark, soft and trembling, curling up inside sieun’s chest.

and he hasn’t even touched me.

shawn has touched him hundred times. had kissed every part of him.

but suho…

he didn’t even kiss me.

and he still looked at sieun like he was worth something. not because sieun had earned it. not because he’d performed for it. just because.

“you’re mine, sieun,” shawn breathed, pressing another kiss onto his lips, soft, lingering, like a mockery of tenderness. “and you always will be.”

sieun trembled harder, his tears falling silently now, his body giving in, collapsing into the warmth of shawn’s hold, not from trust, not from love, but from exhaustion.

please, suho, his mind whispered weakly, please find me.

shawn continued to hum softly under his breath, rocking sieun gently on his lap like he was cradling a child. the room was quiet except for the sound of sieun’s shaky breathing, the faint hum of the air conditioner, and the steady thump of shawn’s heartbeat against his back.

“there we go,” shawn murmured, his voice low, almost loving. “you always cry after, but you know how much i love you, don’t you?”

his fingers brushed the damp strands of hair off sieun’s forehead, wiping the sweat away with a care so precise it made his stomach twist.

sieun’s chest tightened, breath shallow and uneven. his mind was a storm of confusion — a tangle of aching want and trembling fear.

part of him craved the warmth in shawn’s voice, the way those words wrapped around him like a fragile shield from the cold outside. you’re mine. i love you. it was the only certainty he had in a world that kept turning without him. he wanted to run, to scream that he deserved better, that someone like suho, someone kind and steady, had seen him as beautiful without needing to own him. that maybe love could be light.

yet when he looked at shawn, when the twisted tenderness softened the edges of his cruelty, that yearning deepened. the hunger to be wanted, to be seen, to be held, even like this, clawed at him relentlessly.

he had never known love before, only the ache of being unwanted, unseen.

and now, here was shawn, claiming him, holding him, telling him he was loved. even if it was a dark, even if it came wrapped in pain and fear and shame.

that was the only warmth sieun had ever felt.

he wanted to reject it, to push back and scream and run, but the truth was too raw, too desperate to deny.

he wanted to be good. good enough to make someone need him. to make someone want him. there was a fierce hunger inside him, burning sharper than shame or fear. he wanted to hear it, the sound of someone moaning because of him, trembling because of what he made them feel. wanted to be the reason their breath caught, the reason their hands gripped tight and their bodies ached.

because in those moments, when someone was lost in him —

he felt important.

he wanted to please, to give and give until there was nothing left. wanted to be needed, wanted to be the center of something real and fierce.

he was starving for connection.

for tenderness.

for something. anything.

shawn’s hands, though controlling, were also the only hands that had ever stayed. his voice, though suffocating, was the only one that whispered you’re mine and meant it. and so sieun clung to that warmth, even as it burned him. he hated himself for it. hated how badly he needed it. he swallowed the bitter taste of his own longing and closed his eyes, wishing he could believe that this was enough.

because maybe — just maybe — it was all he’d ever get.

because he did no longer believe that there was something good waiting for him.

Chapter Text

he hadn’t always been like this.

there were nights before the ranch when his body had still felt like his own. nights when he didn’t think about sex, when he didn’t crave touch like it was oxygen. when his skin didn’t buzz with the memory of hands, lips, pressure.

but now?

now it was every day. every single day.

if shawn didn’t call him, if no one touched him, he still ended up in the bathroom, forehead pressed to the tile, hand between his legs, panting and shaking as he chased it again. he hated that he needed it. hated how his body burned if he went too long without release. how his thighs ached. how he couldn’t sleep, couldn’t breathe unless he gave in. the tension already coiled tight from the moment he woke. sometimes twice in one day, sometimes more. sometimes just from the thought of someone watching him. the phantom of a voice calling him good boy. the memory of someone groaning because of him.

and afterward, always, the shame. his fingers would still be wet, his chest still heaving, and the disgust would come in waves.

what’s wrong with me?

pleasure wasn’t just pleasure anymore. it was need. it was dependence. he’d gotten so used to being touched, used to being coaxed into it, dragged under until he was shaking, that now he couldn’t go a day without chasing that edge himself. sometimes he whispered to himself while he did it, things he knew shawn would say.
so good. such a pretty mess. that’s it, baby. show me how much you need it.

and afterward, he wanted to scream.

but still, every day, he did it again.

it was only two weeks ago when his fingers moved shakily between his legs, searching for that spot - the one shawn always found so easily. the one that made him see stars, made him scream, made him forget everything but the heat. but that night, again — he couldn’t reach it. he pressed in deeper, curled his fingers, tried to angle the way shawn did. his thighs trembled, his hole fluttered around nothing, desperate to be filled the right way.

his other hand wrapped around himself, slick and fast, but even that didn’t help. the pressure built, but it was just out of reach. the edge kept slipping through his fingers like water. no matter how fast he moved, how deep he pushed, it wasn’t enough. he felt humiliated, pathetic. panting and rutting against his own hand like an addict, tears pricking the corners of his eyes. that night, his body felt starved.

shawn hadn’t touched him in five days.

and his body screamed for it, for real hands, real weight, real control. he couldn’t give it to himself. not the way he needed. his fingers slipped out of him, slow and trembling, leaving behind nothing but that hollow, burning emptiness.

why can’t i do it?

his body ached with frustration, but more than that, with humiliation. he’d touched himself like shawn touched him. said the words shawn said. moved his fingers the way he was taught to. deeper, curled, faster. but it hadn’t worked.

am i broken?

that was the first night when sieun came to shawn willingly. sieun kept his arms wrapped around himself as he walked, bare feet silent against the tile, sweatpants loose and low on his hips. his shirt clung to his back, damp from nerves, from heat, from trying to come and failing. again.

his fingers still smelled faintly like shame. his thighs ached.

he didn’t know why he was walking. not really. he told himself it was just to breathe. to move. but his feet moved on their own, familiar now with the way, the turns, the creaky board near the end of the hallway, the door with the worn edge where shawn kept forgetting to repaint.

his hand hesitated before knocking.

he could go back. he should go back. crawl under the covers and pretend it hadn’t happened. pretend he didn’t need this. pretend his body wasn’t still wet and wanting and stretched open with nothing inside. but he didn’t move.

his knuckles tapped once.
soft.
then again, louder.

a beat.
then the door opened.

shawn stood in the doorway in a t-shirt and sweatpants, half-asleep, rubbing his eyes. but when he saw sieun, quiet, flushed, trembling with something unsaid, his expression shifted.

“baby?” shawn’s voice was low, a mixture of surprise and concern. “why are you here? is something wrong? did someone—”

sieun flinched at the question, shaking his head slightly. he didn’t speak. he stood, arms wrapped around himself, his breath shallow, eyes wide and glossy with unshed tears. the silence stretched long, heavy and thick. sieun’s body tensed, a flicker of pain or shame rippling through his frame. he stepped forward, breath hitching, eyes searching for something, maybe safety, maybe forgiveness, and pressed his lips to shawn’s.

the kiss was tentative at first, soft like a whisper, hesitant like a secret just barely shared, but it deepened quickly, trembling with desperation and unspoken need. sieun’s lips parted slowly, the wet warmth of shawn’s mouth igniting a wild ache that rippled through his chest, spreading down to the tight coil in his stomach.

his hands shook, rising to rest tentatively against shawn’s shoulders before trembling down to grasp at the fabric of his shirt, clinging as if to steady himself against the flood of sensation crashing through him. and for a second, shawn froze, confused, startled.

“sieun,” he breathed between them, trying to pull back, “wait—”

but sieun leaned in again, lips brushing his with more insistence this time, more need. shawn’s hand instinctively lifted to sieun’s face to stop him, but he flinched at the touch like he was about to cry, and shawn hesitated. his hand, still cradling sieun’s cheek, stayed there.

“please,” sieun whispered against shawn’s mouth.

his fingers found shawn’s and slowly, tentatively, he guided that hand downward. over the shape of his chest, over the narrow slope of his ribs, until it hovered just above the waistband of his sweats. his breath shook, hitched tight in his chest like he was about to break.

“sieun,” shawn said, eyes narrowing slightly, “are you drunk? did you take something?” he pulled back, just enough to look sieun in the eyes.

his pupils weren’t blown. his breath didn’t carry the scent of alcohol. and his expression, it was worse than intoxication. he looked undone.

sieun’s voice broke. “i can’t sleep. i don’t know who else to go to. i feel like—” his throat clenched. „i need to feel good.”

the words hit the air like confession. like prayer. and something about the quiet in them made shawn’s chest tighten. sieun looked up at him, eyes glossy, mouth parted like he was barely holding himself together, and then, slowly, he slid his hands down shawn’s chest. reverent. desperate. like if he just reached far enough, he might find something to hold onto. sieun dropped to his knees.

it had been two weeks ago. and the memory still clung to him like something sticky and sour, not quite sweat, not quite regret, but some awful mixture of both. he’d kissed shawn first. pulled him in, desperate, messy, wild-eyed. and since that night, something had changed.

not just in him, though the shame lingered like bruises under his ribs, aching worse when he was alone, but in shawn too.

shawn had gotten braver.

he started taking sieun along to meetings, not even bothering to explain who he was. he let their eyes linger on him, let them stare. sometimes he’d pull sieun aside into a hallway, or a hotel bathroom, or once, just once — behind a frosted-glass office door, hand shoved down the front of his pants while someone waited on the other side.

and sieun, god, he hated how fast his body responded to it. how easily the heat bloomed in him when he knew someone might hear. he hated how that night unlocked something in him he didn’t understand, a gnawing, hungry part that needed to be wanted, needed to be seen, even when it felt like he was disappearing under it all.

and shawn had noticed. he’d started using it.

he was getting braver about lending him too, to sponsors, to investors, to men shawn only smiled at tightly over champagne glasses. like now.

sieun sat stiffly in the passenger seat of the luxury car, knuckles white where he gripped the edge of the seat. the leather smelled expensive. so did his cologne, not his own, but the one shawn sprayed on him earlier that evening, murmuring something about making an impression. they were headed to the house of a man sieun had met only two days ago. he didn’t even remember his name. only that his smile had been slow and glassy and that he’d touched sieun’s waist too low, too long, even with shawn in the room.

now, apparently, he’d asked for a private meeting.

and shawn hadn’t hesitated.

he drove the car with one hand resting casually on the wheel, the other tapping to the rhythm of the faint music playing from the radio. they were somewhere outside the city now, surrounded by trees and long stretches of deserted roads. far away from anyone who could hear. sieun sat in the passenger seat, wearing the clothes shawn had picked for him — tight-fitting black jeans, a pale button-up, his hair carefully styled. even the makeup had been done professionally earlier that afternoon, hiding any faint bruises or sunken shadows under his eyes.

he stared out the window, his face expressionless.

“almost there,” shawn said cheerfully, glancing over at him. “the gentleman tonight’s very important. wealthy. powerful. you’re going to make me very proud.”

sieun swallowed, throat dry. “where are we?”

“private club. a place where people with certain… appetites can indulge without consequence. discretion guaranteed.” shawn smiled wider, as if this was some kind of glamorous outing. “don’t worry, baby. i’ll be nearby if you need anything. but you won’t, right?”

sieun shook his head automatically.

“good boy.” shawn patted his knee gently.

they pulled up to a large iron gate moments later. a man in a suit stepped out of a guardhouse, waving them forward once shawn gave his name. past the gate, an enormous estate rose out of the darkness, lit by golden floodlights — the kind of house that belonged to people who never worried about consequences. shawn parked, and before sieun could even open his door, one of the hosts approached, opening it for him like he was a guest of honor.

“come on,” shawn whispered near his ear as he helped him out of the car. “smile. tonight’s important.”

sieun obeyed. he smiled.

the heavy oak doors creaked open, revealing a cavernous hallway drenched in soft amber light. the air was thick with the scent of expensive perfumes and polished wood. footsteps echoed as the hosts led them deeper inside, past ornate tapestries and gleaming chandeliers, each step making sieun’s heart pound louder against his ribs.

the room they entered was vast, filled with low murmurs and hushed laughter. shadows moved between plush velvet chairs and glass tables bearing crystal decanters. sieun’s gaze flicked nervously to the figures around him — well-dressed men and women, their eyes sharp, some lingering on him with cold, hungry interest.

shawn’s grip tightened briefly on his wrist. “remember,” he murmured, voice slick as oil, “you’re here to please. to entertain. you look perfect.”

a tall man in a tailored suit greeted them at the door, his eyes gleaming with the thrill of possession and power. “shawn, always a pleasure. and this must be the infamous sieun,” he said smoothly, his voice a velvet threat. “i’ve heard much about you.”

sieun’s stomach twisted, but he kept his face neutral, the practiced calm of someone who knew too well how to hide beneath a mask.

shawn’s smile sharpened. “he’s all yours tonight.”

the man’s eyes darkened with hunger as he stepped closer, the subtle scent of leather and musk wrapping around sieun like a trap. his fingers reached out, brushing lightly against sieun’s cheek—possessive, claiming. the man’s eyes roamed over sieun slowly, appraising him like merchandise on display. his lips curled into a faint, predatory smile.

“he’s even more beautiful in person,” he murmured, reaching out. his hand cupped sieun’s chin, tilting his face slightly from side to side, as if inspecting him under better light. his skin smelled of expensive cologne and cold metal, like the rings that gleamed on his fingers.

“soft,” he whispered approvingly. “perfect.”

sieun’s breath hitched, but he stayed still, his body trained by habit to respond without flinching. shawn’s hand rested at the small of his back, a silent reminder.

“you’ll take good care of him,” shawn said smoothly, like closing a business deal. “he knows how to please.”

“i have no doubt,” the man replied, his voice heavy with promise. “come.”

he gestured for sieun to follow, leading him down a long, dimly lit hallway. the walls were lined with velvet curtains, muffling the faint sounds of others in distant rooms — soft music, low murmurs, laughter that didn’t quite sound joyful. sieun’s steps were light, careful, his heart pounding beneath his ribs. the man’s hand slid to the small of his back, warm and possessive as they passed closed doors, some slightly ajar, revealing glimpses of other private indulgences.

finally, they entered a room at the end of the hall. it was large, lavish. soft candlelight flickered against dark wood and silk, casting long shadows. a large bed stood at the center, its sheets deep crimson, like a warning or an invitation.

it was large, not just in size, but in presence. the kind of room that swallowed sound, that closed around you like velvet curtains pulled tight. candlelight flickered from golden sconces and tall, dripping pillars on every surface, casting a low amber glow that danced along the walls, the ceiling, the polished floor. shadows curled in the corners like secrets.

the bed was the centerpiece — enormous and decadent, draped in sheets the color of dark wine, so deep a red it was nearly black in the dim light. silk pillows spilled across it, some discarded onto the floor, others arranged as if waiting for someone to kneel. the headboard rose high and carved, black lacquered wood etched with curling floral patterns, like something from an old gothic chapel. chains gleamed faintly on either side, artfully attached to the frame. functional. intentional.

to the left, a sitting area. low couches of plum velvet and brass stood before a fireplace that wasn’t lit, but still smelled faintly of burnt wood and heat. glasses waited on a mirrored tray beside a crystal decanter half-filled with some amber liquor, untouched for now. everything was lush. expensive. designed for comfort, for luxury, for control.

a thick carpet muffled every step, so soft it felt like fur beneath the soles. the walls were lined in dark wallpaper, nearly black, textured with subtle gold detailing that shimmered when the light caught it. heavy drapes covered the tall windows, making it impossible to tell if it was night or day outside. time didn’t seem to exist here.

there were hooks on the walls. loops of leather resting over brass knobs. discreet drawers tucked into ornate furniture. everything had a place, and everything meant something. even the silence. especially the silence.

sieun stood just inside the threshold, his breath catching in his throat. the air in the room was warmer, closer — it smelled of wax, perfume, something darker. like skin. like sweat.

the man stepped past him and turned, eyes sharp and glinting in the candlelight, one hand slowly removing his watch as if this were a ritual, a private ceremony.

“make yourself comfortable,” he said softly, voice like velvet dragged over a blade. “we’ll take our time tonight.”

and behind sieun, the door clicked shut. quietly. finally. no way out now.

sieun stood still, shoulders slightly raised, like he didn’t know where to put his hands. the candlelight cast soft shadows across his face, catching on the curve of his cheekbone, the hollow beneath his eyes — but his gaze stayed flat. still.

the man studied him for a long moment, eyes narrowed in silence.

then, he spoke.

“you’re quieter than i expected.”

he stepped closer. slow. deliberate. his presence filled the space, warm and looming, the scent of his cologne growing stronger, something spicy, dry, foreign. his hand rose, not fast, not aggressive — and brushed a strand of hair from sieun’s forehead, tucking it behind his ear. his fingers lingered just a second too long.

“you’re beautiful up close,” he murmured, as if to himself. “no wonder he keeps you.”

sieun didn’t flinch.

the man stepped in even closer, no hesitation now. his hand slid down to cup sieun’s cheek, thumb tracing along the edge of his jaw. it was a soft touch, not tender exactly, but possessive.

“do you like being looked at?” he asked, his voice like smoke, low, curling, wrapping itself around sieun’s spine. “or do you just know how to make it look like you do?”

sieun’s lips parted, just slightly, his breath slow and even. “i do,” he answered quietly, eyes lifting to meet the man’s. they were dark, guarded, but trained to hold eye contact

his hand slid lower, fingertips brushing along sieun’s throat. then, without warning, without asking, he leaned in and kissed him.

it wasn’t rough. it wasn’t sweet. it was slow, sinking, exploratory.

sieun kissed back.

not with eagerness, but with fluid precision, lips parting just enough, head angling perfectly, a soft breath escaping as he leaned in. not too much. just enough to show he understood.

the man’s thumb moved slowly along sieun’s bottom lip as they pulled apart again, breath mingling between them. his gaze lingered there, like he was memorizing the shape of his mouth.

“do you do this a lot?” he asked, voice low, without judgment — just that cool, silken curiosity. “let men touch you like this?”

sieun held his gaze, breathing shallow. he was quiet for a moment, then said simply, “when shawn wants me to.”

the man tilted his head slightly.

“does he fuck you?” he asked suddenly, the words sharp, direct, dropped like stones into still water.

sieun blinked, but didn’t look away.

“yes.”

“often?”

“yes.”

the man’s eyes darkened, not with anger. not even jealousy. more like fascination. like something in that answer confirmed something he already suspected.

“do you let him?”

that one made sieun pause longer.

his throat bobbed again.

“i don’t stop him,” he said finally.

the man didn’t move. he just stood there, thumb still resting at the corner of sieun’s mouth, eyes sharp and searching. not angry. not cruel. just… watching.

the man’s eyes flicked downward — not with hunger, not yet. his hand moved over sieun’s chest, palm brushing lightly over his skin, tracing down to the soft dip of his stomach. his other hand came up to hold sieun’s chin again, gently keeping his gaze.

“do you like being touched?” he asked.

sieun’s lips parted. his breath trembled. “sometimes.”

the man leaned in, lips ghosting just below his ear.

“do you like this?” his fingers grazed over one of sieun’s nipples, slow, watching the way his chest rose under the contact.

sieun’s jaw tensed — then loosened.

“yes.” he whispered.

the man’s hand lingered at sieun’s nipple, thumb tracing slow, deliberate circles over the sensitive skin beneath the thin fabric. his touch was both gentle and claiming, like he was mapping territory he already owned but wanted to remind sieun of.

“does he lend you out like this often?” he murmured, eyes dark and searching.

sieun’s breath hitched. his body stiffened for just a moment before he whispered, “sometimes.”

the man’s fingers tightened slightly, teasing the tip just enough to draw a faint shiver.

“and does he watch you? when you’re with others?”

sieun hesitated, eyes flickering up to meet the man’s. “yes.”

“does it bother you?” the thumb paused, circling slower now, savoring the reaction.

“no,” sieun said quietly, voice barely above a breath.

the man’s eyes sparkled with intent as his hand lingered on sieun’s hip, fingers curling just enough to claim him without causing pain. his voice dropped to a low, commanding whisper that filled the quiet room.

“strip for me,” he said, every word deliberate, heavy with promise.

sieun’s fingers moved automatically, slipping the buttons of his shirt free one by one, letting the fabric fall from his shoulders. his chest rose and fell with each breath as he kicked off his shoes, then pushed the jeans down his legs, folding them neatly as he’d been taught.

when he stood bare, the man let out a pleased hum, circling him slowly. his fingers trailed along sieun’s arm, his side, grazing over the curve of his waist.

“beautiful,” he whispered again, his voice almost reverent. “just like they said.”

he reached for a small remote on the nightstand, pressing a button. soft music started, low and rhythmic.

“lie down for me.”

sieun moved to the bed, settling onto his back, hands resting by his sides, eyes fixed on the ceiling.

the man approached slowly, savoring every inch of the space between them, as though drawing out the moment was its own kind of pleasure. his fingers worked at his cufflinks, letting them fall soundlessly to the floor, then unbuttoned his shirt with deliberate care.

sieun lay still, his breathing shallow, skin prickling under the weight of the man’s gaze. the music pulsed softly in the background, a sensual rhythm that filled the heavy silence, mingling with the faint rustle of silk sheets beneath him.

the man finally climbed onto the bed, straddling sieun’s hips, his knees sinking into the mattress on either side of his bare thighs. he leaned in close, his breath ghosting over his lips without quite touching them.

“you know why you’re here, don’t you?” he whispered, his voice silken, coaxing.

sieun’s voice was barely audible. “yes, sir.”

the man smiled, pleased by the automatic obedience. his fingers brushed down sieun’s chest, light as feathers, tracing over the faint marks left by others before him, evidence of how many hands had touched this skin, how many mouths had claimed him.

“shawn trains his pets so well,” the man murmured, almost to himself. his hand dipped lower, fingers wrapping around sieun’s soft length, stroking him with slow, deliberate precision. “i’ve been waiting for my turn for quite some time.”

sieun bit his lip, his body responding despite the hollow numbness in his mind, his hips twitching instinctively into the man’s touch.

“good boy,” the man purred, increasing the pace just slightly. “i heard that you enjoy this, don’t you?”

sieun let out a shaky breath, his head falling back against the plush pillows. his legs trembled faintly as the man’s grip tightened, working him with expert rhythm, slow enough to torture, fast enough to keep him right on the edge.

“i could keep you like this for hours.” the man whispered into his ear, his voice hot against sieun’s skin.

he released him abruptly, making sieun gasp, his thighs tensing from the sudden emptiness.

the man leaned back, studying him, as though admiring a piece of art.

“turn over.”

he obeyed instantly, rolling onto his stomach, lifting his hips just enough, presenting himself as he’d been taught. his breath came in short, controlled bursts, his heart hammering painfully inside his chest.

he heard the sound of a drawer opening, the faint click of a bottle being opened — lube.

“such perfect submission,” the man whispered. “shawn was right. you’re even better than i imagined.”

he poured a generous amount of the slick liquid onto his fingers, spreading it over sieun’s entrance, his touch slow, teasing, circling the sensitive rim before finally pushing one finger inside.

his entire body tensed, a small, involuntary whimper escaping his lips. the man hushed him softly, almost tenderly, adding a second finger, scissoring them gently to prepare him.

“there you go… relax for me.”

the fingers worked deeper, stretching him with careful skill, brushing against that sensitive spot inside, making sieun shudder, his legs trembling under the man’s steady hands.

“so responsive,” the man whispered with dark delight. “you were made for this.”

after another long moment, the man finally withdrew his fingers and moved behind him, guiding himself carefully to sieun’s entrance.

“breathe, sweetheart,” he said, his voice gentle — sickeningly sweet. “let me in.”

then he pressed forward.

the stretch burned slightly, but sieun’s body yielded, trained to take whatever was given, his lips parting in a soft moan as the man sank in inch by slow inch. the man groaned low in his throat, his hands gripping sieun’s hips firmly, pulling him back to take him fully. “fuck… perfect,” he hissed.

he stayed still for a moment, savoring the tight heat around him, before beginning to move, slow, deliberate thrusts that made sieun whimper into the sheets, his face flushed, his fingers twisting into the fabric beneath him. each thrust pushed him deeper into the mattress, the man’s pace unhurried, savoring every sound that spilled from sieun’s lips.

“mm, listen to you,” the man murmured. “so good, so sweet. i might just keep you for myself.”

the man’s thrusts remained steady, each movement drawing out a low, breathy moan from sieun, who could feel his body loosening, falling deeper into that familiar haze, where everything blurred at the edges, and nothing existed except the hands gripping him and the thick weight pressing into him over and over.

the sheets beneath him were damp with sweat; the heady scent of sex and perfume hung heavily in the air, thick and suffocating. his flushed skin glowed faintly under the soft amber lights above, glistening with a thin sheen of sweat as his body responded automatically, betraying him with every twitch, every desperate arch of his back.

the man leaned forward now, his chest brushing against sieun’s back, his breath hot against the shell of his ear.

“that’s it,” he whispered, his voice smooth like velvet, but laced with hunger. “you’re opening up so nicely for me, sweetheart. you feel that? feel how perfectly you take me?”

sieun whimpered softly, biting his lip to stifle the sounds, but his hips still rocked back, meeting each slow thrust, his body desperate for friction even as his mind floated somewhere far away.

“don’t hold back those pretty sounds,” the man murmured, one hand sliding up sieun’s chest, fingertips grazing his throat, gently squeezing just enough to make sieun gasp for breath. “i want to hear every little noise you make for me.”

sieun’s breath hitched, and a broken sound slipped from his lips, half-moan, half-whimper, as the man’s hips pressed forward again, hitting deeper, harder.

“there you go…” the man purred, his voice low and warm, almost reverent.

his other hand slid lower, fingers wrapping around sieun’s neglected length, finally giving him the touch he’d been denied. his palm was slick with sweat and lube, making every stroke glide smooth and torturous.

“feel how hard you are for me, baby,” the man breathed, his pace quickening slightly. “your body loves this. you love this.”

sieun’s head fell forward against the pillow, small desperate sounds spilling freely from his parted lips now as his body trembled, pleasure mounting too quickly.

“oh god—” sieun gasped, voice breaking as his thighs quivered.

the man’s breath was ragged now, his own restraint slipping as his hips slammed harder into him, the rhythm turning rougher, hungrier.

“fuck… you’re perfect,” he groaned, teeth grazing sieun’s shoulder. “so tight—so fucking tight—”

sieun’s hands gripped the sheets tighter, his face flushed deep crimson as the bed rocked beneath them, the headboard knocking faintly against the wall with each thrust. his world narrowed to the sound of skin slapping against skin, the man’s harsh breathing, and the pounding of his own heartbeat in his ears. his body was trembling, straining for release, and yet held right there — aching, desperate, pliant beneath the man’s unrelenting rhythm.

the man’s hips snapped forward again, and again, each thrust sending jolts of heat through sieun’s trembling body, forcing him to arch back helplessly beneath the weight pinning him down. his vision swam, the edges of the room softening like watercolors bleeding together, only sensation remained sharp.

skin against skin. breath against breath.

the heavy scent of sweat and sex wrapped around him like a suffocating shroud. the soft hum of the music playing somewhere distant blended with the slick, obscene sounds of the man’s cock driving into him, wet and rhythmic. every stroke echoed like a drumbeat inside sieun’s head — relentless, heavy, impossible to escape.

“god, listen to you…” the man groaned, voice thick with lust. “so fucking desperate. you’d let anyone use you like this, wouldn’t you? so eager to please.”

he delivered a sudden, sharp thrust that knocked the air from sieun’s lungs, making him choke on a moan. his mind swirled, barely able to process the words, only feeling hot, blinding pleasure tangled with humiliation, helplessness, and that dark, addicting release he couldn’t stop craving.

the man’s pace quickened again, slamming harder into him now, driving deep, chasing his own climax.

“gonna fill you up,” he growled against his ear. “gonna stuff you full of my cum, just like you deserve—fuck—”

sieun’s whimpers rose in pitch, his body jerking helplessly as the man’s hand slid back down to his cock, stroking him again in time with the brutal rhythm of his thrusts. his whole body seized as the touch pushed him right to the edge, dangling over that precipice, but the man cruelly slowed his hand at the last second, keeping him hovering there, trembling, lost.

“not yet,” he hissed again, teeth scraping gently along his neck. “you’re mine to control, baby. you’ll come when i say.”

sieun’s voice broke into a sob.

“please—”

the man’s thrusts grew erratic now, the heat in his breath turning ragged, desperate.

“fuck, i’m close—”

with a final, deep thrust, he buried himself to the hilt, grinding hard against sieun’s swollen, overstimulated walls. then, with a sharp cry, he came, thick warmth flooding into sieun’s trembling body as his cock twitched inside him, filling him completely.

the man collapsed forward slightly, pressing his sweat-slicked chest against sieun’s back, panting heavily. for a long moment, the only sound in the room was their mingled, heavy breathing — the sharp scent of sex thick in the humid air, the sheets damp beneath them both.

then the man finally withdrew, his cock sliding out with a wet, quiet sound that made sieun’s overworked body twitch involuntarily. cum dripped down sieun’s thighs, warm and sticky, pooling between his legs as he lay there, dazed and empty, blinking slowly at nothing.

the man exhaled again, satisfied, running a hand lazily down sieun’s trembling spine like petting a well-trained animal.

“good boy,” he murmured darkly. “you’ll be even better next time.”

he stood by the side of the bed, moving with a smooth, effortless grace as he slipped into a heavy, black silk robe. his fingers adjusted the sash at his waist with a practiced ease, deliberate but casual, as if he’d done this exact ritual a thousand times before. he didn’t spare sieun a second glance — his eyes cold, distant. the air between them hung thick with unspoken things, heavy and taut, until at last the man turned and glided silently toward the door. the polished wood swung closed behind him with a soft click, muffling the last trace of his presence.

through the closed door, voices drifted out, low and careful, threaded with that dangerous mix of business and possession.

“he did well?” came shawn’s voice, quiet, almost conversational, but with an edge that made every word feel like a verdict.

“perfect,” the other man replied, voice smooth and dark like melted chocolate, a smile lingering in the tone. “worth every penny.”

steps moved closer. shawn’s silhouette appeared in the doorway, framed by the golden light spilling from the room behind him. he was all sharp angles and shadow, his expression unreadable but dripping with satisfaction. sieun lay where he had been left, on the enormous bed, his body limp, flushed, his legs still spread and slick with the man’s release slowly cooling against his skin.

“you did good tonight, baby,” shawn murmured as he approached, his voice soft and warm, like praise meant to soothe. “very good.”

sieun blinked up at him, his lashes heavy, lips slightly parted. his chest rose and fell in shallow, uneven breaths.

“can we go home now?” he whispered, voice raw and thin, barely holding back the tremor beneath it.

but shawn only smiled as he sat on the edge of the bed, brushing a strand of damp hair from sieun’s flushed forehead.

“baby, he was just testing you,” he said gently. “and you passed. he’s asked to keep you here overnight.”

the words sank into sieun like a stone dropping into deep water.

“w-what?” his breath hitched, panic starting to rise behind his eyes. “no, please… don’t leave me here. i—I don’t want to stay alone.”

shawn’s fingers traced his cheek in slow, careful strokes, his smile never fading.

“it’s not up to you, sweetheart. the contract says he gets full access until morning.”

sieun’s stomach twisted. “please…” he begged softly, his voice breaking, barely able to meet shawn’s gaze. “i don’t want to be alone with him. please stay.”

for a brief moment, shawn almost looked thoughtful, as if considering the request, but then he leaned down, pressing a soft kiss to sieun’s temple, like a parent calming a frightened child.

“you’ll be fine,” he whispered. “he likes you. he paid very well. you will enjoy it.”

sieun’s fingers weakly clutched at the edge of the sheets as he tried to steady his breathing. but the dread continued to coil tighter inside him.

“i’ll be back in the morning,” shawn added, standing up and smoothing his suit jacket. “just behave for him, baby.”

the door closed softly behind him, and with it, any illusion of safety left the room.

the silence that followed was thick, pressing in from every corner.

sieun stared at the ceiling, heart racing as the hours stretched on, every creak of the old estate making him flinch. the dim lamps cast long shadows across the vast bedroom, turning the heavy curtains and gilded mirrors into dark, watching shapes.

he had never been left alone overnight with anyone other than shawn. never. he knew the man could do anything to him tonight, that nothing would stop him—no one was here but himself, and the weight of that was unbearable.

he was terrified of being left completely powerless, no one to protect him, no one to call for help. he imagined the man pushing him down, ignoring his protests, using him however he pleased, and knowing there was nothing sieun could do to fight back.

the fear didn’t fade. it clung to sieun like a weight pressing down on his chest, making every breath shallow and uneven. hours crawled by, each one stretching longer than the last, filled with the quiet dread of what might come.

eventually, exhaustion pulled at his heavy limbs, and his eyes fluttered closed. but sleep was uneasy, a fragile thing balanced on the edge of fear.

he didn’t know how long he was asleep before the shift in the bed woke him.

a weight pressed down on the mattress near his legs.

his eyes snapped open, heart hammering.

the man was there. without a word, he had slipped inside the room while sieun slept, moving with the silent ease of someone used to getting exactly what they wanted. his hand was already sliding up sieun’s thigh, fingertips gliding over sticky skin, tracing the dried lines of his own earlier release.

“mm,” the man exhaled softly, his voice thick with pleasure. “i couldn’t wait any longer.”

sieun’s throat closed up, his body frozen.

“you looked so beautiful sleeping like that.” the man’s hand kept moving higher, fingers teasing along his inner thigh, dangerously close. “so ready for me again.”

he leaned down, his breath hot against sieun’s ear.

“i watched you for a while. you make the prettiest little sounds even when you sleep.”

sieun’s breath caught as the man’s fingers finally wrapped around his softened length, stroking him with slow, calculated movements meant to tease him awake.

“there we go,” the man purred. “wake up for me, sweetheart.”

he kept stroking, coaxing blood back into his trembling cock, slowly but insistently. the sensations blended with the leftover soreness in his body, creating a dull ache that throbbed low in his belly. the man kissed his jawline, his mouth trailing wetly toward sieun’s throat, nipping lightly before licking the sensitive skin.

“just lie back and be good for me again.” he whispered, voice low and rough.

the man’s hand moved between sieun’s legs, fingers spreading him open once more, slipping into the sticky wetness left from earlier.

“still so wet from before,” he murmured. “just perfect.”

sieun whimpered softly, his hips twitching involuntarily under the man’s touch. the man chuckled darkly, pulling away just enough to watch sieun’s face as his fingers pushed slowly inside, stretching the sore, used flesh.

“you’ll take me so easily this time,” he whispered. “your body remembers me.”

the thick air filled with the wet sounds of his fingers sliding in and out, obscene and unrelenting, each movement pulling tiny gasps from sieun’s throat.

then he withdrew his hand, licking his fingers clean with a satisfied hum.

“turn over for me, beautiful,” he ordered gently, his voice sweet like poison.

sieun obeyed. his limbs trembled as he shifted onto his stomach, his cheek pressing into the silk pillows, breath coming quick and shallow. the man settled behind him, guiding himself to sieun’s entrance.

“ready, sweetheart?” he asked softly, but didn’t wait for a reply.

with a single, firm thrust, he sank back inside, filling sieun’s sore, pliant body once again. a breathless, broken cry escaped his lips, his fingers twisting into the sheets.

“that’s it,” the man groaned, slowly beginning to move. “just like that. such a good, perfect boy.”

the man’s pace was steady at first, savoring every slow drag of his cock inside sieun’s stretched, tender body. his hands roamed greedily up his sides, across the smooth plane of his back, fingers pressing into the soft flesh of his hips as he controlled the rhythm. the room was heavy with heat, their mingled breaths, the slick, obscene sounds of movement filling the air like a slow, dark symphony.

but sieun’s mind — his mind began to float.

drifting, slipping somewhere else.

he wasn’t here. not really. not on this enormous bed, under this stranger, with shawn gone and unreachable for the night.
no.

his thoughts reached for something warm, something solid

— suho.

he saw him clearly, as though his memory had sharpened to keep him afloat.

the sunlit apartment. tiny but clean. the small wooden table where they’d sat together, sharing tea, suho’s grandmother humming softly in the kitchen.

the way the sunlight poured through the thin curtains and landed across the worn couch, warming the faded fabric. the way it made suho’s skin glow, softening every edge of his strong frame, turning him almost golden.

safe.

safe.

suho’s laugh, low and a little breathless, always laced with some quiet amusement like sieun was endlessly precious to him. the way suho’s hand would settle between his shoulder blades when they crossed the street, protective but never possessive.

and his eyes.

god, his eyes.

gentle. steady. like calm water. like he could pour every ugly, broken part of himself into them and still be held with kindness.

“ngh— f-fuck, you’re so tight,” the man groaned behind him, voice slicing sharply through sieun’s drifting thoughts as he pushed deeper, hips slapping wetly against his sore skin.
he whimpered, his body trembling beneath the onslaught, but his mind clawed its way back toward suho. how he hadn’t seen him for weeks now. how that ache sat low in his chest, curling like a second pulse.

he missed him. god, he missed him.

he missed how suho’s thumb would brush across his cheekbone, how he spoke to him like he was whole. like there was nothing wrong with him.

“g-good boy,” the man hissed, driving into him harder now, sweat dripping from his brow onto sieun’s back. “fuck, you take it so fucking well.”

sieun’s breath shuddered.

but in his mind — it was suho’s hands, not this man’s.

it was suho’s body over him, warm and safe, whispering soft words into his ear. it was suho’s lips against his skin, not hungry or violent, but reverent. worshipful. like sieun was something to cherish, not consume. the weight of that longing swelled in his chest, almost unbearable — and then it broke like a dam bursting.

sieun came suddenly, violently, his body spasming beneath the man as the orgasm ripped through him. his vision blurred, tears streaking hot down his cheeks.

“ah—fuck,” the man growled behind him, quickening his thrusts, chasing his own release as sieun’s body pulsed around him in wet contractions.

and then the man buried himself to the hilt with a guttural moan, releasing deep inside him, panting harshly against sieun’s damp back.

“god… fuck… what a little masterpiece you are.”

sieun barely heard him.

his eyes stared blankly at the silk sheets twisted beneath his clenched fists, his breath coming in shallow, uneven gasps as his chest heaved. his heart was still pounding, not from the act, but from the desperate collision of pleasure and shame, of longing and emptiness that always came after.

the man stayed there for a moment, catching his breath, his weight heavy over sieun like a slab of stone. finally, he pulled out with a wet drag, breathlessly chuckling to himself.

“thank you, baby,” he whispered, as though sharing a secret. “i’ll be sure to request you again.”

his footsteps retreated across the room, the door closing softly behind him.

and just like that — sieun was alone again.

the silence pressed against his ears, ringing.

his body ached everywhere. his thighs trembled, the stickiness between his legs making the sheets cling uncomfortably to his skin. he couldn’t move. not yet. he turned his face into the mattress and closed his eyes.

suho.

the name echoed inside his mind like a soft chant. like a prayer.

he pictured suho’s face again, those dark eyes shining with quiet concern, the way his lips would curve softly when sieun did something that made him laugh. sieun closed his eyes, biting back the tight sob rising in his throat.

suho.

the faint light of morning bled into the room like a slow bruise, pale and cold. gray stripes of dawn pushed through the heavy curtains, barely illuminating the sharp edges of the expensive furniture.

the door clicked open softly.

sieun flinched before his mind even registered the sound.

sieun stepped inside like a man coming home after a pleasant night’s rest. dressed sharply in a light gray suit, tie loose around his throat, sunglasses perched in his hair, he carried a small paper bag in one hand and a steaming coffee cup in the other.

“morning, baby.” his voice was bright. too bright.

sieun blinked up at him from where he lay, still curled under the blanket some man had left him wrapped in. his body ached,raw in places he didn’t want to think about. the taste of last night still clung faintly to his throat no matter how many times he swallowed.

shawn set the bag and coffee on the bedside table, brushing invisible dust from his lapel. “slept well, i hope?”

sieun didn’t answer.

the smile that curved shawn’s lips at his silence was something cold pretending to be sweet. “i know you’re tired. that was a busy night. but you were so good. so, so good, baby.”

he leaned in, fingers gently brushing back the strands of hair clinging to sieun’s forehead.

“they couldn’t stop complimenting you. told me you were perfect.”

his fingers lingered, tracing softly over sieun’s cheek, the line of his jaw, as if inspecting his property after loaning it out.

sieun’s stomach turned.

“they’re going to call again, of course.” shawn’s voice lowered like he was sharing a secret. “you’ve got fans now. important ones. you’re really becoming valuable, you know that?”

he pulled back only to retrieve the bag from the table, opening it with a soft crinkle. the smell of fresh croissants and sweet pastries filled the air.

“i brought you breakfast.” shawn’s voice was gentle now, like a parent coaxing a child. “you need to keep your strength up. we’ve got another appointment tonight.”

sieun’s heart stuttered. another. tonight?

his throat tightened, but still, his voice barely whispered out. “please… not tonight.”

shawn’s smile froze for just a second before he recovered, tilting his head like he was mildly amused. “now, now. you don’t want to disappoint me, do you?”

he reached again, this time gently taking sieun’s hand from beneath the blanket, squeezing it lightly.

“we’ve worked so hard to build this, baby. you’re special. not like the others. they want you because you’re different.”

sieun’s breath came shallow, his fingers limp in shawn’s grasp.

suho…

he closed his eyes for a moment. he could almost see him, standing in the sunlight that spilled through the tiny apartment window, smiling, holding two steaming cups of tea. his hands so warm when they touched sieun’s face.

you make me believe there’s something good waiting for me.

shawn’s thumb traced lazy circles over his knuckles before his voice dipped again, casual, too casual.

“in about a week,” he added, like he was mentioning a dinner reservation, “you’ll have a session with seongje again. it’s been a while, hasn’t it? you two always had such good chemistry.” sieun didn’t move, but inside, something curled tight in his chest.

seongje.

of course.

seongje had been living at the ranch longer than he had. he was a year older, olympic silver medalist, technically in a different division, but close enough that the press loved to pit them against each other. they called them rivals, compared their styles, their rankings.

sieun never really knew what seongje thought of him, not beyond the sarcasm, the biting remarks passed in locker rooms or car rides. he could be cutting, unreadable. sometimes, he seemed annoyed just to be near him.

but when seongje touched him, he was gentle.

he did things slowly, deliberately, so that sieun would feel good, not just compliant. he’d kiss him like they had time. sometimes he held his face in both hands, thumbs brushing under his eyes, and kissed him so deeply it felt like drowning.

when someone got rough, too fast, too careless, sieun would go still, muscles locking tight.

and then, always, there’d be seongje. his hand would find sieun’s in the dark, fingers wrapping around his like it meant something. like it mattered.

“just breathe,” he’d whisper, low and close, his mouth barely moving.
“you’re okay.”

and when seongje was coming inside sieun, he always wrapped both arms around him like he was holding something fragile. like he was scared. his forehead would press to sieun’s collarbone, lips dragging across the skin of his throat, and then – a kiss. barely there. his whole body would tremble, not from the release, but from something quieter, more human. sieun would let him cling, let him shake.

sieun liked seongje. he admired him. seongje was so unaffected by everything, and it made sieun wonder what he had been through, and for how long, that nothing fazed him more. sometimes, seongje would go as far as making jokes about it, his sarcasm sharp but oddly comforting, like a shield built from years of surviving the same storm.

„i wonder how many times i’m gonna do it tonight. wanna bet?”

“did you noticed? a man came inside me the second he put it in—let me tell you, i left real dissatisfied.”

“wanna come over to my room for the fifth round? think i’m still fresh.”

sieun never responded.
he just watched as seongje laughed, humming to himself like it was all a game.

it had been a few months since the last time, but before that, it had been frequent. routine. shawn used to pair them often for the sessions with higher-tier clients. but even more often, it was just the three of them, behind closed doors, with no one to impress but shawn himself. at some point, the threesomes had become more frequent than any alone time with shawn. sieun is not sure why it stopped, but he knew that shawn was still involved with seongje. about a month ago, sieun had gone skating very late at night, he had a key to the rink, one of a few privileges of being shawn's favourite. he was heading to the locker room to change into his skates when he paused at the door.

at first, he wasn't sure what he was hearing, just a low, rhytmic sound, the soft thud of something hitting metal, breath catching on the edge of the moan. but then it got clearer. 

voices. seongje's. the words were blurred by pleasure, rough with desperation. "don't stop-" a gasp."right there. harder, fuck me harder." another moan, drawn out helpless. a then, lower, whimpering almost. "please. hurt me. please."

then he heard him. shawn's voice, slick with satisfaction, somewhere between cruel and delighted. the way he said "whore," like it was a title. 

sieun stepped back before they noticed.

“remember last summer?” shawn’s voice dragged sieun back from the edges of his mind. his hand moved gently through his hair now. “you and seongje had such a good time there. you told me you liked the beach.”

he remembered the trip — croatia, shawn had sent them there to meet with a senator who liked to watch. he never touched them. never said much, either. just sat in the corner of the room, barefoot on the marble, smoking something sweet and foreign, while sieun and seongje moved for him. afterward, he’d murmur “beautiful,” and light another cigarette.

seongje seemed to enjoy the trip.
he’d lie out on the private beach like he belonged there, arms stretched behind his head, skin golden, eyes closed to the sun.

but there was one night —

the senator had taken them to dinner. somewhere private and excessive. wine glasses that never emptied, soft music that sounded like it came from underwater. seongje had been laughing too loud. drinking too much. he talked to the senator between sips about his skating career, the competitions, the medals and the sponsors who could make or break a future with a nod. he would let his nice, white, elegant shirt slip off his shoulder, just to tease, slowly and deliberately, like a secret, like he wanted to be the one in control of what was seen.

at some point, the senator’s phone buzzed. he pressed it to his ear, tone warm and careful
“yes, darling… of course. no, i’m still at the embassy… very important business.”

but as the conversation turned, his voice shifted. sieun caught a few words.
“the boys”
“school trip”

from what he pieced together, the senator’s sons were the same age as him, maybe a little younger.

something clenched cold in sieun’s chest. the senator’s smile faltered for a moment before he excused himself. “i need to take care of something, wait here.” he said quietly, voice strained and left the table.

seongje went quiet.

no smirk. no teasing. just a strange stillness as he watched sieun from across the table, the candlelight flickering between them like a question.

and then — without warning —
he leaned in, slow. pressed his lips to sieun’s.

it was soft. almost unsure. his hand trembled when it touched sieun’s cheek.
he looked lost.

sieun didn’t pull away, he didn’t kiss back, either. he just sat there, still, confused, watching seongje like he was seeing him for the first time. when seongje finally pulled back, he didn’t say anything. just reached for his wine again with a shaky hand that didn’t match the rest of him. he smiled, a tired, crooked thing, and said something stupid about dessert.

the sound of the bag rustling pulled sieun back to the present.

“come on.” shawn’s voice was all honey again. “eat. you’ll feel better after.”

he broke off a piece of the croissant and held it to sieun’s lips.

he opened his mouth automatically, letting the buttery dough pass between his lips, swallowing mechanically. shawn’s eyes never left him, studying him like one might watch a prized pet.

“that’s my good boy.”

outside, the morning light kept rising, soft and slow. sieun was still thinking about what shawn said, his words echoing in his head.
it’s not so bad. seongje will make it nice, sieun thought.

he will touch him, knowing exactly how to make him feel something good, soft and real. then maybe he will crack a biting joke, maybe sieun will even smile at him this time.

sieun kinda missed seongje.
so yeah, it's going to be nice.

Chapter Text

they arrived just past noon.

the sun despite the cold weather was bright. a raw, merciless kind of light that made everything look too sharp, the glare off the windshields, the jagged shimmer of the rink windows, the hot gleam of gravel dust curling behind shawn’s black car. sieun sat in the passenger seat with his hands in his lap, fingers limp, head tipped toward the window. he hadn’t slept. he hadn’t spoken. his thighs ached. there was blood when he wiped himself in the morning, dull and old. not alarming, just another small wound.

shawn cut the engine. leaned back in his seat and stretched with a casual sigh, like he’d just finished a workout.

“clean yourself up.” he said, like he was giving him the weather forecast.

sieun didn’t answer. he opened the door and stepped out.

the ranch looked unchanged, the gravel still uneven, the porch still sagging on one side — like it had always been. but sieun felt different walking into it. like the things inside him were dripping down his legs. like if he walked too fast, something might fall out. he headed straight to the dormitory wing, ignoring the kitchen, the office, the soft echo of other skaters’ voices down the hall. no one stopped him. no one asked where he’d been.

he locked the bathroom door behind him and peeled off his clothes one layer at a time. the shirt, still the one he’d worn the night before, was rumpled and stained at the hem. the shorts stuck to his skin. everything smelled faintly of cologne, of the man’s aftershave, of the crushed silk bedsheets and alcohol and sweat.

he touched his own chest and felt the crust of dried come and saliva still tacky beneath his collarbones.

the shower handle creaked loudly when he twisted it. he turned the water as hot as it would go. steam swallowed the small room almost instantly. when he stepped under the spray, his breath caught, a sharp, shocked inhale, and he pressed his hands to the tiled wall to stay upright. the heat seared over his back, over the tender parts of his hips, his throat, his thighs. the bruises bloomed darker in the steam. he scrubbed. violently. fingers digging into skin like he could scrape the shame off. like he could undo something if he just washed hard enough. he used the soap until it broke in his hand. used a second one. shampooed three times. everything still smelled wrong.

he kept going until his hands were trembling, and still, he couldn’t stop.

he couldn’t contact suho like this.

not until he was clean.

it wasn’t just the sweat, or the mess between his legs, or the crusted scent of a stranger’s cologne stuck behind his ears. it was deeper than that. it was inside his lungs. in the back of his mouth. under his fingernails. he would taint suho like this.

he stood there until the water ran cold, until his hands were pale and pruned and the rawest parts of him stung. only then did he turn off the faucet.

he toweled off slowly, carefully, eyes unfocused as he caught his reflection in the fogged mirror. he looked hollow. older. thinner. his neck was a mess of faint, purple-red rings. his collarbone carried bite marks.

god, he forgot about the hickeys.

he dressed in soft clothes, an oversized hoodie with a frayed hem, loose sweatpants, socks with a hole in the heel. anything that didn’t feel like silk. anything that didn’t touch his skin like a man’s hand.

then, finally, he reached for his phone.

there was already a message from suho waiting from the night before.

suho

i’m so excited for tomorrow ⸜(｡˃ ᵕ ˂ )⸝ sleep well !!

sieun sat on the closed toilet lid with the phone in his lap, his thumb hovering over the screen.

they’d planned this over a week ago. suho had found the restaurant himself. told him about it like it was a casual thing — “i found this place that serves good kimchi jjigae. wanna try it?”  but sieun had known. the way suho looked at him when he said it. the way he asked what size movie screens sieun preferred, if he liked front or back row, if he wanted to pick the film.

sieun had been so excited. he’d even gone shopping with nico last tuesday, pretending he needed new jeans, but really looking for something soft and nice. a sweater that might make him look warm. something suho might like.

nico had nudged his ribs and said, “does he know that this is a date?”

sieun had blushed so hard he had to look away.

and suho… suho had spent hours searching for that place. sieun didn’t know that, but it was true. suho had walked half of brooklyn looking for the right food, the right quiet, the right place for them to start the night.

sieun began typing.

i cant go see you tonight im so sorry. something came up. i will make it up to you.

he hesitated. read it again. and hit send.

it didn’t say anything, but it was all he could offer. he knew he couldn’t lie well enough to keep suho from worrying. but the truth, the real truth was too humiliating.

his phone rang. sieun didn’t answer.

suho called again and sieun squeezed his eyes shut. pressed the phone to his chest.

again.

he finally picked up on the fourth call.

“sieun?” suho’s voice, soft with concern. “what’s wrong?”

“it’s nothing,” sieun said quickly, already regretting it. “just… skating stuff. i can’t talk about it. please don’t be mad.”

“i’m not mad,” suho said. “can i see you, then? just for a minute? i’ll come by.”

“no,” sieun said. too fast. too sharp. “i… i’m going out of town tonight. i have to get ready.”

there was a pause. then, very quietly, “get ready for what?”

the words fell gently. too gently. like suho already knew he wouldn’t get an answer.

sieun sat perfectly still on the closed toilet seat, hunched forward with his hair dripping water down the side of his neck. the steam had fogged up the mirror again, making the room feel smaller, closer, like he was folded inside a box.

he swallowed. his mouth was dry. it felt like he’d bitten his tongue without realizing.

“just…” his voice cracked, so he cleared his throat and tried again, softer. “just a thing. a… sponsor dinner, i think. i don’t know yet.”

a pause.

a breath.

on the other end, suho was quiet. but sieun could hear the silence breathing, could feel the ache of it stretch between them. not angry. not disbelieving. just… waiting. like suho was holding the door open in case sieun wanted to tell the truth.

but he couldn’t.

he couldn’t say:

sorry, i got fucked by some rich man the whole night, and tonight will be the same. do you still want to go out with me? maybe you can all take turns, right? share nicely.

he forced a laugh instead, brittle and wrong. “don’t worry, okay? it’s not a big deal. i’ll see you soon.”

“sieun,” suho said quietly. “you don’t sound okay.”

he closed his eyes. that voice, soft and steady, always too kind, it made something in him twist. it made the weight in his chest press harder.

“i’m just tired,” he whispered. “i promise. it’s fine.”

another silence. heavier this time.

“i’ll be at the ranch in forty minutes.”

“no—” sieun sat up sharply. “don’t. please, i—i won’t be here.”

“where will you be?”

he hesitated. “out of town.”

“for what?”

“i told you. the… the thing.”

“the thing.”

“yes.”

he hated this. hated how small his voice sounded. hated that suho could probably hear the lie choking him even over the line.

“sieun.”

just his name, spoken so gently it hurt.

“i can’t see you tonight,” he said. it was all he could say. and he said it again, quieter. “i’m sorry.”

he hung up before suho could answer.

his thumb hovered over the screen for a long moment afterward, but he didn’t open their chat again. didn’t call back. didn’t send another lie. he just sat there, towel around his shoulders, knees drawn up, head bowed.

eventually, he moved. got dressed. carefully. dark jeans that clung flatteringly to his legs, a pale button-up that made his skin look less tired, less bruised. he added a bit of something to his face, just enough to hide the redness, the dullness, to even out the uneven.

his stomach grumbled as he slipped on his shoes. he figured he’d stop by the cafeteria before it was time to go. grab something light. a salad, maybe. he didn’t know if there’d be a meal waiting wherever he was being sent tonight — and he wasn’t about to ask.

the ranch felt quieter than usual, but it always did on saturday evenings, most of the athletes either offsite or locked away in their routines. sieun walked slowly down the back stairwell, the kind no one really used, still drying his hands on his pants. the air was heavy with the mixed smell of bleach and boiled vegetables.

he turned the corner—

and there he was. suho.

leaning against the wall just outside the cafeteria doors, hands tucked into his jacket pockets, eyes downcast like he’d been waiting. or pacing. or both.

sieun stopped mid-step. his breath caught in his throat like something sharp.

suho looked up slowly, almost like he’d heard sieun’s thoughts.

their eyes met.

and sieun felt his stomach twist, hard. like he was thirteen again and had just been caught doing something terrible.

“what are you doing here?” he asked, keeping his voice light, like it could float over the weight in his chest.

suho didn’t answer right away. he just looked at him.

his gaze dragged down slowly, over sieun’s pressed shirt, his washed hair, the light trace of makeup still clinging to his eyes like an apology, and when he looked back up, his expression had changed.

“so you’re actually going somewhere,” he said, voice quieter now, heavier. “i thought you were lying.”

that hurt. more than it should have.

sieun exhaled through his nose and looked away. “i told you, something came up.”

“yeah. i see you’re all dressed up.” suho’s mouth twisted.

his gaze dropped again, slower this time. trailing down the column of sieun’s throat.

and then he saw them. dark blotches blooming like violets against pale skin. messy. recent. his brows twitched, a flicker of disbelief, of something colder trying to claw its way through the quiet.

“what’s that?” suho asked, voice lower now, almost hoarse.

sieun’s fingers instinctively rose to his neck, too late. too obvious.

“nothing,” he muttered, turning slightly, but suho was already stepping forward. sieun took a step back without thinking, not far, just enough to keep the space between them untouched.

but suho stopped short, like the recoil cut deeper than it should have.

“where are you going?” suho asked, voice low but steady, careful not to sound accusatory. ”who are you going to be with? you know, you can just tell me if—”

“well, well,” shawn drawled, his voice sliced clean through the moment, interrupting whatever answer sieun might’ve given suho, whatever question suho might’ve pressed. the conversation collapsed under the weight of shawn’s arrival.

he stepped into the dim hallway light, impeccably dressed in a crisp navy suit that made him look impossibly put-together. his eyes glittered with amusement as he strolled closer, every movement calibrated. “what a surprise to find you two talking so… privately.”

suho stiffened beside sieun, eyelids flickering up in concern. sieun felt himself shrink. shawn’s gaze roved over them both, lingering a beat too long on the bruises peeking above sieun’s collar. then he smiled, a thin, practiced curve of his lips.

“sieun, i have a car waiting for you,” he said, voice smooth as silk. “you’ll want to be punctual.”

then, turning to suho with a casual glance, cool and calculated, just shy of dismissive, he said, “wasn’t your team scheduled for next month? what are you doing here now?”

suho’s jaw clenched, but his voice was steady. “i came to see sieun.”

“ah,” shawn said, dragging out the word like it tasted sweet in his mouth. “how noble.”

his smile didn’t shift, but something in his eyes cooled. he tilted his head, just slightly, like he was considering how deep to dig the knife.

“but as charming as this little drop-in is,” he added smoothly, “you know i discourage private meetings on the ranch. too many misunderstandings. too many distractions.” his gaze slid deliberately to sieun, then back to suho. “we wouldn’t want that now, would we?”

he placed a hand on sieun’s shoulder, warm, commanding, and leaned in close enough that sieun could smell the faintest hint of expensive aftershave. “come along.”

sieun hesitated, torn between suho’s pleading gaze and the irresistible gravity of shawn’s touch. the hallway felt impossibly narrow, the world beyond reduced to the faint echo of shuffling steps and distant laughter.

and as suho watched, heart breaking in his eyes, sieun let himself be led away.

as sieun followed shawn through the dim corridor, the man’s hand never left his shoulder, not gripping, but firm, a touch that made it impossible to forget who was in control. outside, the sky had deepened into a moody dusk, the last streaks of gold fading behind the silhouette of the ranch buildings. the air was so cold it scraped down his throat like broken glass. the black car waited at the edge of the gravel lot, engine quietly humming, sleek and polished like something out of a different life.

shawn opened the back door for him. sieun slid inside without speaking, the leather seat cold against his thighs even through the fabric of his nice pants. the interior smelled like new money and something floral, expensive, cloying. a bottle of water had been placed on the seat beside him, label turned out.

he didn’t look back at the ranch. not until the car began to roll forward and he caught the faint shape of suho standing still near the entrance, just under the yellow porch light. his figure wasn’t moving, just standing there, hands clenched at his sides, face unreadable from the distance. but sieun’s phone buzzed in his hand a moment later, the screen lighting up with a text.

suho

i’m sorry for coming. i didn’t mean to upset you. i’m not asking for anything. i just want to understand. i want to know if you’re okay.

whatever this is — whatever you think i’ll say — i promise i’ll listen first.

i’m sorry and i miss u.

he looked down at his legs, knees pressed together like he could make himself smaller, neater, cleaner. shawn glanced sideways from the driver’s seat, the faintest smirk tugging at his lips like he’d been waiting for the silence to weigh heavy enough.

“persistent, isn’t he?” shawn’s tone tightened, the amusement curling at the edges. ”you’d think someone like suho would know better than to show up unannounced. to my ranch.”

sieun bit down on the inside of his cheek.

shawn cast him a glance, slow and assessing. “you didn’t invite him, right?”

“no,” sieun said quietly.

“i should have someone talk to his gym again. we made a schedule for a reason.” his voice sharpened just slightly, the softness thinning out.

then, a beat of silence before he added, almost like an afterthought — but not really, not at all: “unless you’ve been giving him the wrong idea.”

shawn didn’t look at him when he said it. his hands stayed relaxed on the wheel, his gaze steady on the road, as if the sentence hadn’t just curled around sieun’s ribs like a vice. sieun didn’t respond, didn’t blink, didn’t breathe too loudly. he just sat still, eyes on the window, letting the city smear past.

he still hadn’t replied to the text by the time they pulled onto the highway.

time passed in a blur, the kind that didn’t register in minutes or distance, only quiet sting that spread through his chest. the hotel room that sieun was lead to, reeked of wealth. it was the kind of place with marble in the bathroom and glass that didn’t show fingerprints, with furniture no one actually sat on and lighting that was soft enough to hide the shame.

now sieun was lying on the bed too large for one person and still too empty. he’d been here before, not this exact suite, maybe, but rooms like this. always too cold, too clean. the sheets were smooth against his bare skin, freshly changed. there were chocolates on the pillow next to him. a bottle of something expensive on the nightstand, untouched. his phone somewhere in the car, left behind.

whatever this is — whatever you think i’ll say — i promise i’ll listen first.

“we’re going to capture every second, sweetheart. i want to remember how pretty you look for them.” shawn said softly, his voice like silk stretched too thin.

he stepped closer, raising the camera to eye level, letting the lens focus directly on sieun’s face. sieun flinched, his breathing sharp and quick, but shawn only smiled.

“don’t you dare look away,” he whispered, the smile never touching his eyes. “let’s not disappoint our guests.”

the men approached the bed, shedding their jackets, rolling up their sleeves, movements calm, practiced, like they’d done this many times before. sieun’s heart hammered violently against his ribcage as the first man crawled up onto the bed beside him. his hands, rough and cold, cupped sieun’s bruised jaw, forcing his head toward the camera.

“look at that face.” one of the men muttered under his breath, voice thick with hunger.

hands gripped him from every direction, pulling, positioning, opening him to their invasion. the cold air hit his skin as they roughly undressed him fully, tossing his clothes aside like discarded wrapping.

“hold him still,” one of them growled, tightening his grip around sieun’s waist.

as the first man pushed inside him, sieun’s body arched involuntarily, his raw throat releasing a strangled sob. tears spilled freely down his flushed cheeks, his mind fracturing into pieces, retreating deeper into himself as the others took turns, entering him from behind, forcing themselves into his mouth, using his body however they pleased.

“you make me believe there’s something good waiting for me.”

he clung to that memory like a dying man clinging to a single breath underwater.

“fuck—he’s tighter than i thought,” one of the men hissed, slamming into him harder.

sieun’s moans were broken now, more sobs than sounds. the world blurred around him in streaks of sweat, skin, breath, and the blinking red light that never stopped recording. the men moved around him like predators taking turns with their prey, each one eager to leave their mark, to take what they wanted, to reduce him into nothing but a vessel for their twisted satisfaction. the first man hadn’t even fully pulled out before the second shoved him aside impatiently, gripping sieun’s waist so hard his bruised flesh screamed under the pressure. the men spoke above him, laughing, making crude jokes like he wasn’t even there.

“he’s tighter than the others.”

and through it all, shawn stood in the shadows, recording every moment.

“that’s it, baby,” shawn crooned. “show them how good you are for me. they’ll be lining up for you.”

sieun’s entire body shook as wave after wave of violation passed through him, the brutal pace of the men, the degrading words, the suffocating pressure of being trapped in his own skin. another man moved to his side, reaching beneath him, grasping his spent, raw length, stroking it with cruel, mocking touches that only added to the swirling shame and confusion inside sieun’s mind.

his breath came in wet, broken gasps, drool sliding from the corners of his mouth as his body was used from every angle.

“fuck, he’s still hard,” one of the men chuckled. “he likes it. i told you, they all do after a while.”

a hand slapped his ass hard, the sound echoing sharply through the room, followed by another sharp thrust that forced a muffled scream from his stuffed mouth. into a suffocating heat, bodies moving in and out of his vision like a sick carousel. faces changed, some laughing, some quiet, some murmuring filth into his ear while they took their turn inside him.

sieun’s body was drenched in sweat and spit, streaked with bruises and fluids that dried sticky against his skin. his thighs trembled, barely able to hold open anymore, but rough hands kept him spread, forcing him wider each time, ignoring his weak whimpers and shallow, broken gasps.

one of the men — older, heavy, grabbed his face with thick fingers, squeezing his cheeks hard, his breath rancid with alcohol as he whispered, “you’re the best one he’s ever brought here.”

his head lolled back, unable to hold itself upright, his vision doubling. bright flashes from shawn’s camera burst over him like cruel little suns, recording everything.

sieun’s mind drifted again. he wondered if suho would hate him if he knew.

he loved him. god, he loved him. the thought echoed softly in sieun’s mind, a fragile flicker of warmth amid the cold shadow pressing down on him. how he wished they had met in high school instead. how he wished he could have stolen glances at him during class, watched him lean back in his chair, focused yet relaxed, or caught sight of him during p.e., muscles moving with effortless strength.

he imagined walking the crowded halls, passing by suho between lessons, sharing shy smiles or whispered hellos, simple moments that felt impossible now. a life where they could have been just two kids, figuring things out without the weight of everything else dragging them down. how he wished things were different for himself—how he wished he had normal parents, the kind who didn’t demand perfection like it was a contract, who didn’t watch with cold eyes, who didn’t leave him to navigate this world alone.

he thought about normal summers, long, lazy days with a simple summer job that didn’t come with strings attached, where he could just be a kid instead of somebody expected to perform, to please. he dreamed of normal saturdays, no early alarms, no grueling training, just a day where he could sleep in, eat breakfast without fear, laugh freely without that heavy knot in his stomach. he knew that life wasn’t waiting for him anywhere, but the wish lingered anyway. simple. quiet. ordinary.

a man grabbed his face, slapping his cheek lightly to force his eyes open again. “come on, don’t fall asleep on us, sweetheart. you’re too pretty for that.”

he barely registered it, his head lolling against the man’s palm like a broken doll. his thighs twitched involuntarily as the man inside him thrust faster, harder, slapping against the back of his thighs with a sick rhythm that filled the room with slick, wet sounds.

his orgasm was building — uninvited, shameful.

suho, i miss you too, i’m so sorry, i need you.

his body betrayed him again, arching weakly under the weight of them, as another confusing, pitiful, and broken climax was pulled from him. his own seed spilling across his abused stomach, tears streaming silently down his flushed cheeks.

i’m sorry, i’m sorry-

shawn zoomed in again, capturing everything.

god, suho would hate him if he saw him.

the camera’s red light flickered like a heartbeat, steady and relentless. shawn’s eyes bore into sieun’s, cold and demanding, while his hand held his chin firmly, forcing him to look up.

“say it,” shawn ordered, voice low and dangerous. “say you love me.”

but sieun couldn’t. those words—i love you—they were the one thing he couldn’t say. they felt blocked, tangled deep inside, like a locked door he refused to open here. he wanted his first time saying them to mean something real, something pure. to suho. all his first times had already been stolen, taken without choice or meaning, and this, this was the one thing he wanted to keep for himself.

shawn’s jaw tightened, his eyes narrowing as he saw the hesitation flicker across sieun’s face. “don’t play games with me,” he snapped, voice sharp as a blade. “you’ll say it. now.”

sieun’s throat worked, dry and tight. the words felt like poison on his tongue, impossible to swallow, heavier than any bruise or scar. inside, his mind screamed—not like this. not with him. not now. but his body, beaten down and conditioned, trembled beneath shawn’s grip. silence stretched between them, thick and suffocating.

men stepped away from sieun, catching a break, wiping their hands and faces with a towels. the quiet rustle of fabric filled the room for a moment, but shawn stayed close, his glare dark and stormy, simmering with fury.

shawn was the only one lingering now, pacing like a predator who hadn’t yet found his prey. his eyes burned into sieun, cold and unforgiving, every inch of his body coiled tight with anger. without warning, shawn’s hand shot out, grabbing sieun’s throat with a brutal grip. fingers pressed hard against the skin, cutting off breath and will alike.

“why won’t you say it?” shawn hissed, voice low and dangerous. “what’s wrong with you?

sieun’s breath caught, a sharp panic flaring as the pressure tightened, his eyes wide with shock and fear. shawn’s grip only tightened, fingers like iron bands digging mercilessly into sieun’s throat. each desperate gasp was cut short, his vision narrowing, darkness creeping at the edges.

he’s going to kill me. this is it. in this room.

the air thinned unbearably, burning his lungs, making it harder to fight back, harder to think beyond the terrifying pressure closing in from all sides. shawn’s eyes never wavered, cold and merciless, but sieun caught something else too: his pupils were blown wide, his irises rimmed with a harsh, unsettling red. it was a look that didn’t belong to someone sober. panic twisted deeper inside sieun’s chest. shawn wasn’t just angry, he was off balance, dangerous in a way that felt impossible to predict.

the realization sent a fresh wave of terror crashing over him. whatever control shawn usually kept, whatever rules he followed, they were slipping away now. and sieun knew that meant there was no telling what would come next.

could he really do it? the thought flickered—shawn had said countless times that he loved him. he wouldn’t, right? no one could be so cruel. the world championships were coming; what would he say then? how could he risk everything now?

but the grip only tightened, and sieun’s mind fought against the rising fear. he’d make me disappear. he’d erase every part of me.

sieun tried to claw at shawn’s hand, scratching and scraping against the rough skin, searching for any weakness, any chance to break free from the tightening grip. his nails dug into shawn’s fingers, raw and frantic, but the hold didn’t loosened. as sieun’s vision darkened and his body weakened beneath shawn’s grip, footsteps echoed softly near the bed. another man stepped forward, his voice low but urgent as he grabbed shawn’s hand firmly.

“shawn, stop. you’re going to kill him.”

shawn’s fingers clenched tighter for a heartbeat before the warning sank in. his eyes, wild and red-rimmed, flickered with hesitation.

“he won’t say it,” shawn growled, voice rough. “he won’t give me what i want.”

“does it matter?” the other man shot back, voice sharp. “you’re not doing yourself any favors by choking the life out of him. pull yourself together.”

the other man’s grip tightened, yanking shawn’s hand away from sieun’s throat. he rolled onto his side with a ragged cough, shoulders heaving as he fought to draw breath. shawn stood frozen, chest heaving, fingers stained. his red-rimmed eyes darted between sieun’s trembling form and the other man’s glare.

”look at him, he can’t even speak.” the second man shot back, voice firm.

sieun coughed again, hand pressed to his throat, eyes half-lidded with shock and pain. the world tilted around him, each breath a struggle.

“shawn,” he said again, voice clipped but not unkind, “you’re off balance. you’ve mixed something you shouldn’t have. step outside, take five. we’ve paid for sieun’s time, but not like this.”

shawn’s chest heaved; the red-rimmed glare in his eyes flickered with confusion and rage. he stared at sieun, still gasping on the bed, throat marked in raw, swelling bruises.

the second man crouched beside sieun, brushing damp strands of hair from his forehead. “he needs peace. you need a moment too—clear your head.”

shawn’s fists clenched at his sides. he looked like he wanted to argue, to drag sieun upright and punish him all over again. instead, his knees buckled slightly. the drug’s edge had left him raw and twitching, feral and confused.

the first man moved toward the door and pulled it open slowly. “go on,” he said, calm but firm. “get some air. we’ll take it from here.”

shawn’s gaze lingered on sieun’s body, limp, trembling, curled up tight as though trying to fold in on himself. finally, with a slow, unsteady breath, shawn turned and walked out. the door clicked closed behind him. silence settled like dust in the cramped room. the second man gently touched sieun’s shoulder.

“breathe,” he whispered. „can you hear me?”

sieun flinched, barely, then nodded once. stiff. mechanical.

“good. just breathe. that’s all you need to do right now.”

the second man, still near the door, lit a cigarette with a soft flick and leaned against the wall. he exhaled smoke toward the ceiling. “he’s never like that,” he muttered. “whatever he mixed tonight, it messed him up.”

“no shit,” the man at the bed replied, pulling the thin blanket up around sieun’s trembling frame. his voice dropped as he looked down at him. “this wasn’t supposed to go that far.”

sieun blinked. once. slow.

“how old are you, kid?”

sieun’s eyes lifted slowly, meeting theirs with a sad, empty look. his throat pulsed with the weight of unspoken words. he didn’t respond. the question hung in the air like smoke, curling in the corners of the cramped room. the faint rattle of the radiator filled the silence, sharp against the weight of what had just happened.

after a long pause, the other man’s voice cracked slightly as he asked, “are you of age?”

sieun swallowed hard, throat dry and tight, but he still didn’t speak. his gaze drifted downward, fixating on a cracked spot in the floor beneath the bed.

“if you’re not—” the second man began, voice low, almost hesitant, “things get a lot more complicated. for all of us.”

then, out of the corner of their eyes, one of them noticed a tear sliding slowly down sieun’s cheek. it caught the dim light as it traced a silent path through the grime.

“jesus christ.” the first man muttered, voice thick with something like fear.

surprisingly, after that moment, neither of the men touched sieun again for the rest of the time they had paid for. instead, they got dressed slowly, their movements deliberate but distant, as if a silent understanding had settled over the room.

sieun lay still beneath the thin blanket, eyes half-closed, listening to the soft sounds, the muted exhales, the faint scrape of a chair, the subtle rustle of fabric, as the men kept their distance. they lingered quietly, the tension easing just a little. one lit a cigarette, the small flame briefly illuminating his face before he inhaled deeply, the smoke curling up toward the cracked ceiling. the other poured a drink, the clink of glass sharp in the stillness as he took a slow sip.

after a while, the men began to gather their things quietly, moving toward the door with soft footsteps that barely disturbed the heavy silence.

before leaving, one of the men crouched beside sieun’s bed, leaning in close to check for any movement. his hand hovered just above sieun’s chest, feeling for the rise and fall of each breath. sieun, heart pounding, kept his eyes shut tight and held his breath, pretending to be asleep. without a word, the two men exchanged a glance heavy with unspoken understanding.

then, with careful steps, they moved toward the door. the soft click of the latch echoed through the room, leaving sieun alone once more, swallowed by the dim light and silence.

he would have killed me.

if those men hadn’t been there, if no one had stopped shawn’s hands from tightening around his throat, if the rage hadn’t been pulled back at the last moment, that would have been the end.

and it couldn’t be the end. not yet.

he hadn’t told suho he loved him. hadn’t kissed him. hadn’t shared those quiet moments they promised each other in the early mornings at the ranch. hadn’t felt the warmth of sun on his face during a lazy afternoon in the park, or heard the laughter of friends echoing on a carefree weekend. he hadn’t dreamed about the simple things—walking through crowded city streets with no fear, staying up late watching movies, or learning to cook something new without the weight of the ranch suffocating him.

he wanted to feel the ocean breeze, maybe in rio or somewhere far away, where the sky stretched wide and endless. he wanted to dance in the rain, to sit under stars that didn’t hide behind the shadows of broken promises. he wanted to be someone, not just a pawn or a secret, but a person with hopes and choices.

sieun realized that he wanted to live. and he wanted a life with suho.

i didn’t even start living yet, sieun thought, clutching at that fragile hope buried deep inside. there’s so much i haven’t seen, so much i want to do—

sieun didn’t even notice when shawn quietly slipped back into the room. the faint creak of the door barely registered against the haze of exhaustion and pain clouding his mind. shawn moved closer slowly, his steps almost soundless on the worn floor. he knelt beside sieun’s trembling form.

there was no apology. no remorse.

without waiting for permission, shawn reached for sieun’s clothes, his movements efficient, clinical, as he began dressing him. he didn’t speak, didn’t meet sieun’s eyes, just pulled the shirt over his limp arms, buttoned it carefully, like dressing a doll or a corpse.

sieun winced when his bruised shoulder was shifted, but shawn only murmured, “almost done,” as if that made it gentler. he slid socks over cold feet, guided his legs into slacks, straightened the collar of his shirt with an absent touch.

he even combed through sieun’s hair with his fingers before lifting him off the bed, one arm under his knees, the other around his back.

the walk through the hotel felt like a dream sieun couldn’t wake from. shawn held him tightly against his chest, cradling him with that strange tenderness that always came after the worst things. the elevators were mercifully empty. the hallways, dim and silent. when they passed the front desk, no one looked twice. shawn walked like a man doing exactly what he was meant to do, calm, composed, powerful.

if anyone had seen them, sieun wondered…

what would they think?

what would shawn say?

he’s sick.

he fainted.

he overtrained. he’s fine now. i’m taking care of it.

the lies would roll off his tongue like honey — believable, practiced.

in the parking garage, the cool air hit sieun’s face and brought a fresh wave of nausea. shawn opened the car door and buckled him in without a word. the seatbelt sat awkwardly against his aching chest, but he didn’t complain. he just stared out the window at nothing.

the drive back to the ranch was silent. the car glided over the roads like a phantom, the classical music playing low, too polished for the filth that clung to sieun’s skin.

shawn parked at the rear, where the lights didn’t reach. he came around to the passenger side and lifted sieun out again, arms still locked around him like iron.

the halls were quiet, most of the boys were asleep. the lights flickered on only as they passed, casting pale, shifting shadows. sieun didn’t dare close his eyes. not here. not now. shawn nudged open the door to sieun’s room and stepped inside. the air was still, cool, almost peaceful. he laid him down on the bed with mechanical care and pulled the blanket over him, smoothing it at the corners like he was tucking in a child.

for a long second, he just stood there, watching.

his hand reached out gently, brushing a loose strand of hair from sieun’s forehead, fingers lingering softly against his cheek and then tracing the line of his throat with careful, tender strokes. sieun’s fingers clenched weakly around shawn’s forearm, searching for any softness, but finding only hard, unyielding muscle. his head lolled to the side, eyes fluttering, the room tilting and spinning, a sick haze clouding his mind.

but through the haze, one image burned clear, bright.

he saw suho’s eyes, warm and steady, the kindness in his gaze that never asked for anything but gave everything.

his lips parted, trembling, the word slipping out before he could stop it — a desperate whisper breaking through the silence.

“suho…”

the name hung in the air, fragile and broken, a secret hope that no longer wanted to be hidden. shawns eyes snapped open, dark and blazing with fury.

“i have to go,” he mumbled, barely coherent. “to suho.”

shawn’s grip tightened, lifting sieun off the bed by his arms with brutal force. “what did you just say?”  his voice was low and deadly, each word sharp and cutting like a blade.

sieun’s heart thundered, panic flooding through him in overwhelming waves. rage exploded across shawn’s face, twisting it into something cruel and unrecognizable. without warning, his hand struck sieun’s cheek, hard, stinging fire blooming across his skin.

the first slap was followed by another, and then another, each one sharper and more violent than the last. the sound of flesh hitting flesh echoed like thunder in the room.

finally, shawn shoved him backward, and sieun collapsed onto the floor, breath ragged, body trembling with pain and fear. but something inside him refused to give in. with trembling hands, he pushed himself forward, crawling, inch by agonizing inch, toward the door. the room seemed to stretch forever as he dragged his broken body across the floor, desperate for any escape, any shred of safety. his eyes burned with unshed tears, voice hoarse as he whispered over and over, his breath catching,

“no, no… suho… please.”

sieun writhed, panic clawing up his throat. his fingers scraped the floor, reaching for anything, the wall, the dresser, a handle, anything to ground him, to pull himself free. but before he could reach the threshold, shawn’s long shadow fell over him. with a cruel, snarling growl, shawn lunged forward and grabbed sieun by the ankles, yanking him back harshly.

“you think you can run from me?” shawn snarled, his face inches from sieun’s now. his breath was hot, sour, twisted with rage. “you think you can whore yourself to him behind my back?”

shawn’s eyes burned with accusation, but beneath the fury lay something deeper — desperation, a cracked kind of fear.

“he’s fucking you, isn’t he?” shawn’s voice was sharp, low, full of something ugly. “is he the one you love, then?”

sieun whimpered, body trembling, the pain and fear blending into a terrible haze. he crawled again, desperate, whispering suho’s name like a prayer, the only thing left that felt real in a world built from shadows and cruelty.

“you’re mine,” shawn hissed, voice thick with venom. “and you will never say that name again.”

suho will come and get me, surely suho could love me back.

“you think he’ll want you?” shawn snarled, breath ragged with fury. “after everything you’ve done?”

shawn jerked him upward again, his strength brutal and careless, fingers wrapping tight around sieun’s thin wrist, yanking him roughly to his knees. but in his rage, he twisted too hard — there was a sharp, sickening crack that filled the room, louder than any slap. sieun’s eyes flew wide as a wave of white-hot pain exploded through his arm.

sieun screamed, a raw, animal sound that tore from his throat involuntarily, his face contorting in agony as his hand hung limp, useless and misshapen.

“look what you made me do!” shawn spat, as though he were the victim of sieun’s disobedience, his voice rising in pitch with the escalating violence. “always making me do this! always testing me!”

sieun couldn’t even cry out, the breath had been knocked out of him moments ago. he cradled his wrist against his chest like it was something fragile and ruined, like the pain might split him down the middle if he moved too fast. the joint was swelling already, skin flushed and warped, bruising rising like storm clouds under the skin. it throbbed with a deep, white-hot ache that made his stomach churn.

he’d heard it, the snap. the sharp, wet crunch of bone giving way beneath shawn’s grip. that sound kept replaying in his ears, louder than anything else.

god, he thought, the world championships are just around the corner.

not long until the lights, the press, the cameras. the jump layouts. the short program. the free skate. the sponsors.

and what the hell was he supposed to do with a fucked-up wrist?

his legs were curled beneath him awkwardly on the floor, one socked foot twisted at the ankle where he’d slipped trying to get away. the carpet scraped his knees raw, but he couldn’t even shift to get comfortable, not with the pain ringing through his wrist, not with shawn looming over him like a punishment waiting to happen. his face stung where shawn had slapped him earlier. heat pulsed along his cheekbones, one corner of his mouth split and wet. blood mixed with tears, everything sticky and warm and wrong.

the world tilted in waves, panic flooding his system so hard it made him nauseous. he couldn’t catch his breath. everything spun too fast. the pain felt too loud.

“why do you make me like this?” shawn demanded, voice trembling, pacing in tight circles like a predator trying not to pounce. he crouched low in front of him, his face dangerously close, eyes blazing, sweat glistening on his brow, lips twisted in a cruel sneer.

“do you really think he’ll still want you?” shawn hissed. “huh? you think suho wants some broken, used-up whore?”

sieun’s breath hitched, throat closing around a sob.

shawn’s voice dropped, darker, quieter — deadly. “should i show him the videos?” he whispered, his words like poison in sieun’s ear. “the ones where you beg? where you moan for them, for me, like a desperate slut?”

sieun shook his head frantically, the panic now blooming into full horror. “no—no, please—”

shawn’s hand shot up again, fingers gripping sieun’s jaw, squeezing his face until his lips puckered painfully.

“no?” he mocked, eyes wide and unblinking. “why? you didn’t seem to mind when you were on your back, spread open for them. or when you begged me to let you come. or when you screamed for me.”

more tears spilled, soaking into the bruised skin of his face. every word twisted the knife deeper inside him, his chest tightening with humiliation, shame, and something worse. the cold, creeping terror that shawn might be right.

sieun shook his head frantically, horror blooming in his chest, his tears soaking the bruised skin of his face. “no—no, please—” his voice was a broken plea, the shame swallowing him whole.

shawn’s hand was squeezing his jaw, forcing their eyes to lock. “why deny it?” he whispered, his voice a deadly caress, dripping with malice. “you moaned for me, sieun. you screamed my name, shaking under my hands like you couldn’t get enough.”

“what do you think suho would see, hmm?” shawn continued, voice now mockingly gentle. “his sweet, innocent sieun? or the filthy thing you’ve become?”

the sob that tore from sieun’s throat was hollow and broken, his body swaying forward under the weight of it all, his broken wrist cradled desperately to his chest as though it could somehow protect him from the rest.

shawn finally released his jaw with a sharp shove, sending him sprawling onto the floor again like a discarded doll. the silence that followed was crushing. sieun lay there trembling, his breath stuttering through raw, choked sobs. shawn stood above him, his chest rising and falling, the fury still pulsing in his veins as he watched sieun’s body quake on the floor.

a cruel smile twisted on shawn’s lips. “i should’ve known you let him have you. you can’t survive the day without it after all.”

his eyes darkened with something dangerous. “i still remember that night you crawled to me, because you couldn’t stop yourself. does suho keeps up with your appetite? or are you just whoring yourself out to everyone on the ranch?”

sieun’s breath hitched, the words slicing through him like cold steel. shame, fear, and something raw and aching twisted inside his chest. he wanted to shrink away, disappear into the floor beneath him, but his body was too heavy, too exhausted to move. each word from shawn pressed deeper into his skin, branding him with a truth he couldn’t deny.

shawn’s voice cut through the haze again, cold and merciless: “you need to be fucked like a junkie needs a hit. always chasing it, always craving more. you are fucking disgusting.”

shawn stepped back, eyes cold and unyielding. without another word, he turned and left sieun’s room. the door closed softly but firmly behind him, a solid barrier between them. from the other side, sieun barely caught shawn’s low, sharp voice:

“go to your room.”

the words hung in the silence, a warning. somewhere down the hall, faint footsteps shuffled, someone had likely been woken by sieun’s earlier yell, stirred by the sounds they couldn’t ignore.

sieun lay there on the floor, his body twisted unnaturally, the broken wrist cradled uselessly against his chest. blood trickled slowly from the corner of his mouth, mingling with the salt of his tears, soaking into the pale skin of his cheek. the throbbing in his head matched the jagged pulse of his heartbeat, every thump a reminder that he was still alive, though every part of him wished he wasn’t.

the room smelled like sweat, like fear, like old iron from his own blood. the bruises on his face bloomed deeper with each passing minute, skin swelling under the places where shawn’s hand had landed again and again. his throat burned raw and tender, a fierce ache lingering from where shawn’s grip had crushed the air from him, every swallow a reminder of the violence that had passed through.

he couldn’t move. his fingers twitched faintly against the hardwood. his breathing came in tiny gasps, shaky, shallow.

and in that stillness, as the pain roared in his broken wrist, as his face throbbed beneath crusting blood, a darker thought slipped quietly into the room.

what if you just stopped?

it coiled around him like a whisper.

what if it was over? if you just… slipped away? no more waking up to this. no more nights like tonight. no more hands on you.

tears leaked from the corners of his swollen eyes, trailing silently toward the floor. his lip trembled as another sob threatened to escape, but there was no one to hear it now. no one to stop it. the pain was blinding, but even sharper than the pain was the emptiness. the utter, crushing emptiness.

he closed his eyes for a moment, letting the darkness behind his eyelids swallow him. he thought of how easy it might be. how easy it would be to just not wake up tomorrow.

and for a brief second, sieun imagined being held — really held — not owned, not used.

held.

he turned his head weakly, his swollen face pressing into the cold floor as his eyes landed on the small nightstand by the bed.

the sunflowers were still there.

suho had brought them months ago. their once bright yellow petals had long since dried and curled inward, shriveled like fragile paper, brittle stems arching under their own weight, leaning toward the floor as though they, too, could no longer bear to exist.

they were dead now.

just like the part of him that dared to hope.

the sunflowers were as dead as he wanted to be.

Chapter Text

the floor was cold beneath him, the same patch of hardwood he’d lain on a week ago, casted wrist curled protectively against his chest. his breath came slow, shallow. the room was silent, save for the slick sound of his fingers, the lube bottle was knocked over beside him, a smudge of it on the floor near his hip. he'd stopped caring about stains. about messes. about anything, really. he wasn’t hard. he was trying, really trying, but his body wouldn’t respond, not like it usually did. his thighs were trembling from effort, the dull throb of his casted wrist making everything clumsy, uncoordinated.

the cast had come the next morning after the attack, a man — not shawn, not someone he knew, had come into his room just after sunrise, the door creaking open. he didn’t speak much. didn’t ask questions. just looked at sieun lying there half-conscious, half-dressed, the swelling in his wrist grotesque and unnatural.

“can you stand?” the man asked flatly.

sieun didn’t answer. didn’t try.

so the man walked across the room and paused beside him for a moment. then, without warning, he crouched down, slipped an arm under sieun’s back, and lifted him up like he weighed nothing at all. sieun’s body jolted, a gasp slipping from him as pain shot through his wrist, his ribs, the bruises pressed deep into his hips. but he didn’t resist. he just let his head fall against the man’s shoulder, eyes blank, barely breathing.

the man carried him across the room and into the small attached bathroom and flicked the light on. it was too bright, sterile. made everything worse.

he set sieun down gently on the tiled floor of the shower, already turning the water on. the stream burst to life above him, sharp and lukewarm. and then the man undressed him. he didn’t ask. didn’t hesitate. just peeled the shirt up over his head, tugged the pants down, tossing everything into a plastic bag he’d brought in with him.

sieun sat under the spray, unmoving, as the water beat down on his bruised body.

the man knelt beside him and started washing him, fast, efficient, impersonal. not gentle, not rough. just… methodical.

he rinsed the blood, wiped the mess from between his legs, pressed a cloth to his split lip until the crust softened and washed away. when it was done, he shut off the water and wrapped him in a towel, dragging it down his back, his legs. then he opened another plastic bag and pulled out clean clothes: sweatpants, and a black turtleneck. he dressed him like a doll. arms raised, limbs guided, the sleeves of the turtleneck pulled down carefully over his aching wrist. the fabric scraped against the raw marks on his throat, the ones left by shawn’s hands — and sieun flinched, just barely.

the man didn’t react. he placed one hand lightly on sieun’s shoulder and murmured, “come on.”

sieun legs were shaky beneath him, knees threatening to buckle with every step. he didn’t swing his arms when he walked, wrist too painful and unmovable. he moved slowly, each step a small victory against the weight pressing down on him. the man’s hand remained steady on his shoulder, a quiet anchor in the cold, silent room. the hallway stretched ahead, fluorescent lights humming faintly above them.

outside the ranch, the air was crisp, biting at the skin that peeked from beneath the loose clothes. before sieun settled into the leather seat of the waiting car, the man draped a warm jacket carefully over his shoulders, the fabric heavy but a small comfort against the chill.

the engine rumbled to life, carrying them towards the urgent care in town. inside the car, sieun’s breath was shallow, his mind foggy, the weight of pain and exhaustion pressing down on him. at the clinic, the bright fluorescent lights buzzed overhead, sterile and unwelcoming. sieun barely registered the fuss—the nurses’ whispered questions, the doctor’s concerned glances. his world had narrowed to the dull ache in his wrist and the heavy weight of the cast being wrapped tight around it.

the nurse actually looked concerned about the bruises but she didn’t ask. maybe she’d seen worse. maybe she knew better than to get involved. a few x-rays later, the doctor confirmed a clean fracture at the wrist. “blunt force trauma,” he said casually, like it was a phrase that belonged to a textbook, not a boy with blood in the corners of his mouth. the man told everybody that sieun had slipped on the ice, fractured the bone trying to catch himself. sieun hadn’t spoken a word. just stared at the x-ray machine with glassy eyes and nodded when the technician asked if he could move.

now, he lay on the same, cold hardwood floor of his room, where everything happened a week ago. and no matter what he tried, no matter how hollow or broken he felt inside, sieun was tethered to that need: the chase for orgasms like a drug.

he was a sex addict. the realisation hit him like a punch—raw, unavoidable. no matter the pain, the fear, the bruises fading or fresh, his body craved the release, the rush, the escape. orgasms weren’t just pleasure; they were the only moments when the chaos inside quieted, even if only for a breath. and despite everything, despite how hollow it left him afterward, he couldn’t stop chasing that fleeting relief.

he’d tried different positions. different angles. he’d tried slipping a curved object inside him, the way he sometimes did when he needed something more, but even that just felt… empty. his stomach churned. his breathing hitched, but not from pleasure. it was like his body didn’t believe him anymore. like it didn’t trust him to give it what it wanted.

or maybe it finally knew what it was being asked for — and hated him for it.

he squeezed his eyes shut, trying to force a fantasy, the right rhythm. shawn's voice in his ear. shawn's hand in his hair. the violence, the possession, it used to work sometimes, even when he hated it. sometimes especially when he hated it. but not this time. not after what happened. not after his throat was crushed under shawn's hand, after the black spots in his vision had bloomed like fireworks, after the screaming, god, had he screamed? he couldn’t remember. he only remembered the silence after. the sound of his own heartbeat slowing. the choking mark had faded mostly — a faint shadow now, bruises yellowed and ghostlike, but his throat still felt tight when he swallowed, like it remembered.

he couldn’t come to that anymore. he couldn’t come to him anymore. and that terrified him. because if not that — then what?

he let his head drop to the floor again. the object slipped out of him with a quiet, slick noise, his body clenching weakly in response, but it was pointless. nothing. he didn’t feel used, didn’t feel dirty, didn’t even feel ashamed. he felt nothing. not enough. that’s not enough.

he needed something more. something real. not relief — no, not exactly. he just needed to feel something. shawn’s voice rang in his ears again, low and mocking: “are you whoring yourself to everyone on the ranch?”

maybe he should.

he pushed himself off the floor, knees stiff, the muscles in his legs twitching from the effort. his limbs felt boneless, but he made himself move. he pulled on sweatpants, didn’t bother with underwear, and shoved his feet into his sneakers. outside his room, the hallway stretched ahead in sterile quiet. it was late and most lights were off. he moved quickly, eyes downcast, his cast held still against his chest as he turned down the hallway where seongje’s room was.

they hadn’t spoken in a while. only small glances during synchronized drills at practice, the occasional nod across the rink. sieun wasn’t even sure if seongje would agree to have sex with him, this would be humiliating if he thought about it too long.

they’d never had sex privately, on their own terms. not really. not unless you counted that one night in croatia.

the senator had to leave for the city, some emergency or meeting or maybe just another lie, and he told them he’d be back in the morning. they were left alone in the villa, the whole place too large, too quiet without his gaze on them. so they wandered. the sun was setting when they went to the beach below the cliff. golden light melted into the sea, the air warm and salty, the sky painted in soft hues of pink and amber. they took a bottle of wine from the bar and brought it with them, drinking straight from the neck, passing it back and forth in silence.

they were lying on the sand, shoulders just barely touching, the wine bottle nestled between them like a secret. the air smelled like salt and hibiscus, warm against their skin, the waves rolling in slow and lazy.

seongje had laid back, propped up on his elbows, and something in his gaze had shifted, turned soft, almost confused. his mouth was slightly parted, like he wanted to say something but couldn't find the words.

and then, he leaned in. his head tilted, hair falling into his eyes, and his mouth brushed against sieun’s shoulder. not quite a kiss. not yet. just a warm press of lips, like he was asking a question without saying a word. sieun had frozen, breath caught. he turned his head slightly, found seongje’s gaze —  glassy, a little dazed from the wine, but so open. and then seongje leaned in further, lips brushing higher now, to the base of his throat. that’s when sieun moved, hands reaching up, fingers pulling him closer. his mouth found seongje’s chest, his skin warm and salt-slick.

and then it happened. slowly. shyly, at first, fingers tangled in wet shirts, lips grazing flushed skin, and then all at once, feverish and hungry. they’d had sex for hours on that beach, long after the sun dipped below the horizon. they lay in the sand, then waded waist-deep into the water, the sea curling around their bodies as they moved against each other. at one point, seongje had lifted sieun onto a flat rock where the waves crashed, gripping his hips tightly as he fucked him into it, the sky above them full of stars. seongje even reached down and laced their fingers together against the cool stone, a touch so intimate, so deliberate, it made sieun’s chest ache. their hands stayed like that, tangled and unmoving, even as seongje moved inside him.

they did it because they wanted to. because they chose to.

that night, seongje had carried him back to the villa, arms steady, silent, no teasing. he laid sieun down gently on the big bed. sieun thought that seongje would turn away, slip into the shower, or disappear into the hallway with that same polite distance he always wore. but instead, seongje climbed into bed behind him. the mattress dipped with the weight of him, and then his body was there, warm and solid, chest pressed to sieun’s back. one arm draped across his waist, anchoring him. his breath was soft at sieun’s neck, and then lower, lips brushing just behind his ear in a quiet exhale.

it was one of sieun’s favorite memories.

but when they returned to new york, seongje barely looked at him. avoided him in the halls. only spoke to him when he had to. it confused sieun. especially because he could still hear the way seongje had moaned his name that night. so lovely. so breathless.

and now here he was, standing in front of seongje’s door like an idiot, casted wrist curled against his chest, wondering if he was about to make everything worse.

he could hear the faint hum of music inside, something low and pulsing, and the soft creak of a bedframe. his body thrummed with anticipation, the need curling in his chest no match for the need driving him forward.

sieun’s fingers curled into a loose fist, then lifted to rap quietly against seongje’s door. the cast on his wrist made the motion awkward, the unfamiliar weight a constant reminder of everything he was trying to push past. 

a voice, dry and familiar, called from the other side. “come in.”

he paused for a moment, gathering the courage to step inside. then he pushed the door open gently, slipping through the threshold. inside, the room was dimly lit by a bedside lamp casting a warm amber glow over everything. seongje lay sprawled across the rumpled sheets, shirtless, the soft light outlining the lean muscles of his arms and chest. his dark hair was tousled, and he glanced up from his phone with a slow, knowing smirk.

“look who it is,” seongje said, voice low and teasing, “didn’t expect you to actually knock.”

sieun’s throat tightened, but he stepped closer, the door clicking shut behind him. the room smelled faintly of sweat and cologne, and the heat in his gut flared as seongje’s gaze raked over him, lingering on the cast, then lower.

“you look like a mess,” seongje said again, voice dropping just a notch, heavy with both amusement and something unreadable. “not that i’m surprised.”

sieun’s tongue felt thick in his mouth, but he forced the words out. “i—yeah,” he admitted, voice low. he ran a shaky hand over his hair, avoiding seongje’s eyes even as his gaze slid over that lean, sculpted frame. the lamp light caught the curve of seongje’s shoulder, the tense line of his collarbone, every detail burned into sieun’s mind. god, he looks good, sieun thought, chest tightening.

seongje rose smoothly from the bed, his movement effortless and controlled. the shadow beneath his jawline deepening as he stepped closer. sieun’s breath hitched, pulse quickening under the weight of seongje’s gaze. with a slow, deliberate ease, seongje closed the small gap between them, his hand reaching out. sieun’s breath caught as the boy’s hand lingered on his hip, the touch firm, possessive, sending a jolt through his already taut nerves. the dorm room was small, the low pulse of music filling the silence.

“it’s been a while, huh?” seongje said, voice now teasing, like a thread pulling at the edges of something tense and unresolved. his thumb traced slow circles on sieun’s hip as he leaned in just a little, the heat between them thickening.

sieun tried to speak, tried to form words, but everything felt swollen in his mouth — his tongue, his throat, the ache blooming beneath his skin. seongje’s breath was close now, almost brushing his jaw, and sieun’s knees went weak with the want of it.

but the door cracked open behind them, hinges groaning faintly.

“the line to the showers was crazy.” a voice called out, casual and oblivious.

sieun startled, jerking slightly back just as seongje’s roommate stepped into the room, a towel looped around his neck, hair damp and curling at the ends. steam clung to his skin like the chill of the hallway hadn’t reached him yet. he froze as he saw them, the way sieun stood so close, seongje’s fingers resting on his hip like they belonged there, like they’d been there a while. the air between them was thick, charged, and the roommate’s eyes dragged over the scene, heavy with disbelief.

seongje didn’t move. didn’t flinch. didn’t even take a step back.

“what the fuck,” he muttered, his jaw tightening. “do you not know how to knock?”

the roommate blinked, then scoffed with open disgust. “should i knock to my own room, you fucking freak?” he shot back, stepping in with a wet squeak of his flip-flops against the floor. his eyes flicked toward sieun.

“hey, golden boy,” the roommate said, voice light, casual in the way that only someone deliberately stirring the pot could manage. “shame not everyone around here’s got a private bathroom like you.”

he dragged the towel across the back of his neck, damp hair sticking to his forehead as he let his gaze linger just a second too long on sieun, on the way he stood close to seongje, on the guilty stiffness in his shoulders.

“we could swap, if you want,” he added, glancing between them, the edge of a smirk curling at his mouth. “you can room with this asshole instead.”

he turned toward his bed like he hadn’t just dropped a lit match between them, humming under his breath as he grabbed a clean shirt from the edge of his mattress.

seongje exhaled slowly through his nose, something cold sharpening in his face. “get out.”

“and go where?” the roommate threw his arms up, towel nearly slipping off his shoulders. “you think i’ve got a backup room just for when your dick’s in use? i sleep here too.” he muttered, tugging the shirt over his head.

seongje’s eyes darkened, his voice low and sharp as he snapped, “i don’t know. go kill yourself for all i care.”

the boy looked at seongje, exhaling sharply like the weight of dealing with him was exhausting. with a slow exhale that seemed to carry all his frustration, he bent down and grabbed his phone from the bedside table. his fingers absentmindedly gathered a few other things, a charger, a pair of socks, before sliding into his shoes with a grunt of impatience. for a moment, he just stood there, eyes locked on seongje like he was deciding whether or not to say something else. then, he took a slow step toward the door,

“i’m only leaving because you did me that one favor,” he muttered, jabbing a finger in seongje’s direction. “when my girlfriend came over and you actually left for the night instead of being a dick about it.”

seongje rolled his eyes, clearly unimpressed. “you’re welcome. now, get the fuck out.”

“i’ll be downstairs, romeo,” the roommate raised his hands, grinning. “see you, sieun. and don’t forget to think about that room swap.”

the door shut behind him with a heavy click, and the silence that followed rang louder than before. seongje didn’t move right away. just stood there, fingers still on sieun’s hip, eyes fixed on the door.

sensing the fragile tension, sieun’s breath hitched. the heat pooling low in his belly twisted into something desperate and urgent. without thinking, without giving himself time to second-guess, he tilted his head up, closing the small space between them. his lips brushed seongje’s—soft, tentative, testing, before pressing harder, more sure.

seongje’s breath caught, and then his hand tightened slightly on sieun’s hip, pulling him closer. their mouths met again, deeper this time, slow and deliberate, tongues exploring like familiar strangers. the warmth of seongje’s body pressed against sieun’s casted arm was electric, grounding him in the moment, cutting through the confusion and heaviness.

seongje’s hands sliding lower with a sudden, confident grip, fingers curling firmly around sieun’s ass. the pressure was electric, pulling sieun closer until their bodies pressed flush, his hard crotch aligning perfectly with sieun’s, the desperation between them igniting something fierce and urgent. sieun gasped softly into the kiss, caught off guard by the boldness.

“you’re shaking already,” seongje’s murmured, his voice low, taunting. the heat of his body was overwhelming, a stark contrast to the cool night air seeping through the cracked window. seongje’s fingers slid under sieun’s shirt, grazing the sensitive skin of his stomach, making him flinch. “what’s it gonna be, sieun? you gonna make me work for it?”

sieun’s face flushed, but he didn’t pull away. instead, his left hand fumbled with the hem of his sweats, shoving them down awkwardly, the fabric catching on his thighs. his cock was already half-hard, and seongje’s smirk widened as he noticed, his hand moving to touch sieun.

“fuck, you’re desperate,” his hand moved with deliberate slowness, fingers grazing sieun’s length, stroking once, slow, teasing, and it was enough to pull a shaky, breathy moan from sieun’s parted lips. the touch was too much and not enough, and sieun’s hips jerked forward, chasing more.

“seongje.” sieun muttered, voice rough and barely above a whisper, raw with need and hesitation. his gaze flickered up, searching seongje’s face before darting down to the small bottle of lube he clutched in his left hand. his fingers trembled, the bottle nearly slipping in his haste. he pressed it into seongje’s waiting palm,  a silent plea wrapped in urgency.

seongje’s grin twisted into something predatory, his eyes darkening with intent. with a swift flick, he popped the cap, slicking his fingers generously with the cool gel. the faint scent of the lubricant mixed with the lingering musk in the room, thickening the air between them. seongje’s touch grew more confident as he backed sieun toward the bed, the world narrowing until only the heat of their bodies remained.

“turn around,” seongje ordered, his tone low and commanding, leaving no room for argument or hesitation.

sieun obeyed, the rough edges of vulnerability sharpening in his posture as he shifted. his good hand pressed firmly against the mattress for balance, his casted wrist awkwardly suspended in the air as he bent forward, legs spreading slowly, exposing himself fully to seongje’s gaze. the soft creak of the bed beneath him was drowned out by the pounding of his own heart.

seongie didn’t waste time. his slick fingers found sieun’s hole, circling briefly before pressing in, the stretch sharp and immediate. sieun gasped, his body clenching, then relaxing as seongje worked him open, one finger, then two, curling with a precision that made sieun’s knees buckle.

“you touched yourself,” he muttered, his free hand gripping sieun’s hip, holding him in place. “you been thinking about this? about me?”

the words were a taunt, but they hit hard, the memory of seongje’s rough thrusts and teasing touches, often flooded sieun’s mind.

“move.” sieun bit out, his voice trembling, pushing back against seongjes’s fingers.

seongje chuckled, low and dark, adding a third finger, the burn making sieun’s head drop. his body trembled, breath ragged as seongje’s fingers thrust deep, the slick stretch hitting that spot with merciless precision, sending sparks of pleasure through him. the dorm room was heavy with heat, the low thrum of music barely masking the wet sounds and sieun’s choked moans. seongje’s grip on his hip was bruising, his dominance pinning him to the mattress, but sieun needed more, needed to take control, to feel that fullness in a way his own clumsy fingers never could. he pulled away, gasping, and turned to face seongje, his left hand shoving at his chest.

“get on the bed,” sieun muttered, voice rough, his casted wrist heavy at his side.

seongje’s smirk faltered, surprise flickering in his eyes, but he obeyed, kicking off his pants fully and sprawling back on the bed, his cock hard and slick from the lube. sieun straddled him, knees sinking into the mattress, his good hand bracing on seongje’s chest as he lined himself up.

the first press of a cock against his hole made him shudder, the stretch wider, hotter than his fingers. he sank down slowly, inch by inch, a low moan spilling from his lips as seongje filled him completely, the burn perfect, overwhelming. seongje’s hands found his hips, guiding but not forcing, letting sieun set the pace.

sieun rocked his hips, tentative at first, the fullness sending jolts through his core. his left hand dug into seongje’s chest, his casted wrist resting awkwardly as he moved faster, chasing the rhythm that made his vision blur.

seongje’s eyes were locked on him, dark and intense, but there was a question in them, something heavier than the usual taunts.

“why’s shawn not even glancing at you anymore?” seongje asked suddenly, his voice low, rough, but laced with something raw. “he used to be fucking obsessed—couldn’t keep his eyes off you. now it’s like you don’t exist.”

sieun faltered, his hips slowing as the words hit. „i don’t know,” sieun managed, his voice strained as he rolled his hips, seongje’s cock hitting that spot deep inside. “new season, new priorities.” it was a weak answer, and seongje’s grip tightened, his eyes narrowing.

“bullshit,” he growled, thrusting up suddenly, making sieun gasp, his body clenching around the intrusion. “he’s avoiding you. you know why?” sieun didn’t answer, couldn’t, his mind split between the pleasure and the sting of seongje’s words.

he leaned forward, riding harder, faster, trying to drown it out, his cock leaking against seongje’s stomach. the boy’s hands guided him, rough and possessive, but his voice stayed sharp. “he’s got his eye on someone else, doesn’t he? or is it you he’s done with?”

sieun’s rhythm faltered again, the question cutting through the haze. shawn’s distance had been noticeable, his usual teasing glances absent.

he keeps seeing flashes of that night — the ceiling spinning when he hit the floor, the sick sound of his own breath gurgling in his throat when he couldn’t get air. the way his wrist had bent wrong under heavy weight.

shawn hadn’t spoken to him since. no calls. no texts. no knocks on his door. shawn didn’t even watch his training anymore. he’d told the staff not to let sieun into his office, not that sieun tried, and he’d reassigned all coaching to someone else.

mr. warren didn’t ask questions, but his disappointment hung in the air every time sieun missed a jump or faltered on a spin. he’d cluck his tongue, scribble something on the clipboard, and say “again” without even making eye contact.

but he knew. sieun could tell.

it was in the way his eyes slid past sieun’s wrist, in the way his mouth tightened every time sieun winced when lifting his arms. he hadn’t asked what happened, no one ever did, but it was obvious he knew something.

or at least, enough to stop expecting greatness from him.

he was set to represent korea at worlds — worlds, the biggest competition of the year.

his name was on the list. the flag would be stitched on his chest.

there were no nutrition meetings. no choreographer check-ins. no emails about press or sponsors. the team jackets had arrived last week, and sieun’s hadn’t even been unwrapped. he found it shoved into the bottom of a box in the corner of the locker room. size too big. tag still on.

mr. warren hadn’t asked once if the program needed adjustments, if his wrist could handle the lifts, if he wanted to rehearse with music.

he just watched him skate in silence. sieun felt like everyone already knew he wasn’t going to make it to the podium. like maybe he wouldn’t even make it onto the ice.

sieun shook his head and pushed the dark thoughts away. panting, he turned around, shifting to face away, his back to seongje’s chest. he sank back down, the new angle deeper, sharper, making him moan as he rode with desperate purpose. seongje’s  hands gripped his hips, thrusting up to meet him, each movement driving sieun closer to the edge.

he wished he could make a mess out of seongie. he was always too quiet for sieun’s liking while there were only two of them. he wished he could be the reason those wrecked, trembling moans spilled from his mouth, the kind that left his voice hoarse and his body trembling, the kind sieun had seen and heard more than once, tucked into corners of hotel rooms or sponsor suites.

his favorite part of those nights was always the same — when seongie got fucked while still inside him, when some older man, pressed in behind him, rough and relentless, while seongie was already buried deep in sieun’s body. it made seongie thrust forward, uncontrolled, deeper, every time the other man’s cock hit his prostate, seongie would cry out, delirious, sweat-slicked and boneless, caught between unbearable pleasure and overstimulation.

and sieun would take it all. he would claw at his back, whisper encouragement or nothing at all, just breathe against his temple as seongie came undone above him. seongie would moan into sieun’s neck, not just broken things, but dirty things too, breathless confessions laced with filth and longing, words he’d never say in the daylight. so tight… fuck, you feel so good around me… his voice would shake, guttural and raw, as the man behind him thrust in harder, making his entire body jolt, hips grinding deeper into sieun like he couldn’t help it.

sometimes — god, sometimes — seongie would lift his head, and look at him.

his hair would be clinging to his forehead, sweat running down his temples, his mouth red from too many kisses, too many bitten-off moans. and all the sarcasm, all the sharp, untouchable cool he wore like armor, it’d be gone. stripped clean. and in its place, there’d be something else. something soft. aching. his eyes glassy, rimmed red. tears threatening the edges. his lip trembling.

he would look at sieun like he needed him. not just for the sex. but something deeper

and sometimes, just sometimes, he’d lean in close, trembling, his hips jerking forward again from the force behind him, and he’d whisper.

“don’t look away.”

or

“say my name.”

or, softer still — “i’m still here.”

god, just thinking about those nights, the feeling of seongie’s body pressed between him and some stranger, the way seongie moaned into his neck like it was only the two of them, sent a jolt of pleasure straight through sieun’s core.

he clenched around him without meaning to, his body betraying the fantasy that was no longer just memory but sensation. every time sieun dropped down, seongie met him with a thrust up, fucking into him from below, hitting just right, again and again, until sieun’s head fell back, mouth open, eyes squeezed shut.

“come for me,” seongje ordered, voice rough, one hand sliding around to stroke sieun’s cock, slick and fast. the touch, combined with the relentless thrust of seongje inside him, snapped the tension.

sieun came with a cry, body seizing as the orgasm ripped through him. his back arched, whole frame trembling as he spilled over seongie’s hand, his muscles fluttering around the cock still buried inside him. he collapsed forward, hips twitching with aftershocks, gasping for air, the sheets clenched in his fists.

behind him, seongie cursed, fucking up into him a few more times, and with a strangled gasp, he yanked sieun down all the way, burying himself to the hilt as he came deep inside him, hot and thick and overwhelming. his arms wrapped around sieun’s waist from behind, locking him in place, pulling him down into a tight, desperate hug.

“fuck,” he whispered, voice shaking, still holding on. “fuck, baby…”

sieun froze.

baby.

he’d never said that before.

not in bed, not in passing, not even in a joking, detached way. seongie didn’t do pet names. he didn’t offer softness with words. he kept things light, sarcastic, always skating just above the surface, like if he went any deeper, he’d drown.

seongie didn’t even realize the word slipped out. sieun could feel him still twitching inside, feel the heat spreading between his legs, come leaking out slowly as their bodies finally stilled.

they always did it raw. no one really brought it up anymore. from what they knew, shawn made sure everyone who touched his boys got tested—probably more for his own safety than theirs. he hated condoms. said they ruined the feeling, said he wanted to feel it when he came, wanted to see it dripping out after. eventually, sieun stopped caring. started liking the stretch and the burn and the slow warmth of being filled. now, it felt wrong without it. like the scene hadn’t finished. like something was missing.

seongje’s cock was still inside him, softening slowly, heat flowing away in a slick, lazy pulse. sieun’s legs ached from the relentless riding, muscles trembling with the burn, his casted right wrist heavy and awkward against the bed, a dull weight grounding him to the sharp edge of reality. they lay still, panting in the quiet room, the cold silence creeping in between them.

seongje’s hands slid gently down from sieun’s hips to his waist, a touch so soft and careful it almost felt like an apology, softer than any grip or claim from before. he shifted, easing sieun off him with an unexpected tenderness, the sudden emptiness making sieun wince, hollow and raw where seongje had filled him moments ago.

“stay there,” he murmured, his voice low and rough, but missing its usual sharp edge, like something inside him was unsteady, unsure.

without another word, seongje reached for a towel on the bedside, pulling it up carefully. he dampened it with water from the glass on the nightstand, and he turned to sieun, who lay sprawled across the rumpled sheets, legs splayed and exhausted. a messy streak of cum was smeared across his stomach catching the dim light. seongje knelt beside him, his fingers brushing lightly as he wiped away the evidence, slow and deliberate,  a gentleness that felt almost reverent, as if the act itself was sacred.

then, seongje leaned in slowly, hesitantly, his breath warm against sieun’s skin before his lips brushed lightly over sieun’s mouth. the kiss was soft, sweet, and tentative, a fragile contrast to the rough, urgent heat that had consumed them just moments ago. it was almost like a question, a plea for something steadier.

sieun’s breath hitched sharply, chest tightening as his eyes fluttered closed, his body trembling beneath seongje’s touch. the boy pulled back just enough to hold sieun’s face in his hands, thumb tracing the curve of his jaw, eyes locked on him with a mixture of confusion and something deeper, almost like pain. his voice dropped, quieter now but still sharp with a keen curiosity that edged into something more fragile.

“why’s shawn done with you?” he asked again, voice curious but soft, like he was afraid of the answer. “he used to be all over you—fuck, both of us. now he barely looks your way.”

the question hung heavy in the air between them, fragile as the kiss that still tingled on sieun’s lips, pulling at wounds neither dared to speak aloud. seongje kept cleaning, the towel gliding over sieun’s skin, his eyes not leaving other boy’s his face.

“two days ago,” he said, his tone dropping, “i had a threesome with him and some random boy, some stranger he brought in. shawn was… different. rougher than usual, like he was trying to prove something.” seongje’s lips quirked, but it wasn’t his usual smirk, there was a flicker of unease. “he fucked that kid like he was angry, didn’t even look at me half the time. what’s his deal? he over you or what?”

“i told you, i don’t know.” sieun muttered, voice rough and guarded, dodging the question like it was a blow. he shifted, sitting up slowly, every movement setting fire to the ache pulsing through his body. his eyes flicked away, unwilling to meet seongje’s gaze.

seongje snorted softly, the sound a mix of disbelief and something like amusement, though it didn’t quite reach his eyes. he tossed the towel aside carelessly and leaned in, closing the small distance between them once again. this kiss was different, his lips pressed against sieun’s with a sweetness that felt foreign in the charged air around them.

“bullshit,” he whispered against sieun’s mouth, pulling back just enough to meet his eyes, voice low and sharp. there was no room for lies here, no patience for evasion. just the bare, raw truth that hung between them.

then, his gaze flickered down to sieun’s casted wrist, brow knitting with familiar scrutiny. “what happened to your hand?” he repeated, voice quieter this time, stripped of teasing.

sieun’s jaw tightened, his left hand flexing instinctively as he glanced at the cast. “fell during practice,” he muttered, voice clipped, hoping to shut it down. “landed wrong. fractured it.”

seongje raised an eyebrow, unconvinced, his skater’s frame leaning forward, elbows on his knees. “that’s it? you don’t just fall, sieun. you’re too good for that.” his tone was sharp, almost accusing, but there was a flicker of something else. “this why you’re so wound up? why you’re here instead of with shawn?” he paused, eyes narrowing. “or is shawn dodging you because of this?”

”it’s just a fracture,” sieun snapped, deflecting, but his voice betrayed a tremor. “doesn’t change anything.” except it did, his clumsy left-handed attempts alone, the way he’d needed seongje tonight.

seongje leaned in, slow and deliberate, his hand brushing against sieun’s thigh. it wasn’t a touch meant to provoke, but one meant to steady, grounding, warm. “what’s going on, sieun?” his voice dropped low, stripped of its usual teasing edge. the familiar smirk was gone, replaced by searching eyes.

sieun’s throat tightened, words caught like stones. instead of answering, instead of letting the weight of it crack him open, he did the only thing that felt possible: he reached up, his lips crashing hard and desperate against seongje’s. it wasn’t tender. it wasn’t soft. it was sharp, urgent.

seongje’s eyes widened in surprise, caught off guard by the rawness of the kiss. instinctively, his hand rose, fingers curling gently to cup sieun’s cheek, grounding him with steady strength. the kiss deepened, fierce and breathless, a tangled mess of emotions neither wanted to untangle now, frustration, longing, fear, and a desperate need for connection.

when they finally broke apart, their breaths mingled, shaky, uneven, full of things left unsaid. seongje’s voice was low, rough around the edges, carrying a mix of frustration and tenderness. his thumb brushed softly over sieun’s cheek, softening the edge of his words. “i don’t like doing threesomes with strangers,” he paused, eyes flicking up to meet sieun’s, searching for something, forgiveness, understanding, maybe a spark of the closeness they’d lost. “i kinda miss you.”

for a brief, fragile moment, his eyes held a raw intensity sieun had never seen before. something inside seongje cracked open, vulnerability flickering through the usual haze of guardedness, as if, just for a second, he’d stopped hiding behind his mask.

but just as quickly as it came, the haze returned. seongje’s gaze shifted, sharpening back to its usual cool amusement.

“i heard suho came to the ranch recently,” he said, voice low, teasing but with an undercurrent of something darker. “and got himself into trouble with his gym. seems like quite the boyfriend you’ve got there.”

sieun’s body stilled, his breath catching before he could stop it. the name alone was enough to send his pulse skipping. “he’s not my boyfriend,” he muttered, too fast, too defensive. his voice was hoarse, rough from more than the sex.

seongje’s smiled at the reaction, slow and knowing. he leaned back slightly, not quite smug, but with that same dangerous tilt he wore. “could’ve fooled me,” he murmured, eyes narrowing.

sieun’s chest tightened, breath catching like a storm was brewing just beneath his skin. “stop it.” he whispered, the word trembling but firm, desperate to push back the flood of emotions rising unbidden.

but seongje only leaned in closer, eyes glinting with a cruel curiosity, sharpened now to something darker. gone was the gentleness of before, his voice dipping into that low, taunting drawl that always cut deeper than he let on. “did he fuck you yet?”

the words hit like a slap, cold and immediate. they cracked across the silence, shattering what fragile peace had existed between them, and sieun flinched — visibly.

seongje saw it. of course he saw it.

his smile widened, something smug flickering in his expression like victory. “does he know you’re here with me?” he asked next, voice quieter now, almost gentle, but it was a trap, silk hiding the blade. “right now, in my bed? legs still trembling from how hard you came?”

sieun said nothing. he couldn’t. shame curdled low in his stomach, thick and hot, spreading like poison.

seongje let the moment linger. let it stretch out until the silence screamed louder than anything else in the room. his gaze swept over sieun lazily, as if cataloguing every twitch, every flicker of guilt and hesitation, feeding on it.

then, with a light shrug, as if none of it really mattered anyway, he leaned back and murmured, “don’t feel like answering? that’s fine. you’re pretty transparent anyway.” his smile returned, crueler now. “can see it in the way you flinch every time his name comes up. it’s pathetic, honestly.”

he reached out again, fingers ghosting over the mark he’d left earlier on sieun’s neck, a darkening bruise, fresh and vivid.

sieun’s throat tightened painfully, his heart pounding in his ears. he looked down, unable to meet seongje’s gaze, his voice barely more than a whisper, cracked with exhaustion and something fragile. “we haven’t… he hasn’t. we’re not even speaking right now.”

seongje stilled, caught off guard. for a moment, something flickered behind his eyes, and then he moved, sudden, decisive, his hand threading into sieun’s hair, tilting his face up. and before sieun could react, seongje’s mouth was on his again, harder this time. his teeth grazed sieun’s bottom lip, a deliberate scrape that made him gasp — sharp, stinging.

when seongje finally pulled back, his eyes were dark and unreadable. “then he’s a fool.”

he didn’t give sieun time to answer, he leaned in again, his lips brushing down the slope of sieun’s jaw, then lower, until they found the curve of his neck. there, seongje lingered. his mouth moved slowly, deliberately, pressing kisses that were feather-light but full of something heavier, possession, maybe. maybe defiance.

beneath him, sieun was still. not stiff, not pulling away, but something in him had gone quiet. like the storm was gathering again behind his ribs. his body trembled faintly under seongje’s touch. sieun’s thoughts drifted away, heavy and tangled.

suho had called him over and over, left messages that piled up unread. texts blinking on his screen, each one a thread pulling at his heart.

"where are you? please answer."

"i’m so worried. can we talk?"

"please, sieun."

"just want to know you’re okay."

"can i see you?"

he hadn’t responded. not once. not when the first message came in the middle of the night. not when the fifth came in the late afternoon, hours after he’d been returned to the ranch. not when the tenth one appeared just hours ago. he couldn’t bear the thought of suho seeing him like this.

seongje felt it. the way sieun’s hands hovered instead of holding, the shallow breaths, the subtle way his legs tensed even as they parted. it should have pulled him closer, made him greedy. but instead, it anchored him. slowed him.

he kissed lower, softer, and then paused, pressing his forehead against sieun’s shoulder. “you’re not here.” he murmured, almost to himself.

sieun blinked, startled. “what?”

“you’re letting me touch you, but your head’s somewhere else.” seongje’s voice had no accusation in it, just observation, and something smaller buried beneath, something that hurt.

sieun didn’t answer. his throat worked, but no sound came.

seongje pulled back just enough to look at him, eyes searching his face. “you want me to stop?”

and that was all it took. sieun’s chest caved in.

the question, so simple, so soft, cracked something open that had been sealed shut for too long. his lips trembled, then parted on a soundless breath as the first sob slipped out of him, sharp and sudden. like it had been waiting there, just beneath the surface, and now it had no more reason to hide. he covered his face with his good hand, shoulders curling inward, body folding as the tears came fast and clumsy. there was no grace in it, no dignity, just rawness, grief spilling out of him in gasping little stutters of breath.

seongje froze at first, the moment sieun crumbled, the sob breaking through the quiet like a wound ripped open in real time. his hand, still resting on sieun’s thigh, twitched, unsure if it should stay or pull back. he wasn’t used to this. this wasn’t how it went with sieun.

he sat back a little, just enough to give sieun space, but didn’t leave the bed. his hand slid from thigh to hip, then to his back, careful, steady.

his voice, when it came, was quiet “jesus,” he whispered, like the sound wasn’t even meant for sieun to hear. “you really haven’t been okay, huh?”

sieun didn’t answer. couldn’t. he just kept crying , quiet, messy, shaking.

his fingers curled into the sheets like he could anchor himself there, but it wasn’t enough. nothing was. his throat closed, breath coming shallow and ragged, and then—

“i ruined it,” he choked out, voice high and shaking, “i ruined everything.”

his whole body trembled now, like a dam finally giving way. the words spilled out, broken and rapid, one crashing into the next:

“they’re going to kick me off the committee, i know it, i know it,” he sobbed, burying his face in his hands. “suho will hate me, he’ll hate me, he won’t even look at me again—”

his voice broke and he gasped, trying to breathe, trying to pull the storm back in but it was too late.

“shawn’s going to tell him—he’s going to show him, the photos, the—the videos, everything, and he’ll think i wanted it, he’ll think i chose it—” he couldn’t stop, couldn’t breathe, his chest heaving now, eyes wild and wet. “he’ll think i’m disgusting, that i used him, lied to him—”

he doubled over like the pain was physical, like his ribs were cracking under the weight of it all. “he’s never going to believe me, not after this. he’ll leave. i deserve it. i deserve it.”

his voice dissolved into sobs again, sharp and quiet, collapsing in on himself.

for a moment, seongje just stared, not in judgment, but in something closer to disbelief. he’d never seen sieun like this.

he reached out slowly, like approaching a wounded animal. his hands found sieun’s shoulders, thumbs pressing gently into tense muscle.

“sieun,” he said, steady and low, dragging his name like a tether. “look at me.”

but sieun just shook his head, arms wrapped tight around himself.

“look at me,” seongje repeated, firmer now, voice cutting through the noise in sieun’s mind.

finally, sieun lifted his head, eyes red, wet, terrified. he looked like a child. like someone who hadn’t been held in far too long.

“i wasn’t even gonna tell you,” he muttered, voice low, rough at the edges. “because, fuck, the guy pisses me off.”

he rubbed a hand down his face, then looked over at sieun again, slower this time, like he was trying to meet him where he was without pushing. “i’ve got a friend at his gym. mma guy. says suho’s been a wreck lately. keeps asking questions about the ranch. about you.”

seongje’s gaze settled on him, still unreadable. “he talks about you like you hung the damn moon.”

he let that sit for a beat. let it sting, maybe. or soothe. maybe both.

then, quieter still, like it scraped his throat to say it: “so the things shawn’s holding over you… whatever he’s gonna show suho — i don’t think it’ll matter.”

sieun blinked, slow and dazed, like the words were coming from underwater. he stared at seongje as if he didn’t recognize him, as if he couldn’t believe this was coming from someone who once only spoke in jabs and carefully measured cruelty.

“you don’t… you don’t understand,” he said finally, voice cracked and hoarse. “he doesn’t know what i did. what i’ve let happen. he thinks i’m— i don’t even know what he thinks anymore.”

seongje huffed out a sound, not quite a laugh, but something sharp and disbelieving, twisted at the edges like it hurt to hold in. he reached for the pack on the nightstand, fingers moving with practiced ease as he shook out a cigarette and slipped it between his lips. the lighter clicked once, twice, then flared. smoke curled up into the stillness as he took a slow drag, the orange glow briefly lighting the shadows under his eyes. then, with a flick of his wrist, he exhaled, the smoke hitting sieun’s face in a lazy, deliberate stream.

“you’re so fucking dramatic,” he muttered, voice low and lazy, like he couldn’t be bothered to muster real heat. “liking sex isn’t some goddamn crime. it’s not something to be ashamed of. it’s just sex.”

sieun flinched like the words had struck something raw. his fingers curled into the fabric of the sheets, knuckles white, jaw trembling as he tried to hold himself together.

“you think your little boyfriend’s gonna take one look at those videos and what? call you a whore and storm out?” seongje scoffed again, dragging hard on his cigarette.

sieun shook his head, shame rising like bile.

“you don’t get it,” he whispered, but his voice broke halfway through. he blinked hard, like he could push back the tears just by sheer force of will. “it’s not just sex. it’s not just some video. it’s me—how i looked, what i sounded like—”

seongje exhaled, slow and deliberate. for a while, he just stared, something unreadable moving behind his eyes.

“jesus,” he muttered finally, voice low, almost too casual. “you talk like they filmed a murder and not a fucking video of you getting railed.” he flicked ash from the end of his cigarette.

“you’re so fucking entitled, you know that?” his voice cut through the air once again, low and bitter, threaded with something hotter beneath, anger, maybe, or the sting of something personal. “that poor bastard is trailing around new york city asking about you like he’s on a fucking mission. your friends are probably worried sick.”

sieun stared at seongje, eyes wide, shocked by the sudden outburst, but beneath the surprise, there was a flicker of curiosity. his brows knitted together slightly, like he was trying to read the meaning behind the rough words, searching for something unexpected in a harsh tone.

“and those two assholes—the ones who used to sleep over all the time,”  seongje’s eyes flashed, voice climbing with every word. “their parents were always at your competitions, waving little flags and screaming your name like you were their own kid.”

his lips twisted into a bitter smile, the memory sharp and raw, cutting through the tension like a blade. he laughed bitterly. “those people would take you in without a fucking heartbeat, sieun. no questions asked. no shame. no conditions. they’d make you pancakes in the morning and pretend like nothing ever happened. but you’re here, curled up like roadkill, acting like there’s no way out.”

the room fell suddenly quiet, the weight of his words hanging heavy between them. seongje’s gaze drifted away from sieun, fixed instead on some point beyond the walls.

sieun’s mind churned in restless silence, not angry at seongje, no, not angry at all. if anything, he felt a quiet, grudging respect. seongje was probably right. maybe even more right than sieun wanted to admit. the sting of shame crept in now, sharper than before, twisting in his gut.

he thought about how seongje had been down the same road — maybe even a worse one.

maybe he had walked an even darker path, one sieun hadn’t dared imagine. and here he was, sitting in front of him, still fierce. the weight of that made sieun feel small, fragile. but it also made something else stir, a flicker of something like hope, or maybe just the first trace of wanting to be better.

“i'm sorry,” sieun said quietly, voice hoarse and honest in a way that caught even him off guard. "you're right."

seongje looked at him, blinking like he wasn’t sure he’d heard correctly. the cigarette between his fingers had long burned low. sieun shifted a little, arms wrapped around himself. he looked down, then back up, eyes glassy, uncertain.

sieun licked his lips, voice soft. “will you… will you come to the cafeteria with me tomorrow?” the question came out hesitant, like it had taken a few wrong turns in his chest before making it out. “i just. i don’t wanna go alone.”

seongje blinked once, then gave a crooked little laugh, not cruel, not amused either. just tired. “can’t,” he said simply “i’m heading out tomorrow. some old businessman’s house. upper manhattan.”

his voice didn’t change, didn’t color itself in shame or apology. it was blunt, matter-of-fact. like he was saying he had an appointment at the dentist.

“he’s got a private chef, though. makes a duck confit that actually tastes like something. i’ll probably eat better than anyone here.” he paused, then flicked a look toward sieun, mouth tilting into a smirk that didn’t quite reach his eyes. “want me to bring you leftovers?”

sieun’s breath caught. he couldn’t tell if it was from the sharpness of the reality, or the ridiculousness of the offer,  but somehow, the idea of seongje sneaking back with a paper-wrapped parcel of overpriced food made something warm bloom in his chest.

“sure,” he said, almost shy. “i miss fancy food.”

seongje gave a lazy shrug, “i’ll swing by your room the day after. if i live through it, of course.”

he said it like a joke, voice loose and light, but something in it made sieun’s smile falter. “can i stay tonight then?” he asked suddenly. “i don’t… i don’t want to be in my room.”

the words hung there, trembling between them, thin and naked. a small request, but it felt enormous.

“stay at your own risk. i’m going to complain the whole night.” seongje looked straight into his eyes when he said it, voice not even teasing, just plain.

but sieun smiled faintly, the kind that pulled gently at the corners of his mouth without showing teeth. they both knew he wouldn’t.

seongje pulled a plain t-shirt over his head, black, soft from too many washes, the hem twisted where it had been crumpled at the foot of the bed. then, without a word, he tossed a hoodie at sieun. it was oversized, the sleeves swallowing his hands, and it smelled faintly like smoke and detergent and something warm he couldn’t quite name. comfort, maybe. they both got dressed slowly, the room still humming with everything unsaid, everything that didn’t need saying anymore.

sieun slipped away to his room for a few minutes to grab a few things—sweatpants, his charger, his phone that had stayed painfully untouched all day. when he came back out, seongje was gone for a moment, downstairs. looking for his roommate, maybe, to give a heads-up. he returned a few minutes later, shaking his head.

“he said ‘fuck it’ and went to the city,” seongje muttered, brushing past him. “he’s gonna be in so much shit tomorrow.”

and just like sieun had known, deep in his bones, somehow, before he even asked, seongje didn’t complain. not once. he didn’t crack a single joke about bed hogging or blanket stealing or emotional baggage. he flopped onto the bed with a long sigh, and tugged sieun down beside him.

and then, without hesitation, seongje wrapped his arms around him. like it was the most natural thing in the world. like his body already knew the shape of comfort. he pressed in close, anchoring sieun against the heat of him, and murmured something half-sensible in his sleep, something about an airplane, about flying too fast, too low.

sieun lay there still for a moment, listening to the even rhythm of seongje’s breathing, the soft hiss of wind against the windows. something cracked open inside him, quietly, gently. not breaking. just, opening.

he reached for his phone with a hand that didn’t tremble as much anymore, and finally typed the message he’d been avoiding all day.

i’m okay. i’m so sorry about everything. i know i hurt you, i didn’t mean to. please wait for me.

goodnight. miss you.

he hit send. then tucked the phone under his pillow, closed his eyes, and let sleep take him, wrapped up in warmth that, for the first time in a long time, didn’t come at a cost.

Chapter Text

seongje didn’t swing by sieun’s room like he promised.

sieun came back from his morning training, the championships inching closer with each day, their weight settling deeper into his bones. his muscles throbbed with that familiar ache, the sharp sting of exertion mingling with the dull fatigue that came from pushing himself harder than ever. sweat clung to his skin, his breath still ragged as he closed the door behind him and stepped into the quiet of his room.

but instead of shedding his gear and moving on with the day, sieun stayed rooted just inside his room for a while, his eyes drawn again and again toward the door. he sat on the edge of his bed, the silence pressed against him, a thick, suffocating thing that filled the space.

he kept thinking about seongje’s joke—the rich guy’s leftovers, the promise to swing by, a small, fragile thread of hope tangled in his mind, making him wonder if maybe, just maybe, seongje would actually show up. if the door would finally creak open, and seongje’s voice would break the quiet with that smirk, that teasing glint in his eyes.

but the door stayed silent.

sieun finally stood, muscles stiff and protesting. he moved to the small bathroom tucked into the corner of his room, the cool water from the shower a sharp contrast to the heat of his skin. as the water ran over him, he noticed how the marks on his neck had faded, ghosts of bruises that once seemed so vivid now dulled to faint reminders.

just yesterday, the cast had been taken off. a medical specialist from the locker room had come, with the coach trailing close behind, insisting it was time. "enough time has passed," his coach had said, voice firm but not unkind. "you need to get the cast off if you want to skate properly. the big competition's coming up fast, and every second counts."

the removal was a mix of relief and new aches, the wrist, now bare, felt exposed and unfamiliar, the muscles weak from weeks of immobility.

it hadn’t been enough time.

sieun could feel it the moment he flexed his fingers, tightness pulling under the skin, a dull ache that bloomed when he moved his wrist too far in either direction. it didn’t feel healed, not really, not the way it should. but he didn’t say anything.

he sat quietly while the specialist cut the cast away, nodded when his coach asked if he was good to go, and pretended the stiffness didn’t burn like warning flares. because the truth was, skating with a cast had been impossible. and now, with the championships bearing down on him like a freight train, there wasn’t time to hesitate. not for pain, not for fear, not for anything.

training that morning had been fine. not good. not disastrous. just fine.

without the cast, there was a certain freedom in his arms again—he could finally move the way he was supposed to, pull into rotations with both arms tight across his chest, instead of compensating like he’d been forced to for almost two weeks. but that didn’t mean everything fell back into place.

he didn’t land all his jumps. not even most of them. some rotated too slow, others tilted mid-air like he’d lost all awareness of where his body was. his coach shouted corrections across the rink, voice tight with urgency, reminding him again and again to use his ankles, fix his alignment, keep his chin up.

sieun nodded, adjusted, kept trying.

but even when he landed cleanly, it felt off. something in his legs wasn’t snapping the way it used to. his balance betrayed him in subtle ways, slight wobbles, tiny overcorrections, the kind of mistakes that judges would punish.

he could hear the clock ticking, metaphorically and literally. the championship was close now, close enough that the tension had spread like an infection through the ranch. everything was tighter. quieter. every skater in the building trained like their life depended on it.

but despite the crushing weight of competition and the relentless drive to finish on the podium, sieun’s mind kept drifting back to one thing.

when he had finally sent that message to suho, that fragile, late-night thing typed in the dark, with seongje asleep beside him, he hadn’t really expected a reply. or maybe he had. maybe he’d been desperate for one.

the response had come a few hours later, sometime before dawn. he’d already been half-awake, listening to the shift of seongje’s breathing behind him, curled into the smallest version of himself, the phone a cold weight in his palm.

suho

i’m here. just tell me when.

i miss you more.

simple. gentle. not pushing. and sieun didn’t reply.

instead, he lay still for a while, staring at the screen until the glow hurt his eyes, the words echoing too loudly in the quiet room. then, carefully, slowly, he shifted—untangling himself from seongje’s arms, which had been draped heavy across his waist. the movement stirred him, just enough that he grumbled something into the pillow, brow twitching in sleep.

“go back to sleep,” sieun whispered, barely audible, his fingers brushing seongje’s arm in apology as he slipped out from under it.

he stood at the edge of the bed, disoriented for a second, like waking from a dream he couldn’t fully hold onto. the room was dim, a faint blue haze pressing through the closed window. it was early, too early, and everything felt fragile in the way things only do at that hour.

behind him, seongje stirred again, this time blinking groggily toward him.

“what are you doing?” seongje mumbled, his voice hoarse with sleep, muffled against the pillow. his hair was a mess, curling slightly against his cheek, and his arm flopped lazily across the empty side of the bed where sieun had just been lying.

sieun paused as he pulled on the hoodie, one that still smelled faintly of seongje’s cologne, warm and sharp. he stood by the edge of the mattress, quiet for a beat, watching seongje blink up at him with heavy-lidded eyes.

“going back to my room,” he said softly, reaching for his phone. “don’t wanna be here if your roommate shows up.”

seongje blinked slowly, a faint smile touching his lips as he said, “don’t forget where to find me.” then, with a soft sigh, he closed his eyes and let sleep pull him under.

sieun slipped quietly toward the door, his heart tight with the weight of everything left unsaid. before he stepped out, he turned back, eyes catching seongje’s still form resting peacefully against the pillow. a soft smile curled on his lips. he thought about how much he liked seongje, how much he had missed him, the warmth of his touch, the quiet way it made everything feel a little less broken. there was something about seongje, something raw and real, that made sieun want to know him better, to hold on tighter.

maybe next time, he thought, he’d actually ask seongje the questions that lingered. why was there no one cheering for him at the competitions? how had he ended up here, so far from everything? why did he seem so casual about it all?

and why did seongje like it so rough, so painfully raw? why did he let strangers slap him around, choke him until breath faded, and find some twisted ecstasy in the hurt? how willing was he to swallow whatever drugs they pushed his way, to throw up his arm without hesitation when some stranger showed up with a needle in hand?

but then there was that one night. the four of them, cheap hotel room, too-hot air and the buzzing hum of something wrong. seongje had laughed like always, a little too loud, a little too fast, riding some man’s lap, eyes glassy, head thrown back against the crooked headboard.

he’d wrapped the man’s hand around his own throat, dragged it up with slow fingers like it was choreography.

"choke me," he whispered, grinning with teeth too white, too sharp. "c’mon, harder."

his voice had a manic edge to it, teeth on a thread, like he wanted to be wrecked just to feel something real. the man moaned something guttural and obeyed, the bed creaking beneath them. his thighs trembled, not from fear.

and sieun — sieun had been across the room on the other bed, legs spread beneath someone else, a different stranger with breath that reeked of whiskey, hands that pressed too hard into his hips like they were trying to leave fingerprints.

his own mouth was open, moaning dutifully, but his eyes were fixed on seongje.

his hips moved like water, slow, controlled, sensual, then suddenly harsh, snapping forward with cruel precision, grinding down until the man beneath him was gasping for breath. his hands, once splayed flat against the man’s chest, slowly slid up. fingertips tracing sweat-slick skin, over the man’s collarbones, up to his throat. a soft tease. just a ghost of pressure before he leaned in close, lips brushing the man’s ear.

“you like this?” he whispered, breath warm, tongue flicking over the shell of his ear like something intimate, cruel. “you like watching me?”

his hips never stopped, dragging every moan out of the man beneath him like a confession. he had him wide-eyed and shaking, gripping seongje’s waist like an anchor, like he’d float away otherwise.

but when the man told him “call me dad”—seongje froze. just for a second.

not daddy, just dad.

“say it,” the man kept murmuring, voice low and coaxing. “and say you want me to rape you.”

and seongje did. barely above a whisper, lips parted but trembling. the drugs softened everything except his eyes, and sieun had never seen fear like that in them before. sharp and wet and real.

and devastation. god, for a second, seongje seemed so utterly devastated.

and then it was over. the moment passed. the man finished. seongje washed his hands in the sink. he even made a joke on the drive back, something dumb about the gas station snacks, humming along to the radio like it never happened. and sieun just stared out the window, wondering what it meant — that even fear didn't seem to linger in him.

despite how seongje loved rough sex, how he craved the sharp edges of pain and control, he was never rough with sieun. never once did he push sieun to do anything he didn’t want, never forced a single act. even in those rare moments when others watched, asking seongje occasionally to slap sieun across the face, he would do it, but so lightly sieun didn’t even feel it. and sieun liked to be slapped around, he told him one time that it’s okay, you can do it harder, but seongje wouldn’t.

seongje would never.

now, sitting alone in his small room, the heavy silence stretched around sieun like a suffocating fog. he will definitely talk to seongje about it all when he sees him, he thinks.

he reached down, unzipping his skating bag with slow, deliberate fingers, the same one still dusted with rink chalk and the scent of sweat and cold and pulled out his phone. the screen lighted up too brightly in the dim room, washing his face in cold blue. he tapped it open, scrolled past everything else, and clicked on suho’s name. the conversation sat there, frozen in time.

they hadn’t spoken on the phone. not since last time, when sieun canceled their plans without explanation, left suho confused with movie tickets in his pocket and a table reserveation he never used. sieun had been too ashamed to face suho’s voice.

after a long pause, sieun’s fingers finally moved. the words came slowly, each one weighed with careful hope.

hi, sorry, i know it’s been a while. i really want to see you, but i’ve been so busy with training. if you want to meet and go ice skating in the city, let me know. i shouldn’t be off the ice when the championships are just days away, right?

he stared at the screen, thumb hovering over the send button for what felt like forever, before finally pressing it down.

immediately, a wave of self-doubt crashed over him. rereading the message, the words sounded stupid, like he was bragging about the championships, as if that mattered more than anything else. the thought made his chest tighten, shame creeping back in, prickling at the edges of his skin. why did he even say that?

while sieun’s panic spiraled, his phone buzzed almost immediately. suho’s message appeared on the screen, short, steady, like a lifeline thrown through the chaos.

suho

hey, it’s okay. don’t worry about anything. i’d love to go skating with you :) when do you want to go?

sieun blinked at the screen, relief and disbelief warring in his chest. the tight knot of panic that had knotted his ribs loosened, replaced by a hesitant warmth. for the first time in days, he felt a small spark of hope.

his fingers hovered for a moment, then tapped out a reply.

how about tomorrow? 5pm at rockefeller center, if that works for you.

he stared at the screen, nerves bubbling up like icy water in his chest. was it too last minute? why would suho have time for him, when suho was probably just as busy training?

but once again it took suho seconds to respond.

suho

tomorrow at 5 is working for me—better be ready to keep up, though. ｡^‿^｡

sieun’s breath hitched, the tight coil in his chest loosening as warmth unfurled through his limbs. he let out a shaky laugh, the sound unfamiliar in the hush of his room. his heartbeat slowed, the room’s shadows retreating just a little as hope settled back in. the championships might be close, the pressure relentless, but right here, in this quiet moment, sieun felt a cautious flicker of hope ignite within him.

sieun hesitated only a moment longer before opening the group chat with nico and jamie. he hadn’t spoken much with them lately, avoiding their texts, hiding behind training schedules and exhaustion. he shot them a message, fingers steady as he typed out: i’m going out with suho tomorrow. thought you should know.

they replied almost as quickly as suho had, teasing him with jokes about how it was about time. sieun couldn’t help but blush, a warm heat rising to his cheeks as their playful words made him smile, he familiar warmth of friendship made his chest tighten.

he trained relentlessly the whole evening, the sharp bite of the cold rink grounding him more than anything else ever could. his blades carved cleaner lines now, his body more responsive, more focused, just a little better than in the morning. not perfect, but enough to feel like control was still possible. enough to let him leave the rink with his lungs burning and legs trembling, but his mind quieter than it had been in days.

the next morning, he woke up feeling better than he had in weeks, lighter somehow, like the night had peeled something heavy off his chest. for once, he didn’t drag himself out of bed. he got dressed with a quiet sense of purpose, packed his things, and headed straight for the cafeteria.

it wasn’t much, just breakfast, but it felt like something. a small act of courage. he walked in alone, no hoodie pulled up, no eyes on the floor, and for the first time in a long time, he didn’t feel like the room was swallowing him whole.

until he saw shawn.

he was sitting at the table near the windows, the one always reserved for coaches and the ranch’s higher-ups. two men sat with him, both in long coats, one with a silver tablet in his hand and the other flipping through a folder thick with printouts. they were deep in conversation, voices low but animated, gesturing over documents and schedules that looked like prep for the championships.

shawn looked up.

not by accident, more like he sensed sieun's presence, the way an animal senses a shift in the wind. his head lifted slowly, eyes dragging from the papers in front of him to scan the room. and then they met.

sieun froze. just for a heartbeat. their eyes locked across the cafeteria, the din of morning chatter and clinking plates dropping away like someone had pressed mute.

weeks. it had been weeks since they’d looked at each other. weeks since that night, since sieun had seen him up close, seen the flicker of something dark and satisfied in his eyes, the way he always looked right through him.

and then, one of the men beside him, older, square-shouldered in an expensive coat, turned too. he followed shawn’s gaze until his eyes found sieun. there was nothing sharp or cruel about the man’s expression. just a flicker of recognition… and then, unmistakably, disappointment.

that subtle shift in his features, just the way his mouth pressed into a thinner line, the faint narrowing of his eyes, landed harder than it should have. it wasn’t disgust. it wasn’t even anger. just quiet, heavy letdown. as if sieun had already failed at something no one had told him he was supposed to succeed in.

his throat tightened. he didn’t know who the man was, not really, but it didn’t matter. he knew that look. he’d seen it enough times in hotel lobbies and judges' lounges and cold meeting rooms filled with men who never touched the ice but shaped everything that happened on it. people who decided things. people who mattered.

sieun’s cheeks flushed hot. the tray in his hands suddenly felt too loud, too heavy. he didn’t even realize he was backing out until his heels crossed the threshold again. he turned. walked away without a breakfast. didn’t look back. his stomach clenched with hunger and shame, as he headed straight for the rink.

despite the morning, despite the cold sweat still clinging to the back of his neck, sieun skated fine. not his best, but clean. efficient. focused enough that his coach gave a short nod when he stepped off the ice, handing him a towel with a grunt of approval.

“better. sharper than yesterday,” he said, not smiling, but not critical either. “you’re back in your body.”

he caught his coach’s eye and gave a small, steady smile.

“well,” he said softly, “i’ve never been off the podium before.”

the words felt like a quiet promise, a tether to the parts of himself he wasn’t ready to lose. his coach nodded once, a flicker of something almost like respect crossing his face.

sieun believed, maybe for the first time in a long while, that he could actually place. the idea settled in his chest like a quiet ember, small but steady, enough to warm the cold doubt that had shadowed him for weeks. maybe winning gold was out of reach right now, but he could still pull off bronze, or even silver. something real. something to hold onto.

he went to his room, the quiet buzz of anticipation stirring beneath the surface of his tiredness. it was march now, the air warm with early spring’s promise, carrying faint scents of something sweet drifting through slightly open windows. he took a long, hot shower, letting the water wash away the exhaustion and tension that had settled deep in his muscles. when he stepped out, the steam still clinging to the mirror. he reached for the clothes he’d neatly prepared the day before, each piece folded with care.

he shot suho a quick message, fingers moving faster than his racing thoughts. he figured suho might be worried he’d cancel again, so he kept it simple and sure:

“let’s meet by the door of the hilton club, central at 5th.”

sieun stepped out of the ranch into the cool evening, the soft hum of the city still far away. he began the walk to the nearest bus stop, a steady trek of about 1.2 miles stretching before him. his legs ached faintly from the day’s training, but the rhythmic sound of his footsteps against the ground helped clear his restless mind.

after what felt like a half hour, he reached the bus stop, a small shelter with flickering lights. the bus arrived, its brakes hissing as it came to a stop. sieun climbed aboard, the familiar rumble beneath his feet settling some of his nerves. the city’s skyline grew taller through the windows as the bus navigated through winding roads and busy neighborhoods. at the main terminal, sieun stepped off and made his way into the subway station. the cool underground air was a sharp contrast to the warmth outside, the tiled walls echoing with the chatter and footsteps of commuters.

he found the right platform, boarded the train headed toward midtown, and settled in among the crowd. the train rattled and shook as it sped beneath the city, each stop bringing him closer to his destination. emerging into the bustling streets of manhattan, sieun moved quickly through the crowd, neon signs flickering above and the chatter of pedestrians swirling around him. a few blocks later, the hilton club on 5th avenue rose ahead, its sleek glass doors welcoming him in.

suho was already waiting. sieun spotted him immediately, brows furrowed in concentration, eyes glued to his phone screen, legs bouncing with restless energy as he stood just in front of the door. every time it opened, a new impeccably dressed individual would step out, brushing past them like they belonged to another world entirely.

sieun walked up slowly, the soft scuff of his sneakers drowned out by the city’s hum. for a second, he just stood there, watching suho from a few feet away, heart thudding with something heavy and unsure. then, finally, he stepped into view, stopping just beside him.

suho glanced up, clearly expecting someone else, but the moment his gaze landed on sieun, everything changed. the tension bled out of his shoulders in an instant. his expression shifted from confusion to surprise to something gentler, something warm and flickering and so clearly unguarded that sieun almost couldn’t meet it.

“hi,” he said softly, almost awkwardly, eyes flicking up to suho’s. “i hope you didn’t wait lo—”

he didn’t get to finish. suho moved before the sentence could land, stepping in and pulling him into a hug that was rough around the edges with urgency, like he hadn’t planned it, just couldn’t stop himself.

sieun froze for half a second, caught between surprise and the warmth that immediately curled through his chest as suho’s arms wrapped fully around him. he felt the press of suho’s chin drop to his shoulder, then the brush of breath against his neck.

“missed you.” suho mumbled there, low and unfiltered, the words slipping out like truth too heavy to hold any longer.

he was taller, sieun always forgot how much until they were this close, and the difference made him feel small in a way that wasn’t uncomfortable, just startling. grounding. sieun stood still, barely breathing, letting the hug pull him in fully before his fingers found the back of suho’s hoodie and clung there, gently. he closed his eyes, just for a second. maybe two.

they stood like that for a moment, unmoving in the middle of the sidewalk, until suho pulled back just enough to look at him.

“have you been well?” he asked, quieter now, searching sieun’s face.

sieun’s throat tightened. he gave a small nod.

suho held his gaze, like he was trying to see through the silence sieun wrapped himself in. his brows twitched, barely, and then he looked down for a second, like steady eye contact might’ve hurt too much. he cleared his throat and tried again.

“you cut your hair,” he said, softer. “you look…”

but he didn’t finish. maybe he didn’t know how to.

sieun followed suho’s glance as it wandered back up, and that’s when he noticed it, just beneath the corner of suho’s eye. a cut, fresh one.

he reached up before he could stop himself. “you’re hurt,” he said, fingertips hovering close but not touching. “your face.”

suho held his look a moment longer, then shifted slightly, the weight of what he was about to say settling between them. “i’ve got news,” he said quietly, voice steady but cautious, like testing the waters.

sieun blinked, the weight of those words sinking in slowly. “oh?”

suho shifted, running a hand over the fresh cut beneath his right eye, the redness still raw and tender. he didn’t speak for a moment, then finally said, “this... it’s from training.” he stopped, eyes flicking away briefly before returning to sieun’s face. “and i’ve been training hard, because... i got a shot. big fight.”

“the big fight?” sieun asked softly, heart picking up.

“yeah,” suho nodded, voice low. “juniors.”

pride rose in sieun’s throat, swelling until it almost choked him. without thinking, his arms wrapped around suho again, tighter this time, as if holding on could somehow anchor the whirlwind inside. he buried his face in suho’s shoulder, feeling the steady beat of his heart beneath his palm, grounding him.

pulling back slowly, his gaze softened, eyes shimmering with unspoken emotion. “suho,” he whispered, voice thick, “i’m so proud of you.”

sieun’s thoughts swirled quietly as he looked at him. suho was the strongest person he’d ever known, not just because of the fights he fought in the ring, but because of everything he carried beneath the surface. he deserved this. deserved to have something good, something steady. deserved to be happy. sieun let himself hope that maybe, with this news, with this chance, suho was finally stepping into a better chapter. maybe they both were.

suho gave a small, tired smile, running a hand through his hair as if the weight of everything still pressed on him. “thanks,” he said quietly. “but there’s something else.”

sieun blinked, curiosity and a flicker of hope stirring. “what is it?”

suho hesitated, his eyes flickering away for a fraction of a second before he reached up slowly and gently pressed his palm against sieun’s cheek, his thumb tracing light, careful circles that felt like a quiet promise.

“my team’s scheduled to train at your ranch soon,” he said softly, the weight of the words hanging between them like something fragile but full of hope. “we’II be hallmates again.”

sieun’s breath hitched, but it wasn’t relief that rose inside him. instead, a cold dread settled deep in his chest. the wasn’t somewhere he wanted suho to be, not again. suho deserved better than the stale air and dark corners of that place.

he looked up, eyes shadowed and uneasy, avoiding suho’s gaze.

suho watched him carefully, sensing the shift, the tightening around sieun’s heart. his voice softened, tentative. “are you... happy about that?”

sieun opened his mouth, tried to form something that would sound like yes, like i'm happy, like this isn't setting every nerve in his body on fire—

“sieun! what a surprise!”

the words cut through the air like a blade, too loud, too familiar. sieun froze. his breath caught mid-syllable. suho’s hand dropped from his cheek instantly, fingers curling into a fist at his side. both he and sieun turned in unison toward the voice.

a man stood on the steps of the hilton, his hand lightly resting on the arm of a woman in a tailored cream dress. he was in his fifties, tall and broad, dressed in a sharp navy suit that clung to his frame with the ease of wealth. his greying hair was slicked back with precision. his smile was wide, polished, performative, the kind of smile meant for press conferences and gala photographs.

sieun knew that smile. knew the man.

but not because he was one of the biggest promoters in the skating world. not because he'd shaken hands with olympic champions or presented trophies at international events.

he knew him because that man had once pressed his mouth to sieun’s throat in the backseat of a black car with tinted windows. because his fingers had once fumbled with the zipper of sieun’s pants while whispering how talented he was, how bright his future could be, if he kept being good.

sieun’s stomach turned. his face stayed blank.

beside him, suho straightened almost imperceptibly, catching the stiffness in sieun’s spine. “you know him?” he asked under his breath, his hand lightly at sieun’s back.

sieun gave a short nod, eyes locked on the man. “from skating.”

the man was already stepping toward them, arm slipping from his wife’s as he reached out like they were old friends.

“i haven’t seen you since that dinner in geneva,” the man said warmly, stopping just a step too close. his cologne hit sieun like a memory,  spicy, expensive, suffocating. “what was it, a year ago?”

sieun forced a smile, jaw tight. “something like that.”

the man chuckled, eyes raking him up and down, lingering too long on his face, then drifting lower. “you’ve grown up well. i always said you had a presence. didn’t i say that, darling?” he turned to the woman, who nodded politely, distracted, clearly bored.

“i told everyone you had a future,” he went on, smiling like it meant something. “you walked into a room, and i said — that one. that boy’s going places.” he clapped his hands softly, almost theatrically. “and now… olympic gold medalist. it’s incredible. really.”

sieun’s stomach flipped. the compliment curdled in his ears. it wasn’t praise, it was a stamp, a claim laid down in public, sugared over with nostalgia and pride.

he swallowed, kept the smile on his face. “thank you.”

the man leaned in slightly, voice lowering just a touch. “i’ll be in beijing, actually. for the championships.”

sieun’s throat went dry.

“hopefully i’ll catch you there,” the man added with a wink. “don’t be a stranger.”

he turned, taking his wife’s arm, already moving down the sidewalk as though he hadn’t just reached into sieun’s chest and twisted something hard and buried. sieun didn’t move. his body felt hot and cold all at once. his skin prickled under his clothes.

suho’s voice came beside him, low, steady. “who was that?”

sieun blinked, stared at the revolving door still spinning lazily.

the words barely registered at first. that man had been near suho. had spoken in front of him. looked him up and down, smiled like nothing was wrong, like his hands hadn’t ever touched something they shouldn’t have.

sieun felt contaminated by it. like some part of the man had rubbed off on the air, clung to suho’s skin, and wouldn’t come off no matter how hard he scrubbed. it was revolting. suho was clean. he was good. his world wasn’t supposed to collide with that kind of filth, not with him.

sieun swallowed, jaw tight, still staring straight ahead. “he’s…” his voice came out hoarse, so he cleared his throat. tried again. “he’s a promoter. a big one. respected. he funds events. connects skaters with sponsors. he’s… important.”

he didn’t say the rest. didn’t say he helped me win gold. didn’t say he’s one of the men shawn handed me to. didn’t say i bled in his hotel bathroom.

suho didn’t respond right away. just watched him, quiet and alert, the sharpness in his eyes softening into something like dread. sieun could feel it — that unspoken thing forming between them, fragile and dangerous, teetering at the edge of a cliff neither of them were ready to look down.

he didn’t want to be standing there anymore. didn’t want to see suho standing next to that memory, didn’t want his scent mixed with hotel lobbies and old rot, didn’t want to picture him brushing shoulders with the kind of man who’d once called him pretty while shaking deep inside him.

“let’s go,” sieun said softly, eyes still on the door. “it’s already late.”

he didn’t wait for a reply. just turned, shoulders drawn in tight, body taut with the kind of urgency that didn’t come from running out of time, but from needing to get away before something collapsed. suho fell into step beside him without a word.

they stepped onto the ice rink, the cool air brushing against their faces despite the warmth of the afternoon sun. the rink was surprisingly alive for this time of year, open well into spring, its smooth surface gleaming under the soft glow of string lights hung overhead. a faint smell of melting snow lingered, mixing with the crisp scent of ice and pine from the nearby trees.

suho insisted on paying for everything, the skate rentals, the hot drinks from the small kiosk. sieun hadn’t brought his professional skates; the thought of pulling them out here, surrounded by casual skaters and families, made him feel exposed and out of place. instead, he took the rentals, lacing them up carefully, trying not to let his fingers tremble.

it was so awkward at first, the unspoken weight from earlier, the memory of that man’s voice lingering at the edges of their evening. their steps on the ice were hesitant at first, mirroring the stiffness in their conversation, their silence. but when suho circled him once, teasing lightly, but without pressure, slowly the ice began to loosen something tight inside sieun.

suho glanced at sieun with a grin. “don’t worry, if you fall, i won’t tell anyone. though with your kind of reputation, it might make headlines.”

sieun let out a small laugh, the sound breaking through the tension like sunlight through clouds.

in that moment, he wished, as he often did in quiet flashes, that things could always be this simple, that he could skate like this, free from shadows, free from fear. that he would have a home, where there would be someone waiting: a mother who loved him, who’d make him tea and ask about his day.

he imagined sitting across from her, the warmth of the kitchen wrapping around him like a soft blanket. he’d tell her about suho, the way his eyes lit up when he smiled, the nervous laugh that caught him off guard, the small, almost accidental brush of his hand against sieun’s. “do you think he brushed my hand on purpose,” he’d ask her, voice low and hopeful, “or was it just by accident?”

he craved that love, more than anything. he craved her hug, the kind that could hold all the broken pieces he hid beneath his skin. but they hadn’t spoken properly in over three years now. just the occasional cold calls about payments or legal things tied to his skating, spaced out by months of silence.

they hadn’t spoken since that fight, the one in december when she screamed at him, telling him he was no longer her son. his father, as always, said nothing. never defended him. he was the quiet shadow in the background, the one who let the cruelty happen without a word.

sieun remembered how she would sometimes beat him, dragging him by his hair down the hallway, tearing apart his pictures and letters from friends, tossing them into the trash as if erasing his very existence.

and still, somewhere deep inside, he longed for her to see him. everything he accomplishes, everything he strives towards, it’s all for her. to prove, somehow, that his existence is worth something, that he’s not the mistake she claimed he was. but when she looks at him, it’s never with pride or warmth. it’s with cold, sharp disgust, like he’s a stranger.

he thinks about how suho looks at him differently — not with judgment or disappointment, but with something softer, something real. like he sees all the pieces sieun tries to hide and still chooses to stay. that kind of look, so rare and fragile, it makes sieun’s chest ache with a longing he can barely name.

and then, in the quiet moments between thoughts, sieun wonders, why hasn’t suho kissed him? why didn’t he kiss him months ago, back in the locker room after that fight when adrenaline was still pulsing through their veins and the world felt wide open?

he remembers the way suho’s eyes had held his, intense and searching, how close they had been, the air thick with unspoken things. but then suho had stepped back, just a breath away, and nothing had happened.

and then, deep down, a darker thought creeps in, maybe suho knows. maybe he knows where those lips have been, what his body has done. what if he looked into sieun and saw the rot, saw the want in him, raw, fucked-up, shame-stained, and couldn’t bring himself to touch it?

the thought sat heavy in sieun’s stomach like a swallowed stone. his blades scraped across the ice as he slowed, circling aimlessly in the middle of the rink. the music playing overhead was soft and tinny, something forgettable, but for a second it echoed like a lullaby. he breathed out, steadying himself, pushing the thought down, deep, where all the other shame lived.

they’d been skating for almost half an hour now. the awkwardness hadn’t vanished, not entirely, but it had dulled at the edges. they didn’t talk much. suho had even raced him once, clumsy and laughing, his arms flailing as he nearly lost balance on the last turn. sieun had rolled his eyes and let him win.

now, as they stepped off the ice and unlatched their skates, suho looked over, breath still catching a little in the chilly spring air.

“i don’t know how you do it,” he said, shaking his head. “the turns, the jumps, the balance. it’s like watching someone breathe underwater.”

sieun gave a faint, tired smile, nudging his skate blade against the floor.

“i started when i was four,” he said. “if i couldn’t do it by now, it’d be kind of embarrassing.” suho laughed, genuine and low in his chest. it cracked something open in sieun, something warm and fragile.

they exited the rink into the low orange spill of evening light, the sun just beginning to bruise the sky purple. their skates were exchanged for sneakers, their blades left behind in lockers along with laughter and the sound of scraped ice. outside, the city looked quieter. sieun blinked in the sun. his shirt clung to his back from the last half hour on the ice, and kept his hands in his pockets.

suho walked beside him, a half-step behind at first, then slowly pulling even, his breath clouding the space between them. they didn’t talk. they didn’t need to. something about the silence felt shared. not heavy. not quite.

“you really don’t get tired of it, huh,” suho finally said, glancing sideways. his voice was light, teasing in that way that made his warmth feel deliberate. “every time i think you’re done showing off, you do another spin.”

sieun huffed a laugh, barely. his eyes flickered ahead, then down. they crossed the sidewalk together, slowing as they approached the corner, caught in that soft, stretched-out time between dinner and dark, where the city still buzzed, but gentler. a couple walked past them with ice cream cones. someone’s dog barked lazily through an open car window. spring hadn’t started yet, but the air felt like it might.

then quick, careless — a man in a wrinkled shirt stepped out of a shop and brushed past them too hard, muttering something under his breath as his shoulder knocked sieun cleanly off balance.

sieun staggered. just a step.

but suho moved fast. his arm shot out, catching sieun by the wrist without thinking. fingers closed, not too tight, but firm enough to stop the fall. and sieun gasped. not a startled noise, a painful one. small, sharp, cut off in the back of his throat like he didn’t mean to let it out.

“what—?”

suho’s hand lingered for a second too long. his brows pulled together. his grip loosened, and he gently let go, like releasing a wire that had been pulled too tight.

“are you okay?” he asked, voice low and concerned. his fingers hovered, almost reaching again. “what hurts?”

he was already starting to inspect, his other hand brushing gently at sieun’s sleeve like he might see through the fabric. like maybe the truth was there, just beneath the skin, if he looked closely enough. sieun drew his hand back, not quickly, but carefully.

“it’s nothing, really,” he said, with a little breath that might’ve passed for a laugh. “i broke my wrist.”

he didn’t say it like it meant anything. just dropped the words between them like they were spare change.

“just before worlds,” he added, like an afterthought. “can you believe it?”

he even chuckled, soft, breathy, ironic, like it was a story you’d tell a stranger on a train. but suho didn’t smile. didn’t even blink. he stared at sieun like he’d just spoken in a different language.

“when did you break it?” he asked, voice flatter now. “why don’t you have a cast on?”

sieun tilted his head slightly, as if he were considering how to answer, or whether it even mattered. the golden light caught his profile, softening him, betraying him. there was something tired in the corner of his mouth, something flickering at the edge of his left eye.

“i’ve had one, but it’s been two weeks and i need to skate, so we took it off,” he said, voice light, almost casual. “it’s really not a big deal. how did you expect me to skate with a cast on?”

he smiled faintly, the kind of smile you make to defuse something, except nothing was defusing. suho just kept staring at him like he was watching something crack open.

“two weeks ago when?” suho asked, quieter now, but more pointed. “while doing what? eating a meal with a sponsor?”

sieun stopped breathing. just for a second. his eyes narrowed, not hurt, not yet. just stunned. it wasn’t just the words. it was the way suho said them, the accusation curled beneath the surface, like it had been waiting there.

“what?” sieun said. “why are you bringing this up?”

his voice lost its warmth. “i apologized for cancelling our dinner. i told you. i fell on the ice and it broke.”

“sieun, fuck…” suho breathed, dragging a hand through his hair. he looked up at the sky like he was praying for patience. “you didn’t apologize. you texted me once. shortly. no explanation. no call. we haven’t talked about anything, have we?”

he looked exhausted. not the kind of tired that sleep fixes, but the kind you carry behind your ribs. his shoulders sloped like he’d been standing in the rain too long. his jaw clenched and unclenched as if he were chewing back things he wasn’t ready to say yet. his eyes — god, his eyes — they weren’t angry. they were worn. like someone who’d been trying to keep reaching for something that kept slipping through his fingers.

sieun felt something shift inside him. not guilt, exactly. but a weight. something cold and stiff, wedged behind his heart.

“just tell me,” suho said, softer now, like he was asking for directions in a city that didn’t speak his language. “why you never say anything?”

sieun crossed his arms. he didn’t mean it to be defensive, but his body moved before his mind did.

“i don’t understand. we had a good time today. i told you i fell on the ice,” his voice tightened. “athletes get injured easily. from all the people, you should know that.”

he didn’t mean for it to sound like a jab, but it did. because it was one. and for a moment, all that softness from the rink was gone, replaced with this: sharp edges, years of silence, two people looking at each other across a fault line.

suho got quiet. it's all so quiet. they were still standing on the sidewalk, a gray, uneven stretch of concrete darkened in patches by old gum and city grime. behind them, the muffled hum of manhattan continued, cars honking, a bus letting out a sigh as it pulls to the curb, a man in a delivery jacket yelling into his phone. the city didn't care that the world is unraveling between two boys on the edge of a conversation they were never meant to have.

suho looked like he was holding something in, jaw tight, his hand still flexing from where he caught sieun earlier. his shoulders were tense, not like they were when he was laughing on the ice, and his mouth twitched once before he spoke.

“you know, a while ago i met someone,” he said quietly. “an ex-gymnast who used to train on your ranch.”

sieun blinked. confusion flickered across his face. the shift in conversation was abrupt, strange.

“he quit his long career after being there just two months,” suho continued. his tone too even now, too restrained. “you have any idea why, sieun?”

there’s something in the way suho says his name, soft but edged, like the question is already answered and he’s only offering sieun the chance to be honest.

sieun’s confusion twisted into irritation. he didn't understand this turn, didn’t like the feeling of being cornered. they were having a good time. they laughed. he showed suho the triple loop he hadn’t landed in weeks. and now this?

“you are so exhausting today, suho,” he snapped, his voice low, strained. “why won’t you focus on your own life?”

he didn't mean it to come out that cold. but something about the way suho is watching him, like he already knows, like he’s digging, makes him want to push back. hard.

suho just stared. unreadable.

“do you know he accused shawn of drugging him?” he asked, ignoring sieun’s question. “and raping him, when he was seventeen.”

the word hits like a fist.

rape.

sieun flinched. not visibly, not to a stranger. but suho isn’t a stranger.

he hasn’t heard it in a long time.

not like this. not said plainly, without moaning, without it being laced into some man's breathless fantasy. not as a weapon of pleasure. not as a game.

he used to hear it sometimes in bed, whispered like something dirty that made them harder. they’d thrust into him, call him their “little fighter,” asking him to cry, to beg, to say no.

“don’t just lie there — fight back a little.”

and sometimes, sieun did. because they liked it.

but suho’s voice isn’t like that. he says it like it means something. like it ruined someone’s life. and he doesn’t know what to do with that.

sieun stepped back like he’d been burned. “what exactly are you asking me?” his voice quiet, brittle.

he didn’t move when suho reached for him again, not until the fingers brushed too close to the tender curve of his wrist. then he jerked back, the motion sharper than intended. the hurt that flickered across suho’s face hit harder than any slap might have. something knotted inside sieun's chest, dense and twisting. shame, panic, shame again, coiling in tight, nauseating circles.

he didn’t know why he suddenly felt so exposed. so... disgusting.

his skin itched. he wanted to rip it off, wash it, peel himself clean. it was the first time suho made him feel like this — unsafe, seen in all the wrong ways.

he needed to leave. he needed to see seongje.

someone who never asked, who never probed, who lived in the same mud and didn’t flinch.

“i don’t know, sieun,” suho said, voice cracking slightly, “do you want me to flat out ask you? will you even respond?”

go. go. go. his heartbeat was screaming now.

“i think it’s better for us not to see each other again,” sieun said, already turning. the words were barely shaped before he started walking, eyes fixed ahead, straight toward the glowing metro sign at the next corner. his legs moved fast, but his chest felt heavy.

suho caught him. a hand closed around his arm and turned him sharply.

“what?” suho’s voice was quiet, stunned. “what are you saying?”

sieun didn’t blink. he didn’t want to let anything in. not suho’s concern, not his confusion, not the unbearable way he looked like he might fall apart.

“i don’t want to see you anymore. this is stupid anyways. i need to focus on my training,” sieun said flatly. then, quieter, “i regret coming here.”

he thought, maybe, he saw suho’s eyes shine wet under the streetlight, like they were beginning to water. but he shoved the thought away like everything else he couldn’t handle.

suho took half a step forward, his voice cracking under the weight of disbelief.

“you can’t be serious,” he said, like it physically hurt to say it. “sieun, you’re—”

“please ignore me at the ranch,” sieun cut in, fast and sharp, like pulling a blade from his own skin. his voice trembled only at the end, but he didn’t stop. “if you still are that adamant about coming back. after all, why would you want to work with somebody who has this kind of accusations, right?”

he didn’t look at suho when he said it. didn’t wait for a reaction. he didn’t know why he said it, what this even meant.

he just tore his arm free from the grasp, harder this time, almost violently and kept walking.

this time, suho didn’t follow.

and sieun didn’t look back.

Chapter Text

the city swallowed sieun’s retreating figure, while suho stood in the middle of the sidewalk, people brushing past him—some annoyed, others indifferent. his hand hung half-lifted in the air, fingers curled as if they might reach again, but they didn’t. he lowered it slowly, jaw clenched, chest hollow.

he wasn’t angry. not exactly. more like gutted.

he leaned against a building, head tipped back, eyes closed for a moment too long, the kind of tired that started deep in the soul. this wasn’t what he had expected. this wasn’t what he wanted. he had practiced what he was going to say. he thought he could help. but instead, he might’ve pushed sieun further away. sieun, whose steps echoed hollow on the cracked sidewalks of manhattan as he pushed away from suho’s lingering shadow. the city pulsed around him, a blur of neon signs, honking cars, and muffled chatter of strangers, but inside, everything felt muted, distant, like watching through thick glass.

he didn’t look back once, didn’t slow. his arm still throbbed faintly from the sharp twist of suho’s grasp, but it was the ache in his chest that made his legs carry him faster.

the cold bit through his thin jacket, but he barely noticed. the air tasted sharp and indifferent, just like the city itself, vast and uncaring. his mind drifted to the ranch, the cracked ice, the worn wooden benches, the faint scent of pine and sweat. a place he hated and needed all at once. seongje would be there. waiting or not, it didn’t matter. he needed someone who didn’t ask questions.

when the bus finally dropped him off, the familiar crunch of gravel greeted him. the ranch looked small in the pale moonlight, shadows stretching long and cold. he walked the last mile, the ranch’s fences and distant lights a faint promise of something steady, even if broken. with every step, the weight in his chest didn’t lighten, but at least here, it was quieter.

his legs ached. the kind of ache that wasn’t entirely physical.

just past the treeline, the training rink loomed — windows dark, doors chained shut for the night. one of the security lights flickered overhead, buzzing. it always did that. no one ever fixed it.

he ducked through the side gate, shoulder brushing the splintered wood. the gravel turned to dirt, then packed mud. his sneakers sank slightly with each step, and his breath turned visible in the colder air trapped between buildings.

the dorms were still. not silent, not really, the hum of electricity, the muffled laugh from a window somewhere, the drag of a chair across linoleum floor.

he kept his eyes on the ground.

the key to his room stuck in the lock for a moment before giving way with a soft click. he slipped inside, the door shutting behind him like a sigh.

moonlight filtered through the slats of the blinds, striping the floor like bars. he toed off his shoes, peeled off his jacket with fingers stiff from cold and nerves, and just stood there in the middle of the room, unsure what to do with his body.

and that’s when he saw it — a folded sweatshirt at the foot of his bed.

seongje’s.

clean. warm. still faintly smelling like him.


sieun held the sweatshirt like it was a lifeline. he hugged it tight, eyes closed, breathing in that faint, smoky aftershave like it might fill the emptiness growing inside him. but the ache was there, too because seongje hadn’t shown up like he said he would. hadn’t knocked on his door. hadn’t brought any leftovers like he promised.

he swallowed hard and rehearsed the words he might say, voice tight but steady:

“just here to give this back.”

or maybe —

“you want to come to my room?”

anything, really, to make seongje stay a little longer.

sieun pushed open his own door quietly and stepped into the dim hallway. the faint hum of the night ranch settled around him like a heavy blanket, thick with silence and distance. the soft scrape of his socks against the floor echoed faintly as he walked toward seongje’s room, hoodie folded tightly in his arms.

each step was slow, deliberate, hesitant even, carrying more than just fabric. he wasn’t sure what he expected to find, or say, but he knew he needed to try.

when he reached seongje’s door, he hesitated, then raised a hand and knocked softly.

the door swung open before he could even finish the second knock.

it wasn’t seongje.

his roommate stood there, bleary-eyed and shirtless, hair tousled as if just pulled from sleep.

“sorry,” sieun said quietly, voice barely above a whisper, “did i wake you? i just... is seongje asleep too?”

he glanced toward the slightly open door, expecting maybe to see him inside. it wasn’t that late, and seongje never really kept normal hours, so it would surprise him if he was already out.

the roommate’s brow furrowed, eyes narrowing as he studied sieun.

“i thought he was with you,” he said carefully, like testing the waters. “i knocked on your door a few hours ago, but you didn’t answer. figured you two were together all this time.”

sieun’s stomach twisted, caught off guard. “why would he be with me?”

the boy shrugged, a shadow of something unreadable crossing his face. “last time i saw him, he was with you.”

the hallway seemed to grow heavier with silence.

what?

sieun shook his head slowly, the tightness in his chest making it hard to speak. “i haven’t seen him either.” his voice was soft, almost swallowed by the dim light of the hallway. after a brief pause, he forced himself to ask, “what time did you get back that day... in the morning?”

the roommate glanced toward the dim room behind him, then flicked the light on, bathing it in a harsh white glow. “come in,” he said, stepping aside.

the roommate rubbed the back of his neck, settling against the doorframe, eyes briefly flicking toward the ceiling as if searching for the right words. “around three in the afternoon, maybe,” he said finally, voice low and hesitant. “i stayed at my girlfriend’s apartment.”

he shifted his weight, the creak of the old wood echoing faintly in the quiet room. “when i got back, seongje wasn’t there. he didn’t come back for the night.”

there was a pause, heavy with something unspoken. the roommate sighed softly. “not that it’s unusual. seongje was gone a lot at night. but he always came back by morning.”

the silence that settled afterward felt colder than the thin air outside, pressing in around sieun like a weight.

sieun’s voice cut through through it, quiet but urgent. “did you call him?”


his eyes wandered around the room, the unmade bed, the charger lying carelessly on the pillow, a lone sock balled up near the door, and the faint scent of cigarette smoke lingering in the stale air.

the roommate shrugged, voice low and rough. “i texted him yesterday after i got back, asked if anyone noticed i’d been gone. he didn’t reply—never does, really.” he glanced away for a moment, then met sieun’s eyes again. “i texted him today, asked if he’d be around tonight. still nothing.”


sieun swallowed, voice barely steady. “can you... give me his number? maybe i’ll try to reach him.”

the roommate chuckled, a dry, disbelieving sound. “wait, you and seongje are fucking, but you don’t have each other’s numbers?”

sieun’s face flushed hot, words tumbling out in a rush, stumbling over each other. “n-no, we’re not— it’s not like that.”


the roommate smirked, shaking his head. “yeah, right. i’ve seen the way he looks at you. talks about you sometimes. you guys even went on some ridiculous trip together ages ago. fuck, what was the name...?” he chuckled, a little bitter. “he came back raving about it—the best trip of his life, he kept teasing me. fucking asshole.”

the best trip of his life.

sieun blinked, the words catching in his chest like a skipped heartbeat. the best trip. seongje had said that? about croatia? about them?

he hadn’t thought seongje remembered it that way. not when they never really talked about it after. not when everything between them had gotten so messy, so quickly. and yet, here was this offhand comment, tossed out like nothing, and it sent a strange flutter through his chest, something light, traitorous, almost giddy.

his fingers curled tighter around the sleeve of the hoodie, knuckles white.

“just give me his number,” sieun said, his voice quieter now. “he told me two days ago he’s meeting someone in the city, but… he should’ve come back by now.”

the roomate sighed and reached for his phone on the cluttered nightstand, unlocking it with one hand while rummaging for a pen. he found a crumpled receipt instead, flattened it against the wall, and scribbled quickly. the faint scratch of pen on paper felt far too loud in the stillness of the room.

“here,” he muttered, tearing it off and handing it over. the paper was warm from his palm.

sieun took it like it was something fragile.

“if you reach him,” the roommate added, throwing himself back onto the edge of his bed, “tell him i hate him. seriously. you both disappear like ghosts, don’t you skaters ever have actual trainings to attend?”

his tone was half-joking, but there was something sharp beneath it.

sieun looked down at the number, the handwriting slightly smudged. for a moment, he didn’t know what to say. he just nodded, folding the paper once, twice, and slipping it into the pocket of the hoodie he still hadn’t given back.


“thanks,” sieun murmured, voice soft. “and sorry for waking you.”

the roommate just waved him off without looking up again. “whatever. tell seongje to bring me a burger or die.”

sieun nodded, though the door was already closing behind him. the hallway felt colder than before, humming faintly with the ranch’s nighttime silence, just the low buzz of electricity behind the walls and the distant rattle of a water pipe. the hoodie still clung to him, heavy with cigarette smoke and warmth that wasn’t his. he hadn’t even thought about giving it back.

his fingers curled tighter around the fabric at the hem, thumb brushing the uneven seam near the pocket. he walked slowly, as if by slowing down he could stretch this night thinner, keep it from snapping into something worse.

his door creaked when he pushed it open. same darkness. same hollow air. he stepped inside and shut it behind him. then leaned his forehead to the wood, hoodie pressed to his chest, and exhaled.

he still had no clue where seongje was. but now he had a number, and a reason to call.

the number rang. once. twice. then a click — but no voice.

just a cold, mechanical recording.

“the number you have dialed is no longer in service.”

sieun froze. he pulled the phone away, checked the digits, then called again.

same result. not even voicemail. not even a ringtone.

he sat down on the edge of his bed, hoodie still clutched to his chest. would seongje really just leave like that? no goodbye? not even a cruel joke or a cryptic note?

the thought tasted bitter.

would he do that? just vanish, without telling him?

sieun tried to think back to the last time they were together, two nights ago. in seongje’s room. the door locked behind them. the air heavy with sweat and silence. sieun had cried into his hands and said too much.

but what seongje said?

he tried to remember. but the memory was waterlogged, blurry, slipping through his grasp.he’d been too wrapped up in his own mess, too distracted by how good it felt to be held, how desperately he’d needed to be touched without questions.

the only clear thing was that moment —

seongje’s breath warm in his ear, voice thick with pleasure.

“baby.”

that was all.


sieun stood now under the too-cold stream of the shower for longer than necessary, letting it slap against his back, numbing him. steam collected on the glass, the air heavy and wet, but his thoughts stayed dry, stuck in loops.

would he really just leave without a word?

he dried off slowly, barely glancing at his reflection in the mirror. he didn’t want to see the confusion on his own face, didn’t want to admit how stupid it was to care this much. he wasn't even sure what he wanted from seongje.


wrapped in a towel, he padded back into his room, the soft creak of the floor beneath his feet the only sound. the hoodie was still there where he’d dropped it earlier.


he pulled it on.

the warmth wasn’t immediate, it took a moment for his body to settle into it, like a memory returning. but once it did, it was like slipping into something whole. something that had once been close. the fabric caught at the back of his neck, where his hair was still damp, but he didn’t fix it. he liked the cling. liked the weight.

he curled into bed without bothering to pull the blanket all the way up. just let the scent sink into him. his eyes fluttered closed before he even meant to.

and for the first time in a long time, his body stayed still. his hand didn’t wander beneath the waistband of his sweats, didn’t fumble for distraction or warmth or anything to take the edge off.

the edge was still there, but it was dulled, comforted by the illusion of closeness.

he woke with a strange tightness in his chest, like a hand pressing down, not enough to choke, not enough to panic, just enough to remind him he was still alive. the room was dark, the kind of dark that comes before dawn, when the air is damp and hollow and time feels like it’s folded in on itself. sieun blinked up at the ceiling, disoriented at first, the edge of a dream still clinging to his skin. he could feel the weight of it on his chest, as if he’d been running or screaming, or both.

he didn’t remember the dream exactly, just fragments. flashes.

he’d been on the ice. a spotlight blinding him. the hum of a crowd, the tension of silence before the music began. his skates slicing forward, perfect at first, then not.

a sound, the deep crack of something splitting. the ice beneath his feet fractured like glass, a jagged line racing outward, and then nothing held him anymore.

he fell. cold swallowed him whole. sharp, black water surging up over his head, muffling everything. he kicked but there was no surface to reach. the rink had turned into a lake, a grave, a void.

and through it all — that voice.

disgusting, suho had said, low and distant, like it was being spoken from above the water, or from inside sieun’s chest. some stranger clawing at the walls of his childhood home, trying to get in.

sieun turned his face into the pillow, heart beating slow but heavy. the familiar scent clung to the fabric beneath his cheek.

he shifted slowly, limbs aching from the way he’d curled into himself sometime during the night, and sat up on the edge of the bed. the floor was cold under his feet. the ranch was quiet, not the kind of quiet that felt peaceful, but the strange kind. like a lull before something.

his phone was on the nightstand. he glanced at it, no new messages. the number scribbled on the paper still tucked under it.

he stood slowly, hoodie slipping low on his hips, and padded to the door, cracking it open. the hallway outside was still and gray, the overhead lights buzzing faintly with that cheap fluorescent hum. early birds weren’t up yet. the kitchen would still be locked. no one would be on the tennis courts. the sky outside the windows looked storm-heavy, pale and waiting.



he didn’t plan to go outside.

he wasn’t even wearing socks.

but the room felt too small. the air inside it too heavy. like it had absorbed his dreams and was exhaling them back at him.

outside, the ranch was barely stirring.

mist floated low over the grass like breath. the sky above was a dull grey-blue, the sun not fully risen. everything smelled like dew and last night’s chill, clean in a way the rooms never were.

sieun walked.

past the porch. past the gravel drive. past the long stretch of fencing that separated the ranch from the woods.

he didn’t have a destination. he just moved because stillness felt worse. the hoodie was too warm, clinging to his back where he was already sweating a little, but he didn’t take it off.

he let his fingers brush against the fence as he walked, let the tips catch on the chipped paint. his mind wasn’t quiet, but it was blurred, as if wrapped in cotton. fragments of the dream still lingered — the cold snap of ice, the sound of it cracking beneath his skates, the moment he’d plunged into freezing water and couldn’t breathe. suho’s voice in his ear. strangers clawing at the walls.

he lowered himself onto a patch of tall grass, sat cross-legged, and stared out over the field. the sun was beginning to break through the horizon now, streaking pale gold across the hills. horses were still asleep in the far pastures, their shapes dark and unmoving.

it was peaceful. and yet—

he couldn’t shake it.

the thought that seongje might’ve just left.

without saying goodbye. without even texting.

but would he?

sieun closed his eyes. thought back to two nights ago. to moaning into seongje’s pillow, to how he’d touched sieun’s body, how his hand had lingered a little longer than usual.

how he'd said baby. was that goodbye?

he pressed his fingers to his eyes until stars bloomed behind his lids. he didn’t want to think anymore.

eventually, the sound of voices startled him, not near, but faint, carried from the ranch. early morning chatter. the kitchen, probably. doors creaking open. someone laughing. the world was waking up. sieun stood slowly, knees stiff, and brushed the dew from the backs of his thighs.

by the time he reached the porch again, the door to the main hallway was wide open. a few kids were walking toward the breakfast area in their socks and pajamas. someone had music playing low from their room.

sieun didn’t say anything.

he went straight to the cafeteria, shoulders hunched under the weight of the morning cold. his legs felt stiff from the walk, his throat dry, stomach tightening with something that wasn’t quite hunger.

the cafeteria was already alive, not crowded, but stirring. a few voices here and there. the smell of oatmeal, black coffee, synthetic orange juice clinging to the corners of the room. someone had opened a window, and the wind moved softly through the curtains.

a cup of tea. nothing else. he wasn’t ready for anything heavy in his mouth, not yet.

as he turned, he spotted him — seongje’s roommate, sitting near the edge of the room, hunched over some kind of powdery protein bar and a banana. the boy looked up mid-chew and blinked, then stood, rubbing the back of his neck. his face was flushed from sleep, hair still messy.

he walked over, holding the banana like it might fall apart.

“hey,” he said quietly. “he’s still not back. thought maybe he’d texted you?”

sieun’s hand curled tighter around the hot paper cup. he shook his head once.

“nothing?”

“no.”

the roommate frowned. it was subtle, just a small shift in his mouth, but it made sieun’s stomach flip.

“weird,” the boy muttered. “he always comes back. even if he’s wrecked.”

sieun swallowed.

the roommate lingered a second more, then gave a soft sigh. “well i’m pissed. he left me alone with that dumb fan clicking all night. and i'm starting to feel like i’m in a one-sided relationship here.”


sieun stood still for a beat longer, his tea untouched in his hands, the warmth already starting to fade.

his voice was quiet. “should we… i don’t know. say something?”

sieun glanced around, lowering his voice further. “like… tell someone? that he didn’t come back last night. maybe someone from the office. or that woman—the one who takes care of things for the younger kids. someone should know, right?”

the roommate chewed slowly, his eyes narrowing in thought. then he swallowed, wiped his hands on his sweatpants, and shook his head.

“i think you should wait,” he said carefully. “you’re gonna get him in trouble.”

sieun looked at him, surprised. “but if he’s not okay—”

“he does this,” the roommate said, with a tired kind of patience. “disappears, fucks off into the city. he’s done it for years. i mean, he doesn’t always tell me either, even though i’m the one getting questioned when he doesn’t show for morning stretch. if you report him now, it’s not like they’ll send a search party. they’ll just lecture him, maybe pull him from the next comp. and he’ll know it came from you.”

so sieun didn’t say anything.

not the next day, or the one after that. three days passed in a thick, humid blur, and sieun kept his mouth shut, just like the roommate had suggested.

he told himself he was being reasonable. that seongje would come back like he always did, sauntering into the cafeteria with sunglasses and a cheap city smoothie in hand, some dumb story on his lips and not a trace of apology in his voice. he told himself it wasn’t his place, that they weren’t, he wasn’t supposed to care like this.

but by the third morning, the silence had grown unbearable.

seongje’s bed remained untouched. the hoodie sieun had borrowed still hung over his own chair. no one had heard from him. no one had seen him. his phone stayed dead, or off—sieun couldn’t know.

he caught himself looking for flashes of him in crowds. listening for his laugh during shared meals. his eyes always flicked to the corner table first, expecting that lopsided grin. nothing.

it was worse at night. the hoodie stopped smelling like him after the second day. sieun lay awake listening to the bunkhouse creak and shift, every voice and footstep that wasn’t his, waiting. imagining. biting the inside of his cheek until he tasted blood.

by the fourth morning, his hands were shaking when he laced up his skates.


despite this, he skated with a quiet, focused intensity that made the cold air around the rink feel warmer somehow. each jump was sharp, precis, he landed a flawless triple toe loop, followed by a double axel that seemed to hang in the air for just a fraction longer than usual. the crowd’s imagined applause spurred him on as he smoothly transitioned into a clean flying camel spin, arms stretched wide like wings ready to take flight.

as he glided to a stop, breath misting in the chilled air, his coach approached with a measured nod.

“better than yesterday,” the coach said, voice low but approving. “you’re ready.”

sieun wiped sweat from his brow, still catching his breath, then glanced toward the rink’s edge. “can you tell shawn i want to talk to him?” he asked quietly.

the coach’s expression flickered for a moment, something unreadable, but he simply nodded and headed toward the office doors.

sieun’s steps slowed as he approached the locker room, the distant hum of the rink fading behind him.

he began to pull off his skates slowly, muscles still humming from the effort, his breath steady but thoughtful. the quiet was thick, almost suffocating, until the door suddenly creaked open again. shawn stepped inside, his presence filling the room without a word. he closed the door behind him with a firm motion, the lock clicking sharply.

“what is it?” shawn’s voice was low, measured, but there was an edge of impatience beneath it. “i’m very busy right now.”

sieun swallowed, feeling the weight of shawn’s gaze settle heavily on him. the silence stretched, thick and uncomfortable, as he searched for the right words.

“i… i need to talk,” sieun said finally, voice quieter than he intended, but steady. “can we talk? just for a minute.”

shawn’s eyes narrowed, the sharpness in them cutting through the dim light like a blade. “talk? about what? you think this is the time for chit-chat?” his tone was harsh, but something flickered beneath it, a hesitation, or maybe surprise.


sieun took a moment, reaching for his towel, blotting the sweat from his neck. still, he didn’t look at him.

“it’s about seongje,” he said quietly.

he could feel shawn still.

“he hasn’t been back since the weekend. no one’s seen him. he told me he was meeting some guy in the city, but it’s been a week now. he’s not answering his phone.”

shawn didn’t respond immediately. the silence felt too long. then, finally — “and?”


sieun turned now, slowly, hoodie tied around his waist. “and… i just thought maybe you knew where he went.”

shawn tilted his head slightly. the expression on his face was unreadable, something between amusement and disbelief. “why would i know?”

“you always know,” sieun said, voice softer now. “where we go. who we see. especially if it’s overnight.”

for a moment, shawn’s eyes darkened, not with rage, but calculation.

“he didn’t say anything. not to me. not to anyone.” sieun's voice was almost a whisper now, thick with confusion, shame, something like hurt.

shawn stepped forward then, slowly, until the distance between them was too close. he looked down at sieun with the same expression he wore when he watched someone skate: detached, assessing, cold.

“you know,” he said slowly, “if you actually paid attention to seongje — and i mean really paid attention — you’d know he’s always disappearing on his own terms.”

sieun looked up, startled.

“he fucks off whenever he feels like it. never asks permission. sometimes i don’t even know he’s gone until someone mentions it later.” shawn let out a quiet, humorless chuckle. “a couple weeks ago he showed up at this guy’s apartment — a friend of a friend of mine — someone he met once at a dinner party, apparently. didn’t tell me a damn thing.”

sieun’s brows furrowed. “what?”

“yeah.” shawn shrugged, feigning indifference. “i only found out because the guy texted me the next day like, ‘hey, that little skater of yours? wild in bed.’” he rolled his eyes. “i had to pretend i was in on it.”

he let the words hang in the air, casual, vile.

“so if he’s gone again,” shawn went on, “maybe he’s just off doing his thing. he’ll come back when he wants something.”

sieun didn’t respond, just looked down at the floor, eyes fixed on the tiles.

shawn pushed off the lockers and started walking toward the door. “trust me,” he added over his shoulder, “if there’s one thing about seongje — it’s that he doesn’t need anyone’s permission. not even yours.”

sieun’s mouth opened, then closed again. he looked away. the scent of the rink still clung to his skin.

wild in bed.

he’ll come back when he wants something.


he’d always assumed—no, believed—that the only time seongje went anywhere, the only time he slept with anyone, it was because shawn made him. because it was arranged. expected. orchestrated. that it was part of the game they were all tangled in, the one no one dared speak of aloud.

but now… this?

“a friend of a friend,” shawn had said. “he went there on his own. didn’t even tell me.”

a strange chill passed through sieun’s spine. his first instinct was denial, no, that couldn’t be true, but shawn had no reason to lie about that. if anything, he sounded annoyed. territorial.


sieun felt something slip, the shape of what he thought he knew about seongje unspooling in his hands. maybe he never understood him. maybe no one did. maybe seongje made sure of that.


he reached for his backpack without thinking, fingers slipping inside the front pocket where his phone usually slid in with muscle memory. he pulled it out and held it for a moment in both hands, screen dark, smudged with fingerprints and the faint, worn glow of overuse.

his thumb moved without much hope, tapping it awake, navigating back to the same name he’d tapped four times in the last two days.

seongje.

the number stared back at him, hollow.

he pressed the call icon again.

nothing. not even a ring, not a buzz, not a flicker of life. it went dead immediately, like it had been turned off, or like it had never existed at all.

sieun sat back on the bench slowly, phone still in his hand. he blinked down at it. the silence sat too heavy.

then, below that name, a second one caught his eye—glowing there in recent calls like a burn scar.

suho.

it’s been a week. not a word since manhattan.

not since sieun stood on the sidewalk, humiliated and hollow, voice cracking as he’d said, “please ignore me at the ranch.”

why did i say that, he thought now, jaw tight as his fingers curled slightly around the phone. why do i always do that. betray myself like that. push people away when i need them the most.

he knew the answer. somewhere in the back of his skull, under all the practiced self-control and habit and walls.

stepping out of his comfort zone wasn’t just terrifying, it felt dangerous.

like baring his throat in a room full of knives.

and suho—he had made sieun feel seen.

too seen. and the second that happened, sieun had slammed the door shut again.

but now, holding this phone like it might answer back, he wondered if it was too late.


two nights later, long after lights-out, sieun stepped back onto the rink like he had so many times before, but tonight, something felt different.

the quiet of the rink after midnight had started to feel like the only place he could think clearly. the main building was asleep, rooms dark behind drawn blinds, only the soft buzzing of the emergency lights at the edges of the facility still glowing.

his body ached, still sore from that day’s drills. his wrists were stiff, thighs tight, but it didn’t stop him. he plugged in the small speaker, the one he’d hidden up in the tech booth. he brought the real version of his championship program — the full-length cut of the russian piece his coach had chosen for him months ago. back then, it had just been another assignment.

now, it was the only thing that held him steady.

he had translated the lyrics one sleepless afternoon, hunched over his phone in bed while the hallway outside buzzed with life. he hadn’t meant to cry when he read them. but he had.

he turned the volume low, just enough that he could hear it over the scrape of his blades, not loud enough to reach the night staff in the dormitory. and then he began. no warm-up, no hesitation. just the music and the cold and the emptiness echoing all around him.

his jumps were cleaner now. he landed the triple salchow in silence, moved into the combination, his arms slicing through the dark like he was trying to part it. he'd been working so hard. even when no one asked him to. even when shawn barely looked at him anymore. even when he felt like a ghost haunting his own life.

he pushed through the choreography, skating harder than he ever did when people watched. because here, here he could break. here he could pretend the ice might understand him. he moved into the step sequence, sharp, precise, letting the music guide the tension in his shoulders. his foot slipped slightly on a turn, the ice was worn thin from repetition, but he caught himself, exhaled, and kept going. over and over again. until his chest was heaving and the thin cotton of his shirt clung to his skin.

he held the final position until the last note dissolved into nothing, chest rising and falling with uneven breaths, arms outstretched in a frozen echo of grace. his fingertips trembled slightly from the strain. sweat dripped from his hairline, curling behind his ear. silence followed the music like fog swallowing sound, like the whole world was holding its breath with him.

then, a single hand started clapping, slow, deliberate, steady. the sound echoed softly through the cavernous rink, breaking the hush like a quiet promise. sieun got startled, blinking through the quiet as his chest heaved, sweat dripping behind his ear. his eyes scanned the rink, searching the shadows, and then he saw him.

suho was leaning casually against the railing just beside the ice, near the exit path where skaters left the rink. the soft glow of the arena lights caught the curve of his jaw, the easy calm in his posture a sharp contrast to sieun’s still-trembling hands.

sieun’s breath hitched, the sudden presence pulling him out of his exhausted haze. for a long moment, they just watched each other in silence, the hum of the empty rink wrapping around them like a fragile bubble. suho’s smile was small but warm, a gentle invitation amid all the noise sieun carried. finally, suho shifted slightly, hands slipping into the pockets of his worn sweatpants.

“i thought i might find you here,” suho said softly, voice calm but gentle. “i came two nights ago to train. didn’t break in.”

sieun’s mind spun, caught between wanting to run and the need to stay. his gaze drifted down to the ice beneath his blades, steady and smooth despite the turmoil inside. he pushed off gently, skating slowly toward suho, each glide a question in motion.

when he finally reached the railing, he looked up, eyes searching suho’s face in the dim light. “why aren’t you sleeping?” he asked quietly, voice low enough to not break the stillness of the arena.


suho’s gaze flickered away from sieun for a moment, sweeping the empty arena like he was searching for something in the shadows. then he spoke, voice low, a little rough with something unsaid.

"i was thinking about you."

he paused, the silence stretching between them like the cold air. then, slowly, as if weighing the words carefully, he added,

"about us. about what i said."


sieun opened his mouth, started, “suho, i—”

but suho cut him off, voice calm yet firm, eyes flickering back to meet sieun’s gaze with quiet intensity.

“i know you told me you don’t want to see me anymore,” he said softly, the words hanging between them like a fragile thread.

“i guess...” he paused, searching sieun’s face. “i just couldn’t stay away.”


the words hung between them like a fragile thread pulling taut. sieun’s chest tightened, his heart skipping uneven beats as a rush of heat spread through his body. a fluttering storm stirred deep inside him, twisting nerves and hope into something raw and alive. the butterflies exploded in his stomach, chaotic and electric.

sieun’s voice was quiet, almost cracking as he spoke. “i’m sorry... i don’t know why i said that.”

suho’s eyes softened, a tired smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. “no,” he said gently, stepping a little closer, “i’m sorry.”

sieun blinked, caught off guard. for a moment he just stood there, skates still on the ice, breath shallow in his chest. he hadn’t expected that—not from suho, not after everything.

“you’re sorry?” he echoed, the words barely above a whisper, confused, like he hadn’t heard them right.

suho nodded once, gaze steady now. “i shouldn’t have said that,” he murmured, his eyes searching sieun’s face. “i didn’t mean to upset you… especially knowing you need to be focused now.”

his jaw flexed like he was holding back more. “you’ve got so much on the line. i just…” he shook his head, exhaling. “i handled it wrong. forgive me.”

sieun felt the tightness crawl up his throat, stinging the back of his eyes before he could stop it. his chest ached with the sheer gentleness in suho’s voice, a kindness so stark, so undeserved it nearly undid him.

he stood there, frozen on the ice just a few feet away, and thought, he’s too kind. too good to me. i don’t know what to do with it.

and beneath all that trembling gratitude, all that shame, there it was again, quiet and relentless.

he loves him.

god, he wants him. wants to curl into that voice, that warmth, wants to feel suho’s hands around him, steadying him, anchoring him.

he blinked quickly, like that could chase the feeling away. it didn’t. it only made it stronger. before he could think better of it, before doubt could twist itself into the space between them, sieun moved. his skates whispered softly against the ice as he closed the last bit of distance. his arms reached up, around suho’s neck, pulling him in tightly, like he was afraid suho might disappear if he didn’t hold on hard enough.

his face pressed into the curve of suho’s neck, warm skin meeting warmth, breath catching with the sudden closeness.

suho’s arms came up slowly, hesitantly, then fully around sieun’s waist, strong, steady, like he’d been waiting for this. like maybe he needed it just as much.

they stood there for a long time, long enough for the cold of the rink to disappear, long enough for everything else to blur around them. but then suho felt it. a quiet dampness against his skin. not from sweat.

his arms tightened just slightly.

he dipped his head, whispering low into sieun’s hair, voice barely more than breath.

“sieun…”

when there was no answer, he gently cupped sieun’s face and coaxed it upward. the boy resisted for a second, reluctant, but then his chin tilted up, and suho saw it. the wet sheen on his cheeks. the trembling lashes. the way his mouth quivered like he couldn’t decide if he was about to speak or shatter.

suho’s heart broke.

“god,” he breathed, thumbs brushing tenderly over the tears. “sieun… why are you crying?”

that made sieun cry harder.

the words, so soft, so gentle, cracked something deep inside him. his whole body shuddered like it had been holding itself together with threadbare strings, and now all of them snapped at once. he started shaking in suho’s arms, shoulders hitching, fingers clutching tighter around suho’s neck like he was afraid he’d fall apart if he let go.

“because—” he choked, voice broken, barely audible. “because you’re too kind… you’re too good for me. why are you so good? you never get mad—”

he was rambling now, voice pitching higher, unraveling with every syllable.

“—and i’m tired, i’m so tired, and the championships are so close, and i don’t know if i’m ready, i don’t know how to be ready—” he gasped for breath, his chest heaving. “and i don’t know where seongje is, i don’t know, i don’t know—”

the words dissolved into sobs. raw, helpless. he sounded like a child.

suho didn’t speak at first. he just held him.

his arms wrapped tighter around sieun’s trembling body, one hand cradling the back of his head, the other splayed protectively across his spine. like he could shield him from every fear, every unanswered question, every shadow in his mind.

“shh,” he murmured into sieun’s hair, his voice thick.

he pressed his lips to sieun’s temple, not a kiss, not quite, just a still moment of warmth and contact, grounding them both.

“you’re okay,” he whispered. “just breathe, sieun. you’re okay.”

he waited, watching him carefully, waiting for his chest to rise again, for the shaking to slow even a little. then, when sieun blinked at him with glassy eyes and lips parted like he wanted to say something but couldn’t—

suho tilted his head and asked, quieter now,

“who is seongje?”

sieun stiffened slightly in suho’s hold, his breath hitching again, though the sobs had thinned into trembles, barely-there shivers that still racked his narrow shoulders. his eyes flicked down, away, past suho’s cheek, like he couldn’t bear to meet his gaze anymore.

he hadn’t meant to say that name. not out loud. not here. not to suho.

his throat tightened, aching like he'd swallowed a stone. he opened his mouth to answer but nothing came. just the soft sound of his breath catching and the quiet squeak of the blade guards lying by the boards behind them. the rink was so quiet now it felt like their voices could echo forever.

“he’s my friend. a skater, lives down the hall,” sieun said finally, the word friend feeling too small, too thin to hold the weight of it. “he’s been gone for over a week. and nobody cares.”

his arms tightened slightly, like he was afraid the admission might make suho disappear too. like saying it aloud would cost him something.

“no one’s looking for him. no one even noticed,” his voice broke again on the last word, sharp with disbelief, guilt, something rawer than fear, something closer to grief. “where is he, suho?”

his eyes searched suho’s face, desperate for any sign, any answer, that could ease the hollow ache inside.

suho’s gaze softened, shadowed with a weight he struggled to carry. after a long pause, he spoke carefully, “i’m sorry, sieun. i’m sure he’s fine, don’t worry. we’ll figure it out.”


he pulled sieun’s head closer, pressing it softly against his chest, his hand moving in slow, comforting pats through sieun’s hair.

sieun’s body sagged into the boy’s embrace, heavy with exhaustion and relief. his breath came in soft, uneven murmurs as he nestled closer, the warmth of suho’s chest grounding him.

“tired,” he mumbled faintly against suho’s collarbone, his words barely more than a whisper.

suho tightened his arms gently around him, careful and steady, as if willing to hold all the weariness away until sieun could rest.


“let’s get you to bed. it’s so late—you need to rest.”

he gently guided sieun away from the ice, careful to support his unsteady steps. the cold air of the rink faded behind them, replaced by the quiet hum of the empty arena corridors.

“where are your stuff?” suho asked quietly, scanning the dimly lit hallway.

sieun’s eyelids fluttered, heavy with sleep, as he pointed a sluggish hand toward the locker room down the hall. together they moved slowly, the silence between them thick but gentle.

inside the locker room, suho helped sieun onto a bench, his movements tender and practiced. he knelt down and began unlacing sieun’s skates, fingers brushing the damp leather, careful not to jostle him too much.

“almost there,” suho murmured, the warmth in his tone wrapping around sieun like a soft blanket.

sieun let out a small, exhausted sigh as suho worked the laces loose. his head lolled slightly forward, the weight of his tiredness pressing down like a heavy fog. suho’s hands were steady, deliberate, and despite the roughness of their surroundings—the cold concrete floor, the faint hum of distant machines—there was something intimate in this quiet care.

once the skates were off, suho gently lifted sieun’s feet, helping him slide out of the stiff boots. the cool air of the locker room met sieun’s skin, causing a shiver that wasn’t just from the temperature. suho handed him a towel from a nearby bench.

“you need to clean up?” suho asked softly.

sieun nodded slowly, still barely holding onto consciousness.

“i’ll wait here,” suho said, standing close but giving him space. “take your time.”

as sieun moved toward the small bathroom, his movements sluggish and heavy, suho leaned against the locker nearby, watching with a quiet tenderness that made the room feel a little less empty.

when sieun finally returned, his hair damp and his face pale but calmer, suho was there, ready to help him settle down, wrapping an arm securely around his shoulders as they headed toward the sleeping quarters.

they moved slowly through the quiet halls of the ranch, the muffled sounds of distant footsteps and the soft hum of night settling around them. sieun’s body felt heavy, every step weighted with exhaustion and the ache of everything unsaid. suho’s arm around his shoulders was steady and warm, an anchor in the restless sea of his thoughts.

they reached sieun’s room, and suho paused at the door, his fingers lingering on the frame as if reluctant to let go.

“do you want me to stay?”

sieun’s voice was barely a whisper, but steady.

“please.”

they stepped inside slowly, suho closing the door quietly behind him. he then stepped closer and gently guided sieun toward the bed. his hands were careful, steady, like he was handling something fragile and precious.

“come on, get some rest.”

sieun’s voice was soft, almost a breath.

“sleepy… so sleepy.”

suho smiled quietly at the tenderness in that small admission, a warmth blossoming inside him. he helped sieun lie down, easing him into the cool sheets, the exhaustion clear in every slow blink and heavy breath.

without hesitation, suho lowered himself beside sieun, folding his body around him like a shield. his arms wrapped firmly but gently, holding sieun close against the steady rhythm of his chest. sieun’s breath evened out almost immediately, the tension in his body melting as suho’s presence settled over him like a quiet promise.

that night, sieun didn’t have any nightmares.

the darkness wasn’t haunted by broken ice or shadowed walls clawing from beyond — instead, it was quiet, soft, wrapped in the steady warmth of suho’s arms.

he drifted into sleep with a calmness that surprised him, his breathing deep and even, as if the storm inside him had finally found a moment’s peace.

Chapter Text

the morning light came slow, sifting through the blinds in faint golden lines that stretched across the blanket. everything felt still, weightless almost, like the world had softened overnight and decided to let them rest a little longer.

sieun stirred beneath the sheets, the cotton warm from body heat, the shape beside him solid and steady. suho was still asleep, breath slow and even, one arm draped around sieun’s waist like it had settled there in the middle of the night and never left. sieun didn’t move at first. he stayed tucked into the curve of suho’s chest, his nose brushing against the soft fabric of his t-shirt, legs tangled loosely under the covers.

the quiet hum of the ranch waking up outside the window didn’t touch them here — it was muffled by the walls, the distance, the stillness between their bodies. for a moment, sieun let himself pretend they had all the time in the world. no skating, no championships, no unanswered questions.

just the warmth of the boy who’d held him through the night.

his eyelids fluttered closed again, not quite ready to wake up. not if it meant letting go. suho shifted slightly, the hand on sieun’s waist tightening just a little, like he could sense he was still needed. like maybe, just maybe, he didn’t want to let go either.

sieun let out a breath. it felt different today. not fixed, not healed — but lighter.

and he was warm. still so warm.

he lets himself sleep longer. just a little longer.

there was something about the rhythm of suho’s breathing — slow, steady, like ocean waves reaching the shore and retreating again, that made everything feel safe. anchored. like nothing outside this bed could touch him for a while. he didn’t care if it was indulgent. didn’t care if he’d pay for it later, if he’d miss breakfast or be late to warm-ups.

his body ached in places it always did, his wrist still sore, his back stiff from hours on the ice, but it was the kind of ache that could wait. just for a little longer.

when sieun woke again, it was slower this time, a gentle tug from sleep rather than a jolt. he felt warmth first, the weight of the blankets still tucked around him, the lingering softness of where suho had been. then, a voice, low and coaxing, threaded through the haze of dreams.

a hand on his shoulder.

“sieun,” suho’s voice came, soft but insistent, paired with the faint shake that finally pulled sieun from the depths of sleep.

he blinked, lashes sticking together, eyes unfocused.

it took him a moment to register the shape in front of him. suho, sitting on the edge of the bed, leaned slightly toward him, his face already wearing that quiet, familiar expression.

and in his hands, balanced carefully, was a plate, sitting on a tray.

sieun blinked again, slower this time. suho’s eyes met his — warm, patient, waiting.

“cafeteria’s closed now,” he said, voice low but coaxing. “i brought you breakfast.”

he nodded toward the plate, a careful selection: sliced bananas, a small bowl of overnight oats with berries and almonds on top, two soft-boiled eggs peeled already, a little honey on the side, and a small protein bar tucked next to folded napkins.

“tea’s on your nightstand,” suho added, gesturing with his chin. “it’s probably getting cold, so come on. sit up.”

his tone was light but kind, warm in a way that wrapped around sieun just as gently as the blankets had. suho waited there, holding the plate with steady hands, his knees brushing the edge of the cot, as if he’d stay all day if sieun needed him to.

sieun for a second didn’t move, just stared, dazed and quiet, at the way suho looked in the soft morning light. he was still in yesterday’s hoodie, hair a little messy, eyes full of something that made sieun’s throat ache. something too tender. something too safe.

he looked at the plate, then back at suho, and for a moment, his chest squeezed like a fist had closed around his heart.

why are you like this, he thought. why are you always doing these things. being kind. staying. waiting. like i’m worth all this softness.

his fingers curled slowly around the blanket. he hadn’t had anyone bring him breakfast since— god, maybe since his mom still called him baby. everything after that had been takeout containers and bruises and careful silences. no one ever looked at him like that. not when he was half-awake, hair stuck to his cheek, sleep-mussed and stupid with exhaustion.

he swallowed around the lump in his throat. “you didn’t have to,” he whispered, voice cracking a little. “i didn’t even ask.”

suho smiled, easy. “i know.”

sieun didn’t say anything. he sat up slowly, wincing as his body ached from training, blankets falling around his waist. the tea was just warm enough to drink when he picked it up. honey and ginger. his favorite.

he didn’t look at suho again, not yet. he was scared that if he did, he’d start crying again.

sieun took another bite of the oats, sweet and cold with almond slivers crunching softly between his teeth. he was still curled up under the blanket, tray balanced on his lap, hair a mess and eyes still puffy from sleep. suho sat nearby, one leg drawn up on the bed, watching him with that quiet fondness that made something ache in sieun’s chest.

“did you eat?” sieun asked, his voice low and warm from just waking.

suho nodded. “i did.”

sieun smiled a little. then, without thinking too hard about it, he picked one of the glistening blueberries from the top of his bowl and held it out toward suho with pinched fingers.

“here,” he said softly.

suho blinked, startled for a moment. but he leaned forward and took the berry gently from sieun’s hand, lips brushing his fingertips for a second too long. sieun looked away quickly, cheeks coloring, his heart skipping once like a missed step on the ice.

he didn’t say anything, but he pressed the next spoonful of oats to his mouth with shaky fingers, the warmth between them blooming like sunlight through frost.

“i ran into your coach,” suho said gently, as sieun finished the last bite of his oats. “he was on his way to your room. you missed your morning practice.”

the words landed like a stone in sieun’s stomach.

his eyes widened slightly, tray wobbling on his lap as he blinked himself into reality. the room was still quiet, the light outside soft and filtered through cloud. suho sat so calmly at the edge of the bed, like the world hadn’t just cracked open at his feet. sieun could still smell the faint citrus of the tea on his nightstand, still feel the lingering warmth of suho’s body from where they’d slept. and yet the mention of practice, of responsibility, came crashing in like cold water.

“but,” suho added quickly, steadying the tray with one hand when he noticed sieun tense, “i told him you were on the ice past midnight. that you needed rest.”

he gave a small, lopsided smile. “he didn’t argue. just said he wants you up and running by ten. which is why i woke you up — it’s a little after nine now.”

he touched sieun’s ankle gently through the blanket, a quiet reassurance. not scolding, not rushing. just present. just suho.

sieun has to stop himself.

his fingers twitch slightly around the tray, the faintest urge rising, a wild, reckless impulse to reach up and crush his lips against suho’s. he nearly does. nearly leans forward, lets the warmth in his chest speak for him, lets it bleed into the space between them.

but he doesn’t.

instead, he swallows hard, focusing on the soft clink of his spoon against the empty tray, the quiet hum of the heater in the background. that dangerous fluttering in his stomach grows, not the gentle butterflies from before, but something warmer, needier. heat pools low, like his body remembers touch too vividly despite being starved of it.

he tries not to notice the way suho’s hand lingers on his ankle. the way his thumb brushes once, absentminded. comforting. it’s just kindness, he tells himself.

and still, he has to shut the door on his thoughts before they turn inappropriate. before they betray him. before they ruin this quiet, soft thing he’s been allowed to have, if only for a morning.

sieun looked up at suho, eyes soft and a little unsteady. his voice was low, almost a whisper, but filled with something heavy and true.

“thank you… for everything.”

he didn’t know how else to say it, for the kindness, the patience, the quiet strength that made the dark days a little less unbearable.

suho’s eyes softened as he smiled gently, his voice calm and warm.

“i like taking care of you, sieun. more than you know.”

they held each other’s gaze for a long beat, the world shrinking around them. suho’s eyes slowly drifted down, settling on sieun’s mouth with a flicker of something raw and hesitant, a quick lick of his own lips betraying his quiet tension. sieun felt his heart stutter, thudding faster, heat rushing up his neck. for a moment, he thought suho might close the distance between them, lean in close, but instead, suho reached out and gently took the tray from his hands.

“we’ll take this back to the cafeteria at dinner,” suho said softly, voice steady but with a trace of something unspoken.

he stood up, stretching just enough to break the charged silence, and added, “get ready. i’ll be in my room.”

sieun stared at the door long after it closed, blinking slowly, confused by the shift in suho’s mood, like the air between them had sparked too hot, too fast, and suho had pulled away before it could burn. his cheeks were still pink. 

he exhaled and pulled himself out of bed, the sheets still warm from where they’d lain side by side. he padded into the bathroom, turned on the light, and splashed water on his face before brushing his teeth with sluggish, distracted movements. the mirror gave him back a bleary reflection: skin flushed, eyes slightly puffy from sleep, and something soft and guilty lingering at the corners of his mouth.

as he dressed, pulling on his training gear with practiced motions, his thoughts shifted like a slow tide. the warmth in his chest dimmed. he thought of seongje.

how easily he’d forgotten. how easily he’d let himself be held, fed, comforted. how good it had felt.

and how terrible it made him feel now.

seongje. gone almost two weeks. no word. no trace. no one looking.

he tightened the drawstring of his pants with too much force, then threw his bag over his shoulder and slipped out of the room. the hallway felt colder than usual, more still, as if the ranch itself had sensed something was wrong and decided to stay quiet.

before heading to the rink, he stopped in front of seongje’s room.

the door creaked open before sieun could knock again, and there stood seongje’s roommate — already dressed in a loose sweatshirt and joggers, shoes tied, key dangling between his fingers like he’d just picked it up from the desk.

“i thought it was you,” the boy said, voice low and a little wary. his eyes flicked to sieun’s face, reading the concern written all over it.

sieun swallowed. he didn’t know what he’d been hoping for, maybe some change, some offhanded comment like, he came back late last night or you just missed him. but no. he could tell just by the boy’s face.

“i was just leaving for my training,” the roommate added, stepping halfway into the hall. he scratched the back of his neck, looking down. “he’s still not here.” his voice dropped on the last part. quieter. heavier. tired.

sieun’s chest pulled tight. he glanced past him into the room. seongje’s bed still made, the sheets stiff and undisturbed.

sieun nodded slowly. “okay,” he whispered, then, quieter still, “thank you.”

as sieun turned to leave, footsteps shuffled behind him, and then the soft voice followed, hesitant, but sharp with something that felt like worry trying not to sound like panic.

“did you talk to anyone already?”

sieun paused. his fingers curled tighter around the strap of his skate bag.

“did you report?” the boy asked again.

sieun glanced back. the roommate wasn’t playing it casual anymore. his brows were drawn together, and there was an anxious bounce in the key still clutched between his fingers, tapping softly against his leg.

“i talked to shawn…” sieun started, voice unsure even to his own ears. “but you know what — i’ll talk to him again today. if i catch him.”

the boy let out a breath, half relief, half exasperation. “please do,” he said. “it’s not even funny for me anymore. like — it was weird the first few days, but now it’s just…” he shook his head. “he wouldn’t leave like that.”

sieun nodded. the hallway felt colder now. longer.

“i know,” he said quietly. “i’ll talk to him.”

a door creaked open somewhere down the hallway, the old hinges whining faintly as light spilled out into the dim corridor. both sieun and the roommate turned instinctively.

suho stepped out, still rolling the sleeve of his hoodie down his forearm, brows lifting slightly when he saw them standing there together. the roommate gave sieun a look, unreadable, quick, then muttered, something that sounded like “bye,” and brushed past them, heading toward the stairwell with brisk footsteps.

suho waited until he disappeared, then walked over, his eyes soft but curious. “i’ll walk you to the rink,” he said simply, falling into step beside sieun. his shoulder brushed his lightly. “who was that?”

sieun glanced ahead as they walked, voice quiet. “seongje’s roommate.”

suho looked at him again, more sharply this time, but said nothing at first. just nodded slowly, like the pieces in his mind were rearranging. after a moment, he asked, gentler, “did he say anything?”

sieun hesitated, teeth worrying the inside of his cheek. “just… that seongje’s still not back. and that i should report it. officially.”

“i’ve already talked to shawn.” the name slipped out quietly, like it had weight. like it might shatter something between them. he didn’t look at suho, but he could feel the ripple it caused, the small shift in the way suho’s steps slowed, how his breath caught.

“i was thinking,” sieun continued, still soft, “maybe after practice i’ll ask again. if he’s even on the ranch.”

he risked a glance up. suho looked startled. not angry exactly, more like something inside him had recoiled. his mouth opened a little, but no words came.

sieun stopped walking. “what?”

suho didn’t answer right away. he was still staring at him, and for the first time that morning, his expression wasn’t gentle. it was worry. it was dread.

when his voice finally came out low, barely steady.

“i’ll go with you.”

sieun blinked. his heart gave a quiet jolt. he hadn’t expected that.

“what?”

“when you talk to him.” suho’s eyes were fixed on him now, steady but flickering at the edges like something was unraveling behind them. “i’ll be there.”

sieun shook his head almost immediately, eyes flicking away.

“no. i’ll be quick,” he said, barely above a whisper.

it wasn’t a lie, not exactly — but it wasn’t the truth either.

he just didn’t want suho there. not because he didn’t trust him, god, he did, but because he didn’t trust what would happen to him. to suho. if things got tense. if shawn said something. if suho saw something.

sieun didn’t look up as he added, quietly, “i’ll just ask if he’s heard from seongje. and if he talked to his parents. that’s all.”

but suho didn’t answer right away. the silence was sharp, his stare even sharper, and sieun could feel it like sunlight through glass.

suho’s eyes lingered on sieun, a flicker of concern there. “just text me when you’re done. if i’m free, i’ll be there.”

sieun glanced at suho, forcing a small, reassuring smile. “don’t worry about me. i just need to land my jumps, gotta get those perfect.” his voice was steady, but beneath it, a quiet determination hummed.

suho nodded slowly, the concern still flickering in his eyes.

“you probably have a schedule, and it’s getting late. you don’t need to walk me.” sieun added softly.

he didn’t want to get suho in trouble, he could tell the other boy was stretched thin already. suho hadn’t mentioned missing his morning training, but sieun felt like maybe he had, quietly, just to be here.

suho hesitated a moment, then said quietly, “yeah… okay. i’ll get ready. but i’m here if you need me.”

they shared a brief, lingering look before sieun turned toward the rink, shoulders squared and mind focused, but somewhere deep down, the ache of everything else still whispered softly.

at the practice, sieun’s blade slipped under him, and he fell, hard but nothing unexpected. falls were part of skating, everyone took them now and then. still, when he rose, his hands trembling slightly, his cheeks flushed with a mix of embarrassment and frustration, the familiar shaky feeling settled in his stomach. it wasn’t just the fall, it was the weight of everything else crowding in.

his coach caught his eye, nodding with a stern look. “be responsible out there, sieun. you can’t afford mistakes.” it wasn’t harsh, more a reminder, but sieun nodded, swallowing the lump in his throat.

once practice wrapped, sieun changed and pulled on his committee jacket, scanning the rink area for shawn. he wasn’t in the usual places—locker room, gym, or office. a flicker of doubt brushed his mind.

then he spotted shawn by the far side of the rink, near the equipment storage, leaning casually against a wall, talking quietly with a man sieun didn’t recognize. the papers in shawn’s hand caught the dim light, casting a faint shadow. the low murmur of their conversation was drowned beneath the distant echo of skates on ice.

sieun stepped closer, the chill of the rink seeping through his jacket as he approached. shawn caught a glimpse of him from the corner of his eye, but didn’t break his conversation with the man, his tone still casual, almost dismissive.

taking a breath to steady himself, sieun cleared his throat softly. “shawn.” his voice cut through the quiet buzz, firm but careful, trying not to startle either of them.

shawn’s head snapped toward him, eyes narrowing for a brief moment before masking any surprise with a practiced coolness. “what do you want?” he asked, his voice low, edged with impatience but not outright hostility. the man beside him shifted slightly but said nothing, watching the exchange with quiet interest.

sieun held his ground, feeling the weight of the moment press against his chest. “can we talk? alone?”

shawn glanced at the man, his expression smoothing into something almost polite. “sorry about this,” he said quickly, voice low enough for only sieun and the man to hear. “we’ll catch up later.”

the man gave a curt nod, stepping back slightly to give them space, eyes flicking briefly toward sieun with something unreadable before he turned and walked away.

shawn shifted his stance, finally fully turning to sieun, his face unreadable but the tension thick between them. “what do you want?”

seongje’s name hung heavy in the air as sieun’s voice cracked slightly. “did you called his parents? it’s been two weeks...”

shawn’s eyes flicked toward sieun, a slow, mocking smile spreading across his face. “parents?” he repeated, as if the word itself was foreign. “seongje’s an orphan, kid. there’s no one to call.”

the words hit sieun like a slap, and for a moment, everything inside him stilled.

 oh.

his breath snagged in his throat, his mind scrambling to make sense of it, to rearrange what he thought he knew, to grasp at pieces that had never quite added up but had also never felt important enough to question. he had never asked. had never known.

he tried to remember if seongje had ever mentioned a home, a family, anyone waiting for him outside this place. but there was nothing. only silence, and that too-familiar loneliness in the boy’s eyes.

his stomach twisted. it wasn’t just that he’d gotten it wrong, it was that he’d never bothered to know in the first place. he had assumed, lazily, selfishly, just to soothe himself with the thought that someone, somewhere, might be missing seongje. and now that illusion had been stripped away in one sentence, leaving behind only a hollow ache and something dark curling in his gut.

still, he kept his face composed, jaw tight as he stood there in front of shawn. but behind his eyes, guilt writhed, shame biting hard at the edges of his thoughts.

his voice came out shakier than he wanted, almost too soft, like something cracked just beneath it.

“then… the police,” sieun said. “we need to report it.”

for a moment, there was no response. just the distant murmur of other voices from down the hallway, and the low hum of lights overhead. then shawn exhaled slowly, almost like he was bored, like sieun had asked something naive and exhausting.

he turned to face him fully now, arms folding across his chest, gaze sharp but laced with mockery.

“and tell them what?” he said flatly. “that i had a trainee who is a prostitute and he didn’t come home?”

sieun’s mouth parted, but nothing came out, the breath caught somewhere in his chest. shawn tilted his head, eyes narrowing with that familiar, cold amusement.

“oh, maybe i should call the police,” he mused, voice dipping with mock enthusiasm. “show them the videos right off the bat. invite them over to the ranch, let them snoop around. yeah? open all the doors, see what they find.”

he paused, watching sieun’s face carefully.

“and when they start asking questions… what’ll you say, sieun?” he tilted his head. “hm? that you knew where he was going that night?”

sieun flinched, heart climbing up his throat. there was pressure behind his eyes, a trembling in his jaw. he shook his head, quickly, voice cracking when it finally forced its way out.

“no—please,” he whispered. “i won’t say anything. i’ll tell them he went to meet somebody, but… i won’t say who. i won’t tell them about us. i promise. just—please. we can’t leave him like that.”

his hands had curled into fists at his sides. he didn’t even notice. all he could feel was the sting of shame rising in his chest, the helplessness of standing there begging for scraps of decency from a man who had none.

“he’s just a kid,” sieun added, softer now, barely audible.

shawn’s eyes didn’t waver. he looked straight at sieun, the smirk gone now, just silence stretching between them, taut and brittle like a wire about to snap. there was something unreadable in his expression, something that made the air between them feel thin and untrustworthy.

then he looked around.

a quick scan of the hallway, casual, calculated. a low murmur of conversation from one of the distant studios, a door creaking shut further down, the shuffle of feet behind a corner. nothing close enough to matter.

and without a word, he reached out and grabbed sieun by the wrist.

it wasn’t rough. not exactly. but it was firm, invasive in a way that made sieun’s body instinctively recoil. shawn didn’t stop. he didn’t ask. he dragged him down the hall, past the staircase, to the storage room near the rink entrance. the one no one used except to dump old mats and broken skate guards.

sieun twisted slightly to look back. for just a second. and in that second, he saw his coach, his own coach, standing at the end of the hallway. the man had just come out of the locker room, water bottle in hand.

he saw them.

and then—he turned away.

the door shut behind them with a dull, heavy click. it was darker inside than sieun remembered. the only light came from the narrow slat of glass near the ceiling, streaked with grime, casting a faint line of gray across the stacked equipment.

shawn didn’t let go of his wrist. not right away. even in the dimness, sieun could see the sharp outline of his jaw clenched tight, the way his lips thinned with whatever he was holding back. for a second, sieun thought maybe he would yell. maybe he’d laugh. maybe he’d call him pathetic for begging.

instead, shawn leaned back against the door, arms crossed slowly over his chest.

“you want to go to the police?” shawn went on, pushing off the door and stepping closer. “what do you think they’ll ask first? what kind of kid disappears from an olympic facility and no one says a word for two weeks? what kind of coach just shrugs it off?”

he moved even closer. sieun flinched when his voice dropped further.

“you think they’ll stop there?”

sieun looked up, eyes wide, jaw trembling as he tried to find something to say—anything—but nothing came.

“you think they won’t go through every single file, every sponsor agreement, every travel log?” shawn asked softly. “you think they won’t wonder why certain boys always get extra perks? why certain names come up more often with certain donors?”

he was too close now. sieun could smell the aftershave on his collar, the heat rolling off his skin. it made his stomach twist.

shawn’s voice was like a whisper now, but it echoed in the narrow room.

“maybe i’ll hand them the tapes myself,” he said. “you want that? you want them to see what you’ve done for your precious medals?”

sieun shook his head. a tear slipped down before he could stop it. his hands clenched into fists at his sides.

“please,” he whispered. “please don’t say that. they won’t investigate you, i’II tell them what you want, please.”

shawn leaned back finally, gaze cool and disinterested. he let out a slow sigh, like he was the one burdened.

“you’ll have to beg me harder than that.” he said flatly, eyes flicking over sieun’s face like he wasn’t even a person anymore.

sieun’s mouth opened, then shut again. shame curled up his spine, hot and dizzying. he couldn’t move. couldn’t speak. he stared at the floor, blinking rapidly, trying to keep everything in.

shawn finally shifted with a sigh, a low, theatrical sound, like he was bored again, like this wasn’t worth the time. he glanced at his watch, shoulders tilting as if he was about to turn away, as if he would just walk out and leave sieun there alone in the suffocating quiet of the storage room.

that’s when sieun moved.

he panicked, the realization slicing through the fog in his mind like ice water, and he stepped forward and dropped to his knees so fast it hurt.

his hands hit the floor to catch himself.

“please,” he gasped, throat tight. “please—don’t. don’t leave, just—i’ll say whatever you want, i swear, i’ll fix it—please—”

his words tumbled out, one over another, desperate and shaking and tangled.

shawn didn’t speak. he just turned slowly to face him again.

his eyes dragged over sieun’s bowed form with an unreadable expression, not amused, not angry, not even surprised. just expectant. like this had been the inevitable destination all along. like he was waiting for something.

something else. something more.

sieun’s hands trembled against the floor. he looked up once, just enough to meet that gaze, and shawn didn’t blink.

just stood there, still and steady, like a wall sieun would never get through unless he gave him exactly what he wanted.

sieun’s shaking hands lifted off the floor, slow and clumsy, every movement weighed down by dread. his fingers hovered for a moment, uncertain, then reached for shawn’s belt. the metal of the buckle was cold under his skin, or maybe it was his own hands that had gone numb. he hesitated, glancing up at shawn, heart pounding, trying to read him.

had he misunderstood?

was this what he wanted?

but shawn didn’t stop him. didn’t move.

he only tilted his head slightly, lips parting like he was about to say something, and then he didn’t. he just watched, calm and patient, the way someone might watch a dog trying to learn a trick.

sieun’s breath caught, a sharp, jagged thing that lodged in his chest. his trembling fingers worked past the waistband of shawn’s pants, the fabric giving way as he pulled it down, slow and deliberate. his fingers lingered, uncertain, before he tugged the underwear down further, exposing shawn completely.

shawn’s cock was already half-hard, heavy and flushed at the tip, like he’d been waiting for this. expecting it. the moment it was free, he exhaled through his nose, slow and steady, like the sight of sieun kneeling there pleased him.

sieun blinked, the air around him suddenly too thick. everything felt far away—his body, the room, even the hands that moved as if on their own.

his fingers curled around the base, the warmth startling. shawn twitched under his touch, but didn’t speak, just let out a soft sound—almost amused. sieun swallowed hard. he leaned forward, eyes unfocused, and pressed his mouth to the tip.

the taste hit him first—bitter and sour, like old sweat and something worse. he forced himself to stay still, jaw stretching, lips parting wider as he took more of it in. shawn’s breath hitched.

“mm,” came the sound above him. approval. lazy, low. “good boy.”

that made something twist in sieun’s stomach. not pride. not even shame. just a deep, dead cold.

shawn’s hand came down then, not rough but firm, resting at the back of sieun’s head. not pushing yet, but present. reminding.

"don’t use teeth,” he murmured, almost gently. “you know better than that."

sieun closed his eyes. focused on breathing through his nose. he moved his head, slow and rhythmic, feeling the heat build, the weight of it against his tongue, the awful sound of spit and movement filling the quiet room. tears spilled before he even noticed them.

shawn’s hips started to move, shallow at first, then deeper. his fingers tightened in sieun’s hair.

the back of sieun’s throat burned, breath catching each time shawn pushed too far. he couldn’t breathe. couldn’t think. but he didn’t pull away. not once.

sieun gagged again, throat convulsing around shawn’s cock, but he didn’t stop. his hands braced weakly on shawn’s thighs, fingers trembling, slipping on sweat-slick skin. his whole body was shaking now, the pressure behind his eyes unbearable, and the wet, choking sounds that filled the room were broken only by shawn’s ragged breathing above him.

then, between gasps, a sound escaped sieun’s throat—cracked and breathless.

“please…”

shawn’s hips paused, just for a second.

sieun’s voice came again, hoarse, choked around the weight in his mouth. “please… help me.”

shawn looked down, eyes narrowing. “help you?” he repeated, the word slow, like he didn’t understand.

sieun pulled back far enough to draw a shallow breath, saliva clinging to his lips, chin slick, throat raw. he looked up—eyes red, lashes wet. “please,” he whispered, voice trembling, desperate. “i can’t find him. i don’t know where he is—seongje—please, shawn, i just want to find him—”

his voice cracked on the name.

shawn didn’t speak. his hand was still resting in sieun’s hair, loose now. the other hung at his side. he looked down at him with a strange, unreadable expression. his gaze lingered, sharp and distant, like he wasn’t really looking at sieun but through him, watching the shape of him crumble, watching the way the name seongje broke out of his throat like it still hurt to say.

but then, he blinked. whatever flicker had passed through his expression vanished.

he let go of sieun’s hair only to grab him again, firmer this time, forcing his head back down. no answer. no reaction. no acknowledgment at all.

just—back to it.

“open your mouth,” he muttered, low and impatient.

sieun barely had time to breathe before shawn pushed back in, deeper than before. the weight of it filled his throat again, cutting off air, cutting off thought. there was no pause now, no restraint—shawn moved like he had something to prove, like sieun’s pleading had irritated him, or worse, bored him.

his thrusts turned sharp, punishing. one hand stayed tangled in sieun’s hair, the other braced on the wall behind him for leverage. the sound of it—wet, brutal—echoed in the room, louder than sieun’s gags, louder than the broken little noises that escaped each time shawn pushed too deep and didn’t pull back fast enough.

sieun clung to his thighs, barely able to hold himself up. tears streamed freely now, his nose running, his throat spasming around every breath he didn’t get. nothing about it was careful. nothing about it was kind.

shawn moaned low in his chest, like he was losing himself in the rhythm. 

“fuck… that’s it,” he panted, his voice frayed and shaking now. “just take it. don’t think. just fucking take it.”

and maybe that was what did it. the words. the rhythm. the brutal finality of it.

something in sieun gave way.

his mind blurred at the edges, reality slipping like water through his fingers. the sounds around him, the slap of skin, the guttural moans, the wet gasps, faded into a low, pulsing hum, like he was underwater. his body no longer felt like his own. it was floating. heavy and light all at once.

he wasn’t choking anymore. not really. not even when his throat clenched around the weight of shawn inside him. his body still fought, reflex, muscle, instinct, but sieun was somewhere else.

drifting.

his jaw hung loose. his arms slackened. his eyes rolled back half-lidded, wet lashes fluttering with each sharp thrust. he couldn't tell if he was crying anymore. couldn’t tell if the sounds were his.

the pain had dulled. or maybe it had just folded in on itself, collapsing into something warm. something strange.

arousal flickered low in his belly, slow and confusing, like a whisper he didn’t want to hear. it wasn’t sharp or hungry. it just was, soft and thick and shameful, curling through his limbs like smoke.

he felt his cock twitch, half-hard against the tile, trapped between his legs. the shock of it barely registered. he couldn’t even look down. didn’t want to know. didn’t want to feel it, but he did.

heat bloomed behind his navel, aching and low. his whole body pulsed with it, subtle at first, then stronger, more insistent. it rose each time shawn moaned, each time he was held down and used, like something inside him was rewiring itself, surrendering. 



and in the breathless stillness of that surrender—limbs numb, lips parted, eyes glazed, shawn’s body jerked violently above him.

“fuck—fuck, fucking—” the words tore from shawn in a snarl as his hips slammed forward one last time, deep and cruel, holding sieun down so hard his nose pressed to skin, his throat stretched to its limit.

then—heat. sudden, thick, spilling down his throat in pulses that made sieun gag, choking on the flood of it. shawn moaned raggedly through his teeth, hand trembling in sieun’s hair as he came, body shuddering with each twitch of release.

sieun didn’t move. couldn’t. he just knelt there, mouth open, chest heaving silently as his throat worked around the bitter, searing warmth now coating his insides. some of it dripped from the corners of his mouth, sliding down his chin in strings that clung to his skin.

shawn held him there for a moment longer, panting, shoulders rising and falling as he rode the last tremors out.

then he pulled back abruptly, letting his cock slip wetly from sieun’s mouth, the sound obscene in the quiet.

sieun collapsed forward onto his hands, coughing once, twice, until more spit spilled out, mingling with what had leaked from his mouth. his body trembled with aftershocks he didn’t understand, his own arousal still twitching, confused and half-forgotten.


shawn reached down, brushing a thumb across sieun’s cheek, wiping away a lingering tear. the touch was gentle, almost tender, and sieun leaned into it, his eyes fluttering closed for just a moment.

just a moment, because it felt like something. not kindness, not safety, but contact. attention. a heat that didn’t come with choking.

his cheek pressed lightly into shawn’s palm, skin damp with sweat and tears. he didn’t know why he did it. maybe it was reflex. maybe it was the fog still clouding his brain, the soft static that hadn’t lifted since he’d slipped under.

but shawn noticed. he always noticed.

“see?” he said quietly, voice low, curling around the edges of something too smooth. “you do know how to behave.”

sieun didn’t answer. couldn’t.

his mouth was raw. his throat ached. his knees were bruised, legs numb. his cock still throbbed with unshed arousal, pressed between his thighs, half-hard and shameful.

he hated that shawn could touch him like that, lightly, sweetly, and still ruin him in the same breath.

he hated more how he leaned into it anyway.

shawn’s thumb dragged lazily across his bottom lip, smearing slick across the already swollen skin.

“you’re such a good boy, sieun. if only you’d listen more.” his voice was low, layered with a mix of frustration and something like regret, a weight that settled heavy in the quiet room.

he straightened, sliding his cock back into the confines of his pants, buttoning and zipping with slow, deliberate movements, like putting on armor, like preparing to vanish. his gaze flicked briefly to sieun, unreadable and sharp.

just as he reached the door, sieun’s voice cracked through the silence, small and shaky.

“will you… take care of it?”

shawn paused, fingers tightening briefly on the door handle. then, without turning fully back, he said simply,

“yes.”

his voice was short, final.

“stop thinking about this,” he added, tone clipped but not unkind. “focus on winning a medal. that’s what matters now.”

with that, he opened the door and stepped out, the quiet click echoing behind him, leaving sieun with the weight of his words, and the cold space where hope used to live.

sieun’s legs gave out beneath him the moment shawn’s footsteps faded, and he collapsed onto the cold, unforgiving floor. the chill seeped through his skin, biting at the rawness left in his throat and lips, making every breath feel jagged and uneven.

his body, still tangled in the thick haze of subspace, trembled uncontrollably, small, involuntary twitches rippling through his limbs like echoes of something he couldn’t quite hold onto. the ache of no aftercare pressed deep into his muscles and bones, screaming in silent agony where touch and comfort should have been.

he curled slightly, trying to fold into himself, seeking warmth that wasn’t there. his chest rose and fell in shallow, uneven breaths, eyes fluttering shut only to snap open again, pupils dilated and distant. the emptiness around him stretched wide, swallowing him whole, leaving nothing but the harsh sting of loneliness and shame.

his fingers twitched against the floor, clawing at nothing, as his mind drifted, lost somewhere between pain and numbness, surrender and defiance.

and there, in that cold silence, sieun lay broken, aching, utterly alone.

it took sieun a long, slow while to crawl back to himself, his body still trembling, fragile as if made of glass, his mind thick and heavy like it was moving through water. the cold tile pressed against his skin, every nerve raw and aching, memories of what had just happened swirling in a haze that refused to clear.

finally, after endless moments of stillness, his fingers stirred. with a tentative, trembling touch, he reached into the pocket of his sweat-soaked pants and pulled out his phone. the screen lit up cold and bright, a stark contrast to the dull numbness inside him.

his thumb hovered uncertainly over the keyboard, hesitating as the weight of each word settled in his chest. then, slowly, carefully, he began to type:

sorry, training ran longer than i thought. i’ll come find you as soon as i can. if you get a moment, please text me where you are :)

he read the message over once, the words feeling fragile.

with a shaky breath, he pressed send.

sieun pushed himself up from the cold floor, legs weak and unsteady beneath him. his breath came in shallow, uneven pulls as he wiped the wetness from his cheeks with the back of his hand. every movement felt heavy, like swimming through thick syrup, but he forced himself to stand, to move.

he glanced nervously toward the door of the storage room, eyes flicking across the dim hallway beyond. the quiet was almost too complete. he slipped out carefully, shoulders hunched, scanning for any sign of someone who might notice him, and he made his way toward the locker room.

inside, the air was thick with the sharp scent of sweat and cleaning chemicals. he moved quickly, fingers fumbling for the latch on the bathroom door. the lock clicked behind him, sealing him away from the world for a moment longer.

the cold water splashed down the first time he turned the tap, sharp and biting against his skin, dragging away the residue of everything he’d just endured. the steady rush of water was both punishment and mercy, washing over bruises and shame, over trembling limbs and the ache that wouldn’t quite leave him.

he closed his eyes, letting the water soak into his hair, stream down his face, drip from his swollen lips.

and shamefully, hesitantly, his hand moved down—against himself—needing something, anything, to feel control, to touch some spark of relief buried deep beneath the pain.

his fingers trembled as they moved, slow and uncertain at first, then with mounting urgency. the cold water ran over him, mixing with the heat that bloomed low in his belly, a confusing, fragile arousal rising.

soft, broken breaths escaped him as he pushed himself further, chasing a release that felt both forbidden and necessary.

finally, his body clenched, shuddering in quiet desperation, the tension breaking with a shuddering gasp. he came alone beneath the cold spray, trembling, tears mingling with the water running down his face.

he stayed under the water a while longer, letting it wash over him—cleansing, but never quite enough.

sieun turned off the water, the sudden silence ringing loud in his ears. he stood there a moment longer, letting the last droplets slide down his skin. he stepped out of the shower, shivering as the cold air hit his soaked skin. the bare tiles beneath his feet sent a chill up his spine, but no matter how much the water washed over him, he still didn’t feel clean, not really.

but it had to be enough.

his eyes scanned the locker room quickly, heart picking up when he spotted the neatly folded spare clothes tucked away in a corner, fresh, soft fabric that smelled faintly of detergent and something almost like hope.

he pulled them on slowly, savoring the smoothness against his bruised skin.

just as he fastened the last button, his phone buzzed sharply against the locker’s metal surface. he pulled it out with trembling hands, unlocking it to see a new message.

suho

my little hardworker—i’m in the gym, by the blue punching bag on the right. come find me when you’re ready.

a small flicker of warmth stirred in his chest, a fragile promise amid the cold.

oh, suho. sweet, sweet, suho. how does just knowing he’s there make things feel a little less awful, sieun wondered. even when everything’s a mess, the thought of suho waiting somehow makes it easier to keep going.

he stayed in the locker room for a while, standing in front of the mirror. his reflection looked tired, pale skin, eyes sad and lips still swollen and cracked. he blinked slowly, trying to steady himself, trying to find something normal in that face staring back.

he smoothed his shirt down awkwardly, took a shaky breath, and forced himself to hold his head a little higher.

he finally left the locker room, shoulders tense, jaw set. the hallway felt too bright, the air too sharp against his skin. he didn’t let himself slow down. every step was focused, automatic, just get to the gym, just find suho before he starts to worry.

he didn’t want suho looking for him. he just needed to get there, to see him.

the doors to the gym creaked softly as he pushed them open. inside, the space buzzed with muted sounds, gloves hitting bags, sneakers squeaking on the mat, the low hum of a radio playing something forgettable. it was warm, the kind of warmth that clung to your skin, smelled like rubber and sweat and determination.

sieun’s eyes scanned the room quickly, skipping past the clusters of athletes, the trainers pacing, the dull thud of gloves meeting pads, until he saw him.

suho was facing the bag, jaw tight in focus, shirt clinging to his back with sweat, arms flexing as he adjusted the wraps around his wrists. his broad shoulders rose and fell with each breath, muscles shifting beneath skin like they had purpose, like every part of him was built to fight, to protect, to endure. even still, there was something graceful about the way he moved. controlled. practiced. powerful without even trying.

his hair was damp, pushed back from his forehead, and when he turned slightly, sieun caught the sharp line of his jaw, the dark lashes that framed his eyes. he looked serious. beautiful, even when he wasn’t trying to be. maybe especially then.

something fluttered low in sieun’s stomach. butterflies. 

how was it that after everything, after the storage room and the shower, just seeing suho made his chest ache in a completely different way?

sieun’s steps slowed for a second. then picked up again.

he needed to see him. needed to hear his voice.

suho didn’t notice him at first, too locked into the rhythm of his movements, the steady tap of his fists into the bag, the sound of leather thudding under his control. his breathing was even, purposeful. focused in that way that always made him seem untouchable.

sieun stepped quietly into his line of sight, setting his skating bag down near the bench closest to where suho was training. the soft shuffle of the bag on the floor finally pulled suho’s attention. he turned slightly, eyes still bright from exertion, and when he saw sieun, his face lit up with that familiar fondness, soft and full of warmth like it always was, like he didn’t even have to think about it.

but then he really looked.

his smile faltered. faded entirely.

“what’s happened?” he asked, voice low but immediate, his hands falling still mid-adjustment of the wraps.

sieun felt that question settle heavy between them. he could see the concern start to form in suho’s eyes, see the subtle shift in his posture, the way he was already preparing to come closer, already reading every flicker of expression on sieun’s face like it was a language only he understood.

sieun blinked, forcing a small, confused smile. “what do you mean?” he asked, trying to sound casual, light, like nothing was wrong. like he didn’t know exactly what suho meant.

but suho didn’t answer right away. his eyes searched sieun’s face, moving over his features with that same careful precision he used when taping up his hands or lining up a punch, intent and unflinching.

“your face…” suho started, but the words faltered halfway out of his mouth. he stopped himself, lips pressing together as if realizing how it sounded.

he stepped forward instead, closing the distance between them with quiet certainty, his hand lifting to cradle sieun’s jaw. his thumb barely touched the skin beneath his eye.

but sieun flinched.

shawn had touched him couple hours ago. rough and claiming. and now suho, clean and kind, wanted to touch him too, and something in sieun rebelled. it didn’t feel right. it felt wrong to let that kindness touch what was still dirty. not when his skin still remembered the sting. not when it hadn’t even cooled down.

he took a step back before he could stop himself, the contact burning more than comforting. he shook his head slightly, eyes darting down, the gesture automatic. too raw, too fast.

suho’s hand froze mid-air.

“sorry, i just… got emotional,” sieun muttered quickly, voice thin. “about seongje. i found out he doesn’t have any parents. no one looking for him. no one even wondering where he is.”

he shook his head once, as if trying to make sense of it, to push the heaviness back down where it wouldn't choke him. “no one cares.”

suho stepped closer, more cautious this time. his hand hovered like he wasn’t sure whether to touch sieun or not. “you care,” he said, voice steady. “that’s what matters.”

sieun’s throat bobbed as he nodded, still not quite trusting his voice. he didn’t know how to explain it, the guilt that felt too big for his chest, or the way the silence around seongje’s absence was starting to feel louder than anything else.

suho’s voice was soft, cautious, as if treading carefully around a wound. “so... you talked to him then?” he asked, eyes searching sieun’s face, not naming shawn but making it clear who he meant.

sieun swallowed, the tight knot in his chest tightening. “yeah,” he whispered, voice barely steady. “i did.”

he hesitated, fingers twisting at the edge of his sleeve, looking anywhere but suho. “he said he will take care of it. i think.”

suho nodded slowly, his eyes never leaving sieun’s face. the quiet certainty in his expression was a small anchor in the storm of sieun’s worries.

“good,” suho said softly, then reached out, his fingers curling gently around sieun’s wrist, careful, almost reverent. “i know a lot of people from my gym, i can ask around if anyone’s seen him.”

his grip tightened just a little, as if to offer more than words could. “and we could put up flyers, too. get the word out.”

sieun blinked, swallowing hard at the kindness in suho’s voice, the steady confidence he seemed to draw from nowhere. for a moment, the weight in his chest eased, just enough to breathe a little deeper.

“thank you,” sieun murmured, voice rough. “for not letting me be alone in this.”

suho’s smile was quiet but real, a promise without words. “you’re never alone. not with me.”

they stood there for a moment, the weight of everything hanging between them in the quiet space. neither quite sure where to look, eyes flickering like they were searching for something unseen.

then suho’s voice broke the silence, soft, a little hesitant, almost shy. “do you want to stay for a bit?” he asked, eyes meeting sieun’s. “i’m almost done with my workout. you’re not too tired, are you? then we can just... go straight to dinner.”

sieun felt a sudden warmth spread through his chest.

“yeah, i’d like that,” he said softly, settling onto the bench at the rink’s edge.

he watched suho move through his workout routine, the steady rhythm of punches, the flex of muscles under skin stretched tight with focus. and sieun could swear that suho was stealing quick glances at him, eyes flickering away the moment their gazes met. the faint pink tint creeping up his cheeks betrayed him, like he was trying, in his own quiet way, to impress sieun with each controlled, powerful movement.

and sieun found himself smiling, heart fluttering at the thought.

after suho finished, his cheeks still tinged with that shy, unspoken warmth, as they began walking slowly toward the cafeteria. the air between them was quiet but charged, carrying a gentle tension neither quite knew how to break.

sieun hurried ahead to his room, the soft echo of his footsteps fading as he dropped his bag and grabbed the tray they’d left behind that morning.

he returned quickly, finding suho already seated at a small table, waiting patiently. the way suho looked up as sieun approached. soft, expectant—made sieun’s heart catch, a quiet comfort settling over the moment.

sieun and suho sat side by side at the cafeteria table, the evening light casting soft shadows across their trays. dinner was simple but hearty, sieun had grilled chicken breast with steamed broccoli and a small serving of quinoa, alongside a fresh mixed greens salad lightly dressed with olive oil and lemon. suho’s tray held a bowl of some soup, a small plate of sautéed spinach with garlic, and a generous helping of brown rice topped with teriyaki-glazed salmon.

for sieun, it was the first time in a long while he wasn’t eating alone in the cafeteria. the quiet hum of other diners faded into the background as suho shared a story about his grandmother.

“she used to bake honey cakes late at night,” suho said with a soft smile, “even when she told me to sleep. said a little sweetness makes the hard days easier.”

sieun’s gaze softened as he listened, his eyes drifting to suho’s lips now and then, drawn by some silent gravity.

suho kept telling the story, his voice steady and calm, even as his thumb wandered gently along sieun’s lips. he slowly wiped away the last traces of dinner from sieun’s mouth, careful, without hurry. sieun’s cheeks flamed, and he quickly looked down at his empty plate, heart racing in quiet surprise. suho’s words continued flowing softly, filling the space between them.

the cafeteria buzzed faintly around them, but in that small bubble, time felt slow, soft, and kind.

Chapter Text

spring had come quietly, softening the sharp edges of the cold months before. outside, the air was warm with the subtle promise of summer, sunlight spilled golden across the trees, and the gentle hum of life stirred around the ranch.

sieun felt the shift deep in his bones, something about the way the days stretched longer, warmer, slower. it was like the world itself was learning to breathe again. and every day, without fail, suho was there.

he was always there at the rink, just beyond the boards, careful to stay out of sight whenever the right people moved through the halls or watched from the shadows. sieun knew how suho maneuvered — quiet, deliberate, avoiding the sharp edges of trouble without ever losing focus on him.

suho spent many nights in sieun’s room, their shared space a small island of calm. mornings were always gentle, soft nudges, sleepy smiles, whispered goodbyes before the grind of training pulled them away to their separate routines. then, by evening, they were back again, the familiar ritual folding over them like a soft cloak.

sometimes, sieun would just lie beside suho, the quiet weight of the room settling around them like a whispered secret. suho’s breathing would be slow and even, the gentle rise and fall of his chest a steady rhythm against the soft sheet.

sieun’s eyes would trace the curve of suho’s face, the peacefulness there like something fragile, something he wanted to protect with everything inside him.

in those still moments, a thought would bloom — fragile, but fierce.

after the world championships, after all the pain and endless practice, he would place. he would stand on the podium, the bright lights washing over him, the crowd’s cheers humming in his ears. he would feel the weight of the medal around his neck, but more than that — he would tell suho.

he would go back to new york, find him, close the distance that had stretched between them too long, and press his lips soft and sure against suho’s. and then, finally, he would say it.

he imagined the way suho’s face would soften. maybe he’d smile, maybe not. but sieun knew he’d listen.

“i’m in love with you.”

these thoughts were nonstop in his head, swirling and steady like a quiet storm. he loved suho, had loved him for a long time now, nearly a year. maybe even from the beginning, from the very first moment he’d seen him.

but the fear was there, too. suho was his best friend, the one person he didn’t want to lose. the risk felt huge, terrifying. and yet, beneath the fear, there was something else. faith. faith that suho could love him back, that maybe one day, they could be something more than just close, something real.

and so he held onto that hope, fragile but bright, even in the darkest moments.

shawn was still touching sieun. again taking what he wanted since that day in the storage room. and sieun, he still let him. but for some reason, shawn hadn’t lent him out anymore.

maybe it was because of that night when shawn broke sieun’s wrist. maybe it was because the world championships were so close now, the tension thick in the air. whatever the reason, sieun felt the change deep inside, shawn’s grip was still there, but quieter.

he often taunted sieun, his voice dripping with cruel amusement whenever they were alone, testing him, breaking him down piece by piece. he loved to push sieun’s limits, reminding him of the twisted hold he had.

can he make you scream like i do?

 can he make you beg the way i do?

does suho know how deep you can fall? how much you’ll take? or am i the only one who’s ever really had you?

shawn said those things with a cruel smirk, his voice low and rough as he thrust up into sieun’s mouth, catching him alone every now and then.

he never penetrated him, surely because the championships were coming up, and he was worried about sieun’s performance on the ice.

and it was like that for a while — sieun drifting between two worlds. noon, spent on his knees in shawn’s office, swallowing the bitter taste of something familiar. and midnight, curled in suho’s arms, warm and steady, a quiet refuge from everything else.

and it would be fine, and sieun could do it, hold the line between the two worlds—until that one day.

it was a warm morning, sunlight filtering softly through the high windows of the skating rink, dust motes dancing in the golden beams. sieun had just finished his practice, sweat still clinging to his skin, heart pounding from the rhythm of jumps and spins that finally felt steady, sure.

then the doors slammed open, sharp and sudden, shattering the quiet hum of the rink.

shawn burst in, his face a storm of rage and something darker. he came so fast to sieun there was no time to think. within seconds, he’d closed the distance, shoving sieun’s back hard against the cold wall of the rink. his breath was ragged, eyes burning with a fury that made the air thick.

“you stupid whore,” he hissed, teeth clenched like he couldn’t contain himself. “what did you do?”

his voice dropped to a low whisper, sharp and dangerous, meant for no one but sieun to hear, except the coach standing silently nearby, watching the tense scene unfold.

sieun’s eyes widened, confusion and terror flooding his face all at once. his body tensed against the wall, heart pounding so loud he was sure shawn could hear it. panic swelled in his chest, sharp and breathless.

“w-what’s going on?”

his eyes darted nervously between shawn’s furious face and the coach standing just a few feet away, unsure if he should beg for help or brace for whatever was coming next. shawn didn’t wait, he grabbed sieun’s wrist roughly, dragging him toward the exit.

“come with me,” he snapped, voice sharp and low.

sieun hesitated, heart pounding, eyes wide, frozen in place for a heartbeat too long. shawn’s glare darkened, his breath a hiss cutting through the cold air.

“right now.”

with shaking hands, sieun bent down, fumbling with his laces. the clink of hooks and eyelets echoed through the rink as he slipped off his skates and left them behind. then he followed, padding after shawn in nothing but socks, each step sending a jolt of cold up his spine.

shawn strode ahead without looking back, footsteps harsh and fast. the echo swallowed sieun’s smaller, quieter ones as he trailed behind, heart hammering in his chest.

what did i do?

the office door clicked shut behind them and locked with a finality that made sieun flinch. he turned slowly to face shawn, heart thundering, eyes wide. before he could speak, shawn struck him, a sharp slap across the face that sent sieun crumpling to the floor. the world tilted. pain bloomed hot across his cheek. his breath caught in his throat.

everything dimmed for a moment.

shawn loomed over him, eyes dark and burning with fury. “you went to the fucking police?” he spat, voice low and venomous. “i told you to stop thinking about this. you never listen, do you? never.” his words sliced through the thick silence, heavy with rage and bitter disappointment.

what?

sieun choked on a breath. sobs broke through before he could swallow them back. grief hit him like a blow — sudden and deep — and he didn’t understand why it hurt so much. his mind spiraled back to that suffocating room, shawn’s hands tightening around his throat, the fight to breathe, to live.

the past was bleeding into the present. dragging him under.

“what are you talking about?” he whispered, confusion and fear twisting inside him. „police? for what? i didn’t—i wouldn’t—”

then, like a cold wave crashing over him, the pieces snapped into place.

seongje.

his heart stopped. he looked up, panic flickering beneath his skin.

“you told me you reported it,” sieun said, voice shaking but sharp. “you lied?”

shawn didn’t even flinch at sieun’s words. instead, his eyes darkened with a hard edge, voice low and sharp.

“if not you, then who?” he spat, stepping closer like a predator circling its prey. “you already paraded new york city, plastered those damn posters everywhere—think that’s going unnoticed?”

his words hung heavy, bitter and accusing, as if sieun’s attempts to help had been nothing but a reckless betrayal.

“unnoticed?” sieun’s voice cracked, tears streaming freely now. “that’s the whole point. i want it to be noticed. seongje’s been missing for over a month.”

his sobs rattled through him, raw and desperate.

“all this time, no one was looking? you lied. you lied to me.”

sieun’s voice broke into a desperate whisper. “i hate you. i fucking hate you.”

before sieun could brace himself, shawn grabbed him roughly from the floor, shaking him hard enough to make his head spin. his voice was low, dangerous, shaking with anger.

“shut the fuck up.”

then he shoved sieun down again, hard. his eyes were cold. almost bored.

“now, you stupid slut,” he hissed, “you’re going to the main building, to the office there. you’re going to walk up to that nice policeman and you’re going to say you don’t know anything. got it?”

sieun’s voice trembled as he kept rambling, desperate to be heard. “he’s gone—seongje’s gone—and nobody’s doing anything—”

“enough,” shawn barked, his fury twisting his face into something monstrous.

his gaze darkened, voice dropping to a threatening whisper.

„i swear, i’ll pull you out of the championships.”

sieun’s eyes widened, the room suddenly closing in, the air thick and suffocating.

„i’ll kick your boyfriend off the ranch. break his contract. he won’t debut in juniors. understand me?”

sieun lay there, staring up at him, the world narrowing to a dull ring of disbelief. he couldn’t speak. couldn’t move. the betrayal was too sharp. it pressed in like a blade.

they never looked for him.

shawn was too busy, or worse — he never cared. not about seongje. not about any of them. the weight of it crushed something in sieun’s chest. his lips parted, but nothing came out. just the ache. just the break.

shawn stepped back, his figure cutting a sharp silhouette against the dim light of the office. the door creaked open, the cool air rushing in.

“get up,” he said coldly, voice steady but laced with finality. “and fix your face.”

sieun’s limbs barely worked. but he moved, wiping at his cheeks, smoothing his shirt, trying to press the panic down beneath the surface. he felt hollow. a body on autopilot. a doll with cracked porcelain skin. the door shut behind them. and for a long moment, the hallway outside the rink was painfully quiet.

it wasn’t over. he kept telling himself that maybe now, with the detective involved, something would shift.

the hallway outside felt cold, the sterile fluorescent lights flickering overhead, echoing the flicker of hope dying inside him. with every step, the weight of shawn’s threats clung tighter, the promise to pull him from the championships, to ruin suho’s chances, to shatter everything sieun had been fighting for.

he walked slowly, socked feet silent against the polished floor, hair still damp with sweat from practice. he’d changed into a clean hoodie in the locker room, splashed water on his face, but nothing could fix how he looked — not really. his skin was pale, eyes swollen, and the shape of his mouth still trembled every few seconds without warning.

before leaving, he sat briefly on the bench to put on his shoes, fingers clumsy, pulling the laces too tight.

he approached the admin office doors like they might burn him.

through the small glass panel, he could see someone already waiting inside — a man in a gray windbreaker, with a small badge clipped to the front. he wasn’t in uniform, just jeans and a collared shirt, like someone trying not to scare anyone. he looked tired. young, maybe mid-thirties.

shawn wasn’t in the room.

for a second, sieun froze. every part of him wanted to run. to turn around, go back to the rink, to suho. but his feet didn’t move. shawn’s voice echoed in his head again, venomous and sharp — you’re going to say you don’t know anything. got it?

sieun reached for the handle, his hand barely steady. the door creaked open.

the man inside stood slowly, offering a polite, practiced smile. “you must be sieun?” he asked gently. “thanks for coming. i’m detective ramos. i won’t take too much of your time.”

sieun nodded once. it felt like his head was stuffed with cotton. “okay,” he said, voice thin. he stepped inside, arms hugging himself tightly.

the door clicked shut behind him.

“you can sit down if you want,” the officer added, motioning to one of the chairs by the table. his voice was warm but firm, the kind of tone used for skittish animals and exhausted children.

sieun sat.

detective ramos sat across from him, flipping open a small notebook. “i’m here because someone filed a missing person’s report a few days ago,” he said simply. “a boy named seongje keum, who used to live here. did you know him?”

his breath hitched at the name. sieun nodded slowly. “yes. he—he skates here.”

“do you know when you saw him last?”

sieun stared down at his hands, thumbs twisting tightly together. the words came slower than he meant them to. “it’s been… a while. a month. maybe more.”

detective ramos gave a quiet nod, writing something down.

“was that unusual?” he asked gently. “did he talk about leaving?”

sieun hesitated. the silence stretched. something cold curled around his spine. instead of answering, he stared at the detective for a long moment, then asked quietly, his voice hoarse and uncertain,

“why are you talking to me?”

the detective gave a small nod, like he expected the question.

“you were mentioned,” he said simply. “we were told you might’ve been one of the last people to see him. that you two were close.”

the words made something cold settle in sieun’s chest. the detective sat down again, folding his hands loosely on the table between them.

“this is just routine,” he added. “we’re trying to understand the timeline. anything you remember might help.”

sieun nodded slowly, though his thoughts were already spiraling.

a whole month. a whole month and nobody did anything.

and now someone had finally noticed. and it was too late.

or maybe it wasn’t. maybe—

“you okay?” the man asked, breaking through his daze.

sieun blinked. nodded again. his fingers curled tightly in the fabric of his hoodie. the silence stretched, until finally, he spoke.

“he… was gone sometimes,” he said quietly. “not for long. usually just a night. but he’d always come back the next morning.”

the detective didn’t interrupt, just nodded once, like he was taking mental notes. his expression didn’t change, but his pen tapped softly once against the edge of his notepad before he spoke.

“did he tell you where he was going?”

sieun hesitated. swallowed hard.

upper manhattan. old businessman.

the detective waited, polite, patient.

you could tell him, sieun thought. you could say the truth. you could say it out loud and maybe something would happen. maybe someone would finally do something. maybe—

but if he did, the truth wouldn’t just fall on seongje. it would spread like rot, unravelling everything. the ranch. the sponsors. the boys. himself.

he saw it too clearly — the questions that would follow. he couldn’t risk it. not with the world championships this close. not with suho. not with everything already so goddamn fragile. he forced a slow breath.

“he mentioned… meeting someone in the city,” sieun said finally. “i don’t know who. he didn’t say a name.”

he felt his heart pounding in his chest like it was trying to warn him.

“i think… manhattan. that’s all he said.”

the detective gave a small nod, scribbling something down. “you ever see him leave? car, cab, anyone with him?”

sieun shook his head. “no. not really. just… gone by the time i woke up sometimes.”

the detective leaned back slightly in his chair. not skeptical, just quiet.

“okay,” he said after a moment. “did seongje seem troubled at all lately? withdrawn, depressed, anything like that?”

sieun blinked. his brain stuttered, lurching back through memory. his throat felt dry again.

“i don’t know,” he finally said, softer. “we weren’t that close.”

he didn’t look up when he said it. there was a pause, just the faint scratch of the detective’s pen across the notepad. then:

“but isn’t it true that you had an intimate relationship with him?”

the words dropped like stones between them. sieun’s head jerked slightly, his eyes flicking up. he opened his mouth, closed it again. he could feel the air pull tighter in his lungs. a flush bloomed across his cheeks before he could stop it, hot and shameful, rising fast beneath his skin.

intimate.

he hadn’t expected it to be said out loud. not like that. not in that tone, careful, neutral, factual. but not unkind.

he wanted to say no. wanted to shake his head and make it untrue. but the detective was looking at him like he already knew.

“um…” he blinked quickly, throat bobbing. “y-yeah. i mean… sometimes.”

his voice sounded too small in the office.

“it wasn’t serious,” he added in a rush, eyes darting to the wall. “i think… i think a lot of us do that. sometimes. it’s a small circle, and we don’t really meet people outside the ranch, and we’re all… under pressure.”

he didn’t know if that made it sound better or worse. he bit down on the inside of his cheek and forced himself to look at the detective for half a second. the man’s face didn’t change. no surprise, no judgment. just a faint nod as his pen moved silently across the page.

but now, saying it out loud like that, he wasn’t sure what it sounded like to someone outside. maybe it sounded careless. transactional. maybe it sounded like love. it wasn’t. it wasn’t. but it also wasn’t nothing.

and wasn’t that the worst part?

because now seongje was gone. and all sieun had left was a handful of vague memories, early mornings, cold skin, short glances in the hall. and this guilt that was eating him from the inside out.

he should’ve noticed something. should’ve asked more. should’ve—

“so,” the detective said gently, breaking into the spiral of thought. “you’d say it was casual.”

sieun nodded quickly, grateful for the label, for the box to put it in.

“yeah,” he said. “casual.”

but the word didn’t feel right in his mouth.

the detective finally closed his notebook with a soft snap and slid it into the worn leather case at his side.

“thank you, sieun,” he said, his voice measured, not unkind. “i appreciate you taking the time to talk. if anything else comes to mind — even something small — don’t hesitate to reach out.”

he pulled a card from his wallet and placed it gently on the table between them. “that’s my number. personal and office line.”

sieun nodded slowly, his fingers inching toward the card but not quite touching it yet.

“we’ll be in contact,” the detective added, already rising to his feet.

sieun stood as well, legs a little unsteady beneath him.

the man collected his jacket, shrugged it on with practiced ease, and reached for his case. he didn’t look directly at sieun when he spoke next, his eyes were on the door, tone still quiet, almost reflective.

“it’s not every day an olympic-level athlete disappears for over a month before anyone files a report,” he said, adjusting the strap of his bag over his shoulder. “that’s an awfully long time for no one to notice.”

he didn’t wait for a response.

just turned back toward the hallway, his steps slow and even, leaving sieun standing there in the quiet, holding the card like it might burn through his fingers.

for a second, sieun didn’t move.

the card in his hand felt heavier than paper should. the words printed on it blurred slightly, not from tears, but from something deeper. a pressure behind his eyes. a fog creeping back in.

a month.

an olympic-level athlete.

he could still hear the detective’s voice, calm and even. no accusation. just… observation. a month was long. too long. it should have meant sirens, helicopters, interviews, headlines. but it hadn’t. just silence. and shawn. and secrets.

sieun swallowed. his throat still burned from earlier, from everything. he wanted to cry, but it felt like the tears were locked somewhere deep, unreachable.

he tucked the card into the front pocket of his hoodie and walked slowly to the door. his shoes tapped softly on the floor, too loud in the stillness. when he opened it, shawn was there. leaning against the far wall, arms crossed, looking like he had been waiting for hours instead of minutes. his eyes met sieun’s the moment the door opened, sharp and unreadable, already scanning his face, his posture, like he was hunting for something to punish.

sieun stood frozen in the doorway for a heartbeat, then two.

“you done?” shawn asked. his tone wasn’t curious. it was cold. clipped. like they were discussing an errand.

sieun nodded, the motion barely there.

“you said anything fucking stupid in there?”

the words were sharp, but quiet.

sieun shook his head quickly. “no. i didn’t say anything. i just told him seongje used to go to the city. i didn’t—”

shawn cut him off with a scoff, loud and disgusted.

“if he finds out anything, if anyone starts asking questions—anything beyond what you said—they’ll dig. you understand me?”

he stepped closer. not touching. not yet. just close enough for sieun to feel the heat of him.

sieun nodded, stiffly.

“no, say it.”

“i understand,” sieun whispered.

shawn’s hand lifted slowly, like he might touch his face—but he didn’t. he just tapped twice against sieun’s chest, right above where the card sat.

“then you better pray that’s the end of it.”

with that, he stepped back. turned. walked down the hallway and left him standing there.

sieun didn’t move for a long time.

it wasn’t the end of it.

for a day or two, the silence held. the ranch slipped back into its routine, early training sessions, blades carving arcs into the rink, protein shakes lined up on cafeteria trays. people spoke in murmurs about beijing, about jump rotations, endurance schedules, rest days. the detective was forgotten quickly. or maybe just ignored.

but on the third morning, it hit.

an article, brief, clinical, buried beneath medal predictions and olympic prep headlines.

OLYMPIC MEDALIST MISSING AHEAD OF WORLD CHAMPIONSHIPS

seongje keum, a figure skater training under the national olympic committee, has been reported missing just weeks before the world championships in beijing.

last seen on march 2nd, keum was expected to compete internationally this season, following a breakout year that included a silver medal at the most recent winter olympics and a celebrated run on the junior grand prix circuit. sources say he left his residence to travel into manhattan, new york city, and has not returned.

law enforcement has confirmed an open investigation is underway, but no further details have been released at this time.

keum is known for his striking musical interpretation and unusually strong spin technique for his division.

anyone with information is urged to contact the proper authorities.

they used a photo from last season — seongje in his dark red costume, chin lifted, eyes sharp, mid-spin. he looked beautiful in it. unreal.

and yet, beneath it, missing.

the article didn’t mention where he trained. not the late report, not the ranch. no hint of connection, no criticism, just a sterile account of absence. but it was there. published, share, read. and sieun felt the quiet crack ripple through the walls.

his eyes stayed fixed on the screen long after the words had stopped meaning anything. it wasn’t the headline. it wasn’t even the photo. it was that word. missing. and how easily it followed seongje’s name now, like that was all he was.

the posters hadn’t done much. they’d hung them together, him and suho, wandering around manhattan with a roll of tape and a stack of black-and-white flyers that curled at the corners in the wind. it had made him feel like they were doing something, like the city might care. but no one called. no one asked. eventually they stopped printing more.

what had kept him hopeful longer than he wanted to admit was a friend suho mentioned, someone at his gym who actually knew seongje, but sieun quickly found out that he never heard anything. hadn’t seen seongje, hadn’t spoken to him in a while. he wished he could help, but there was nothing.

sieun’s breath hitched.

it was too early for this, the air too still and the sun too soft through the curtains, but his hands wouldn’t stop trembling. he pressed the phone face-down to his nightstand. tried to hold onto something else. anything else.

he was leaving in two days.

beijing.

he had to be sharp. he had to be perfect.

it was just a routine morning, only one more practice, his last one here. then packing. then the flight. then the lights, the noise, the podium. but his chest wouldn’t stop aching.

he’d seen seongje’s picture so many times before, in press coverage, in rink posters, on old highlight reels. but this was different. this was real, this was final.

he grabbed his jacket off the back of the chair, shoved the sleeves on with sharp, frantic motions, and picked up his phone again, without looking at the screen. it didn’t matter. he already knew the image was burned into his brain.

his shoes felt tight when he pulled them on, fingers fumbling at the laces. every motion was deliberate, mechanical, like he had to wrestle his body back into routine. he couldn’t afford to be a boy right now.

the hallway outside his room was still quiet. the usual early noise of the ranch had already moved elsewhere, breakfast trays, laundry carts, the hum of morning drills. he slipped through it all unnoticed, his hood up, his gaze low.

the rink loomed ahead, familiar, cold, a place both refuge and battlefield. sieun stepped onto the ice, the sharp scrape of blades against the surface ringing clear in the quiet space. his body moved with a practiced grace, every muscle tuned and ready.

he launched into his routine, muscles coiling and releasing like a well-oiled machine. triple toe loops, triple axels, perfectly landed, smooth transitions between elements. the chill of the rink kissed his flushed cheeks, but he barely noticed. every jump was a small victory, every landing a quiet defiance against the storm swirling just beneath his skin.

in the corner of his eye, he caught movement, suho slipping silently through the entrance, careful to avoid anyone else. suho’s gaze locked onto sieun’s skating, eyes bright with something unspoken. a warmth blossomed deep inside sieun’s chest, but so did a sudden, familiar shyness. he felt his heart hitch, his focus waver for a breath, but he pushed it down, burying the flutter in his ribs and letting his blades carve smooth lines across the ice.

when the music faded, sieun finally stepped off the ice, and peeled off his gloves, his breath still catching from the last jump as his coach stepped closer, eyes sharp and focused.

“solid landings today,” he said, voice low but steady. “you’re stronger—more consistent. but remember, don’t rush the transitions. judges notice the small things. keep your arms fluid, like water.”

sieun nodded, wiping sweat from his brow with the back of his hand. “i know. i’ll work on it.”

the coach gave a small, approving nod. “good. two days left before you leave for beijing. use this time well. you’re ready, sieun. you just need to believe it.”

sieun swallowed hard, the weight of those words settling in. “i will.”

the coach clapped a firm hand on his shoulder. “and don’t let that boy distract you.”

a flicker of warmth sparked in sieun’s chest at the mention of suho. “he’s not distracting.”

the coach looked at him knowingly. “go, get changed.”

as sieun was leaving, still catching his breath, the cold air clinging to the edge of his hoodie, he spotted suho already waiting near the rink doors. his hair was damp from his own morning training, hoodie sleeves pushed up to his elbows, and the moment he saw sieun, his entire face lit up.

“you were amazing,” suho said immediately, falling into step beside him as they walked. his voice was too loud for how quiet the rink still was, but suho never did know how to whisper when he was excited. “i mean it, you didn’t miss a single landing—your jumps? it looked like you had wings or something, what the hell.”

sieun laughed softly, ducking his head, cheeks pink from more than just exertion. “it wasn’t perfect.”

“it really was,” suho said, still going, like the words were pouring out before he could stop them. “you’re going to win, i can feel it. i don’t care what the others are doing. you’re going to go to beijing, stand on that podium, and blow everyone away. they won’t even see you coming.”

sieun couldn’t help it, he smiled, warmth creeping into his chest, slow and quiet like sunlight through frost.

“you really think so?”

“obviously,” suho said, nudging his shoulder. “i’ve never been more sure of anything.”

they walked together toward the locker room, the sound of their steps soft against the rubber flooring. for a second, it felt like they were the only ones in the world.

inside the locker room, the air was thick with the scent of sweat and disinfectant, white lights humming quietly above them. it was nearly empty this time of day—most of the others were either still on the ice or already gone. sieun sat on the wooden bench by his locker and began untying his skates, his fingers still trembling slightly from the adrenaline.

suho leaned against the wall beside him, arms crossed, still watching him with that stupid, glowing admiration that always made sieun’s chest ache a little. like he didn’t know what to do with the way suho looked at him. like he wanted to fold into it and also run away.

suho shifted a little closer, his voice low and easy. “so... two days, huh?”

sieun nodded, reaching for his water bottle. “yeah. early flight. they want me there a week ahead to adjust, get some practice time in, meet with the choreographer once more... all the usual stuff.”

“mm,” suho hummed, eyes following the motion of sieun’s hands. “they’re really loading you up.”

“it’s fine,” sieun said quietly. “it’s kind of nice. fewer people around. less noise.”


suho leaned back against the bench, a slow grin tugging at his lips. “thank god i’ll be there to see you win.”

sieun blinked, mid-sip. his heart gave a strange, sudden jolt. “wait—what do you mean?”

suho didn’t answer right away. just smiled wider, like something amused him privately, like he was letting sieun guess.

“what do you mean you’ll be there?” sieun asked again, sitting up straighter now, water bottle forgotten in his lap. “you’re going to be in beijing?”

suho shrugged, too casual to be innocent. “maybe.”

“suho—”

“i mean, you didn’t think i was gonna miss your world debut, did you?” he said, grin crooked, eyes warm and teasing. “what kind of best friend would that make me?”

sieun stared at him, lips parted, something fluttering wild in his chest. he’d pictured standing on the podium so many times—being there alone. but now... now that image was shifting.

“you’re insane,” he blurted, voice thin with disbelief. “how are you even going to get there? tickets are like—crazy expensive. and you’re training nonstop for your own debut, how—how—”

suho just laughed, low and bright, like it was no big deal. “don’t worry about it,” he said, waving a hand. “i bought the ticket last night.”

“what?”

“everything’s figured out,” suho said, still grinning, like he was proud of himself. “talked to my coach. adjusted the schedule. i’ll land the night before your short program.”

sieun’s mouth opened, then closed. he blinked rapidly, trying to catch up to the fact that suho, his best friend, the boy who showed up for him again and again, was actually doing this. was buying plane tickets and rearranging his life just to be there. for him.

“you’re serious,” sieun said, barely above a whisper.

“dead serious.”

sieun shook his head slowly, but he couldn’t stop the way his lips curved, the stunned smile creeping across his face. “you’re actually insane.”

suho bumped their shoulders together, softer this time. “yeah, but you love me for it.”

sieun turned his face away quickly, cheeks flushing, heart slamming hard against his ribs. he didn’t answer. not out loud. but he thought, you don’t even know how much.


suho said it like it was the most obvious thing in the world. like of course he’d cross continents just to see sieun skate. and maybe for him, it was obvious.

sieun looked down, suddenly too full of feeling to speak. then he muttered, “where are you even going to sleep?”

suho scratched the back of his neck, sheepish. “okay, that part i haven’t figured out yet.”

sieun let out a quiet, stunned laugh. he glanced up, eyes flicking to suho’s and then quickly away again. his heart thudded, loud and reckless, before he said it, too fast, too quiet:

“sleep with me.”

suho froze.

his mouth parted, brows rising just slightly, caught somewhere between shock and something unreadable. for a second, the silence between them pressed close and heavy.

sieun’s face flushed deep red. “i mean—” he fumbled, his voice all nerves now. “just—next to me. in my room. my hotel room. it’s got two beds, probably. or, you know, one, but it’s not weird. it’s not like—we won’t tell anyone, so it won’t be a problem—”

suho was still looking at him, wide-eyed, lips tugged into the faintest stunned smile.

sieun rubbed at the back of his neck, his voice smaller now. “i just thought… if you’re coming all that way. you should have somewhere to stay.” he swallowed hard. “with me.”

a beat passed. then suho’s smile softened, and his gaze held sieun’s like it was anchoring him. like it meant more than anything either of them had managed to say out loud.

suho nodded slowly, his smile still lingering at the corners of his lips. “okay,” he said gently, voice a little quieter now. “we’ll be in contact.”

he reached for his own water, took a sip, then glanced at sieun again, but this time, something flickered across his face. something softer. hesitant.

“and after…” suho paused, gaze dropping for a moment before lifting again. “after you have that medal around your neck, i…”

he trailed off, the words catching somewhere in his throat. his fingers tightened slightly around the bottle. then, almost shyly, almost like a confession he wasn’t ready to finish, he looked away and murmured, “i’m going to tell you something.”

he didn’t elaborate. didn’t meet sieun’s eyes.

and sieun just stared at him, heart suddenly racing, the echo of that unfinished promise hanging heavy between them. his eyes narrowed, heart hammering.

“tell me what,” he pressed, voice a little breathless, daring.

suho’s cheeks flamed, the faintest smile tugging at his lips. he looked anywhere but at sieun, fingers fiddling with the hem of his shirt now. “you’ll just have to wait and see,” he mumbled, voice shy and nervous, words tumbling out too fast. “it’s... better this way. surprise, right?”

sieun didn’t say anything at first.

because how could he, when his whole body had gone still, every muscle coiled like it had heard something sacred. something forbidden. like his heart already knew what suho meant, what those words were inching toward. he wanted it. wanted to believe it. wanted to reach across the small distance between them and say just tell me now, i won’t be scared, i won’t ruin it, please don’t make me wait. but he didn't.

instead, sieun’s smile deepened, a playful spark lighting his eyes. “well, i guess i’ll have to tell you something too,” he said, voice low and steady, the promise in his words unmistakable.

suho glanced up, meeting sieun’s gaze with a curious, amused tilt of his head.

“is that so? something nice?”

sieun hesitated, then whispered, “something nice.”

suho’s eyes softened, a warm smile still touching his lips. “then you will get a medal, tell me something nice when you do. and in may you’re going to watch me win as well, okay?”

something about the way suho said those words—so sure, so gentle—made a fragile hope flicker deep inside sieun. he wanted to believe that after everything, they could finally step out of the shadows. that the silence between them could break open and fill with something real, something lasting. 

but the fear still lingered, curling around his thoughts like smoke, what if it all slipped away? what if the moment he’d dreamed of shattered under the weight of reality, the way it did with seongje, without warning, without goodbye?

and yet, looking at suho, with that quiet strength shining in his eyes, sieun found himself daring to hope. daring to imagine a future where love wasn’t just a secret whispered in the dark, but something they could live out loud, where suho and seongje might finally meet, and nothing would have to be heavy anymore.

suho’s voice cut through sieun’s swirling thoughts, gentle but firm.

“come on, let’s grab dinner.”

before sieun could say anything, suho reached down and picked up his bag, carrying it with an easy strength that made sieun’s chest tighten. they moved side by side toward the cafeteria, the hum of evening chatter growing louder with each step.

“training was brutal today,” suho said, voice casual but carrying an edge of exhaustion. “coach’s been pushing me harder than ever. said i need to be ready for may.”

he glanced at sieun with a teasing smirk. “think i’ll make it without collapsing?”

sieun let out a soft laugh, feeling warmth spread through him.

“you’ll be fine,” sieun said quietly. “you always are.”

they reached the cafeteria, its familiar warmth wrapping around them like a soft blanket after the chill of the rink. the low murmur of other athletes talking, the clatter of trays, and the faint scent of food mixed with the faint hum of fluorescent lights created a quiet, almost comforting backdrop.

they ate in comfortable silence. sieun’s thoughts drifted, watching suho’s calm focus as he ate, the steady rhythm grounding him more than words could. sometimes their eyes met, a small smile passing quietly like a secret between them.

after the last bites, they stood and moved toward the rooms. the hallway was quieter now, lights dimmer, footsteps echoing softly on the polished floors. when they reached sieun’s door, they paused. suho’s usual confident presence flickered into something softer, more hesitant.

he cleared his throat, voice soft and a little unsure. “hey, uh... tomorrow’s your day off, right? i was thinking—if you don’t want to just rest the whole time—maybe we could head into the city? together. just... something different, you know? it’s been a while since we did something like that.”

he glanced down for a moment, then back up, eyes searching sieun’s face. “i mean, no pressure. just... thought it might be nice before you leave.”

the nervous edge in his voice softened the words, making them feel honest and tentative, like he was hoping sieun would say yes.

sieun smiled softly, warmth blooming in his chest. “i’d love that,” he said quietly. “where do you want to go?”

suho’s grin returned, a flicker of playful confidence shining through his nerves. “well, i think you still owe me a movie,” he teased, eyes glinting with mischief. “so, i’ll come get you around three. be ready, okay?”

sieun nodded, feeling a flutter of excitement. “i’ll be ready.”

they parted at the hallway corner with a quiet “goodnight,” suho’s hand brushing lightly against sieun’s wrist before he disappeared down the corridor. sieun lingered for a moment longer, staring at the place where suho had stood, lips still curled into a dazed smile.

his room felt softer somehow, warmer. he moved through it on autopilot, still feeling the echo of suho’s presence as he folded away his clothes and padded into the small bathroom.

under the hot stream of the shower, he let his head tip forward, water soaking through his hair and trailing down his spine. steam curled around him, thick and slow.

his mind wandered, without meaning to, without resistance, back to the way suho had looked today. the quiet tilt of his smile, the way his voice had gone shy when he asked sieun out, the gentle way he’d carried his bag like it was nothing.

his breath hitched slightly as his hand moved, slow at first. but it was different now, not like before. there was no shame clinging to it—just longing. no one else came to mind. no distorted image. no fear.

just suho.

he thought about how suho looked when he trained, fierce and focused. how he softened only for him. how he said, “you’re going to watch me win.”

sieun’s hand moved faster, his breaths shallower, hips twitching forward. heat coiled tightly low in his stomach, spreading like fire through his veins. his mouth parted in a gasp, and he came quietly, back arching as water continued to pour over him, washing everything clean. he stayed like that for a moment, forehead pressed to the shower wall, breathing hard.

then, slowly, he reached for the tap. the silence after the water shut off was thick, but not heavy. not lonely.

just quiet.

when he finally climbed into bed, skin warm and damp from the shower, he pressed his cheek into the pillow and smiled to himself. he didn’t know what tomorrow would bring, but he knew who he wanted beside him when it came.

he woke at noon, sunlight spilling like warm silk across his blanket, the brightness pulling gently at the edges of sleep. for a moment, he didn’t move, just blinked slowly at the ceiling, his body sunk deep into the mattress, heavy with comfort.

he couldn’t remember the last time he’d slept that long. maybe not since he was a kid. not without waking up in a cold sweat, not without the weight of schedules and bruises.


but this morning — this morning felt different.

he smiled before he even meant to.

his mind drifted lazily back to his dreams, he and suho had been standing in some sunlit hallway, maybe a hotel or maybe nowhere real at all. suho had leaned in, smiling that lopsided way he did when he was teasing but shy, and then—

sieun’s heart gave a quiet flutter at the memory.

their lips had touched, gentle at first, then deeper, with a kind of aching urgency. he’d felt suho’s hands at his waist, grounding him. felt himself press closer, felt the heat of his skin rise as suho whispered something against his mouth, something low and rough, something that made sieun’s knees go weak in the dream. and then there was a bed, or maybe a couch, and hands under shirts, fingertips trailing over ribs, breath hitching as mouths moved lower.

he turned onto his side, biting his lip to hold back another grin. his thighs rubbed together under the blankets, and his body hummed with the quiet echo of that need, not frantic, not desperate, just present. like suho had imprinted himself somewhere under his skin, and now he didn’t know how to stop thinking about him, even in sleep.

he pressed his face into the pillow and groaned softly, flushed and restless. he didn’t want to move just yet.

the day ahead was still waiting, their trip to the city, suho coming to get him at three, maybe a movie, maybe something more. but for now, he just lay there, smiling softly to himself in the quiet glow of morning.

he started getting ready around 1 pm, slow and deliberate, like the ritual of it might help steady the quiet fluttering inside him. he showered for a long time, the warm water loosening the last remnants of sleep from his limbs. he washed his hair twice, and stood under the spray until his fingers pruned, imagining suho’s eyes on him, the way they sometimes lingered a second too long when he didn’t think sieun noticed.

when he stepped out, he towel-dried his skin with soft, patient strokes, letting his reflection come into focus slowly in the mirror. there was color in his face already, left behind from the dream and the day ahead, but he touched up his cheeks anyway with the faintest sweep of blush. a little concealer under his eyes. a dab of gloss on his lips. subtle. careful.

he stood in front of the closet for too long, changing shirts twice, then settling on one he’d never worn around suho before — soft, thin cotton in a pale color that made his skin look smooth and even. he paired it with jeans that fit just right, then sprayed the perfume suho once complimented offhandedly, back when they weren’t even this close yet.

“you smell nice,” suho had said, that time in the cafeteria line, so casual, like he didn’t even realize the way it made sieun’s stomach twist.

so now he used it, just two spritzes behind his ears and one on his wrist, letting the scent settle on him like a memory.by the time he zipped up his bag and glanced at the clock, it was 2:50. his heart was already racing.

he sat down on the edge of his bed, hands resting in his lap, his foot bouncing before he could stop it. every part of him felt too aware, of the scent clinging to his skin, of the smoothness of the fabric against his arms, of the nervous flutter that wouldn’t leave his stomach no matter how many times he told himself to calm down.

it was just a movie. just suho.

just the boy he shared a bed with most nights. the boy who made him laugh even when everything else felt unbearable. the boy who promised to be there in beijing. who looked at him like he mattered.

he stood up again, checked his reflection one more time, adjusted a fold in his shirt that didn’t really need adjusting. his fingers trembled slightly as he smoothed his hair. every second felt stretched thin.

and then — a knock.

soft, deliberate. two gentle taps against the wood.

sieun’s breath caught. he froze for a second before stepping forward, his pulse hammering against his ribs. he pulled the door open.

and there was suho, in a navy hoodie and a denim jacket layered over it, his dark hair pushed off his forehead, cheeks a little pink. he looked at him, really looked at him — eyes scanning from his hair to his shoes, and something flickered across his face.

not surprise. something warmer.

“hey,” suho said, smiling, casual as always. “you ready?”

sieun’s lips parted. he almost said something — almost joked, almost teased — but the words caught somewhere between his ribs. so he just nodded.

“yeah,” he murmured. “ready.”

suho stepped back to let him out, reaching instinctively to take his bag again, but sieun held onto it this time. just brushed their fingers together, light and electric before sieun closed the door.

they started walking toward the main gate of the ranch, just the two of them, shoulders close, arms occasionally bumping.

“so,” suho said after a moment, glancing sideways. “you look nice.”

sieun looked down, biting back a smile. “you too.”

his smile flickered for only a second. the sun was warm on his skin, the atmosphere between them soft and comforting, but part of him still ached. seongje’s face from that article wouldn’t leave his head, lingering at the edges of his thoughts like a shadow.

they walked quietly to the bus stop, the gravel crunching softly beneath their shoes. suho kept kicking little stones from their path, shoulders loose, hands in his pockets. sieun was too aware of the way they almost brushed together with each step, how easy it felt to fall into rhythm beside him.

the bus arrived a few minutes later, half-full, with that familiar rattle and sigh of old seats and flickering lights. they slid into the back row, the sun casting long streaks across the windows. suho stretched his legs out and looked at him like he always did — like there was nowhere else he’d rather be.

the ride passed quicker than sieun expected. they didn’t talk much. they didn’t need to.

the city crept closer, concrete replacing trees, birdsong giving way to distant horns and the steady pulse of traffic. when they switched to the metro line, it was a short walk underground, the air cooler, tinged with iron and dust. as the train pulled in, suho reached into his pocket and tugged out a small coil of tangled white headphones.

“hey,” he said, nudging sieun gently. “i made you something.”

sieun blinked as suho offered one earbud.

“what?”

“for the ride,” suho said, grinning. “i made a playlist. last night. don’t get too excited, it’s mostly dumb stuff.”

sieun took the earbud carefully, something fluttering in his chest. “you made a playlist… for me?”

“well,” suho said, clearing his throat, suddenly a little shy. “technically it’s for both of us. but yeah. i thought it’d be nice.”

sieun slid the bud into his ear just as the train doors opened and they stepped inside.

they stood close, no seats left, fingers brushing now and then around the shared phone, the music a low, pulsing thread between them. something gentle and upbeat started playing. then something slower. suho kept sneaking glances at him, like he was waiting for a reaction.

sieun didn’t say anything. he just smiled, eyes fixed on the dark tunnel rushing by.

he liked every song. he liked this even more.

when they stepped into the cool dimness of the theater lobby, the air buzzing faintly with voices and the distant scent of buttered popcorn, sieun started toward the ticket counter, only to stop when suho gently tugged his sleeve.

“already got them,” suho said casually, pulling two tickets from his pocket and handing one over.

sieun blinked down at the paper in his hand, surprise flickering through him. the print was warm from suho’s jacket. “you bought them already?”

“figured we’d be late if you had to stand there deciding for ten minutes,” suho teased, grinning. “plus, i didn’t want the good seats to go.”

sieun flushed, smile curling at the corners of his mouth. “you’re such a planner.”

“yeah, well,” suho shrugged. “only for you.”

before sieun could recover from that, suho was already moving toward the concession stand. “now let me get you something.”

“what? no, it’s fine—”

“large popcorn,” suho said firmly, already pointing it out. “and that peach drink you like.”

sieun opened his mouth to protest, but suho shot him a look so full of that quiet, easy affection he always carried, like this wasn’t even a question.

“just let me,” suho added, softer this time.

sieun nodded, eyes lingering on him a moment too long.

he stood beside suho as the popcorn spilled into the tub, the sound loud and sudden. the drink machine buzzed. around them, other couples laughed or leaned into each other. sieun held the tickets in his hand, still warm.

he had the strange feeling that he was exactly where he was meant to be.

when they went inside, screen flickered to life, and soon the hush of anticipation settled over the audience like a blanket. beside sieun, suho shifted just slightly, his thigh brushing against his.

the film opened quietly, animated skies, soft light spilling over mountaintops. it followed two teenagers, strangers to each other, connected by something they didn’t understand. they switched places, dreamt of each other. forgot and remembered, again and again.

sieun leaned forward a little, eyes wide, drawn in completely.

every so often, he felt suho’s gaze on him. not on the screen, not on the characters. on him. it wasn’t obvious, just the subtle shift of air, the faint movement at the corner of his vision. suho stealing glances like he couldn’t help it.

and sieun’s fingers, resting lightly on the armrest between them, started to ache with how aware they were. because every few minutes, suho’s hand crept closer. slowly. like it was moving of its own accord, guided by a pull neither of them said aloud.

on the screen, the boy sprinted up the mountainside, desperate, calling out to someone he wasn’t even sure was real anymore. tears welled up in sieun’s eyes without warning, soft and sudden. he blinked rapidly, wiping at his cheek with the back of his sleeve, hoping suho didn’t notice.

but suho did. his fingers brushed sieun’s. not by accident this time. not hesitant. they just... rested there. not quite holding, but not pulling away either. sieun’s heart beat loud in his ears, louder than the swelling music, louder than anything else in the room.

he didn’t look over.

but he didn’t move his hand either.

the movie ended in a hush of quiet credits and soft sniffles, the room bathed in blue light as people gathered their things. sieun stayed in his seat for a second longer, caught in the soft weight of everything—the film, the closeness, the quiet warmth still lingering in his palm.

as they walked out into the cool spring evening, suho stretched his arms overhead, then glanced sideways at him.

“so?” he asked, lips quirking. “did you like it?”

sieun looked over, a faint smile already there. “yeah,” he said quietly. “i really did.”

they kept walking, but suho slowed suddenly near a glowing storefront. it was the arcade, lit up in neon pink and purple, the glass front showing rows of claw machines and blinking game lights. he stopped right in front of it with a mischievous grin creeping across his face.

“hold on,” he said, and before sieun could even ask, suho had taken his hand and tugged him toward the entrance. sieun blinked at the contact, warmth blooming in his chest again, the echo of the movie still lingering.

inside, the air was filled with cheerful music and the clatter of tokens, the occasional triumphant yell. they wandered slowly between the machines, shoulder to shoulder, until sieun’s gaze snagged on one of the prize bins.

a big, white cat plush sat half-tipped in the claw machine, floppy, too cute for its size, with tiny pink paw pads and sleepy stitched eyes.

suho caught the way sieun’s eyes lingered.

“what’s that?” he asked, leaning in slightly. “what are you looking at?”

sieun flushed, shrugging a little. “nothing. just…” he nodded slightly toward the machine. “that cat. it’s kind of the cutest thing i’ve ever seen.”

suho followed his gaze, spotted it, then squared his shoulders like it was a personal mission.

“well,” he said, voice full of determination, “i’m going to win it for you.”

sieun blinked, surprised. “what—really? suho, you don’t—”

but suho was already stepping closer, slipping coins into the machine with a grin, cracking his knuckles dramatically.

“you’re not getting out of here without that cat,” he said. “watch and be amazed.”

suho’s fingers danced nervously over the joystick, eyes narrowed in concentration as the claw hovered uncertainly above the plush cat. the machine beeped and whirred, the claw descending slowly, closing its metal fingers—then slipping, missing the soft prize by a hair’s breadth.

the first try caught nothing. the second try, the claw dragged the plush cat halfway before dropping it like it changed its mind.

 “i swear this machine is rigged,” he said, voice low and amused.

then after what felt like an eternity, suho finally maneuvered the claw perfectly, the metal fingers curling gently around the plush cat’s soft belly. the machine beeped triumphantly as the claw lifted, holding on, then carefully lowered it into the prize chute.

they both let out a burst of excitement, their voices rising in a shared scream that made a few nearby people glance over with amused smiles. sieun’s laughter bubbled up as he suddenly jumped into suho’s arms, wrapping his arms around his neck.

suho grinned wide, lifting sieun off the ground and spinning him around twice, the world blurring happily for a moment. sieun’s giggles filled the arcade, light and free. when he finally set sieun down, suho handed him the plush cat gently, their fingers brushing briefly as sieun accepted it, eyes sparkling with joy.

“this is yours now,” suho said softly, his voice full of warmth.

sieun hugged the cat close, looking up at suho with a smile that said more than words ever could.

at the back of the arcade was a small bar tucked away from the noisy clatter of the games, a quiet little corner where the lights were softer and the hum of conversation didn’t compete with the buzzing machines. suho insisted they stop there, saying it had been way too long since breakfast, even though sieun didn’t say a word about how late he’d woken up, missing breakfast entirely.

“can i pay this time?” sieun asked, trying to keep his voice light.

suho just shook his head with a grin, refusing. “nope, today it’s on me. you’ve got enough to worry about without fussing over snacks.”

he ordered a basket of fries, crispy onion rings, and a small pile of tacos.

sieun glanced at the greasy food and shook his head. “i really shouldn’t be eating stuff like this—not before the championships, especially after all that popcorn.”

suho laughed softly and shrugged. “one day won’t do you any harm. besides, you’ve been working so hard, you deserve a little break.”

sieun smiled, but he knew suho was right.

they sat at a small empty table, facing each other across the worn surface. sieun carefully propped up his cat plushie on the free chair beside him, giving it a seat as if it were their companion. suho must have found it endearing, because he smiled softly to himself, muttering something that sounded like “cute” under his breath.

sieun flushed, ducking his head. he didn’t say anything, but his fingers reached out instinctively to adjust the plushie’s posture, like he wanted it to sit up straighter, be seen. something about having it there, something about suho calling it cute, filled him with a strange, glowing kind of joy. 

he couldn't wait to show it to seongje. he could already hear the unimpressed scoff, the dry little “that’s the ugliest thing i’ve ever seen,” followed by that rare flicker of amusement in his eyes. sieun wanted that. needed it. the way seongje could say the most biting things but still feel like home.

and here, now, across the table — suho. smiling at him like he was someone easy to love. like he wasn’t made of sharp edges and secrets. sieun felt like he was floating, anchored only by the warmth in suho’s gaze, the phantom weight of seongje’s laugh tucked in his chest like a second heartbeat.

sieun tried to lose himself in the warmth of suho’s presence, the easy rhythm of their conversation, and the salty, crispy taste of fries and onion rings. but his eyes kept drifting, pulled against his will, to the girl sitting a few stools away.

she wasn’t doing much, just chatting with her friend, sipping her drink, but every so often her gaze flicked toward suho. each glance was quick, like a secret she wasn’t quite ready to share. and then, when she caught his attention, she would giggle softly, the sound light, a tinkling laugh that somehow grated against sieun’s skin.

the feeling that twisted low in his chest was something new and sharp, a prickling jealousy he wasn’t ready to name. it wasn’t just that she was looking at suho, it was the way she looked at him.

as they both started gathering their things, the soft scrape of chairs and the low murmur of voices around them, sieun noticed the girl near the bar stand up quickly. she hesitated a moment, then crossed the short distance toward suho with a nervous energy, cheeks flushed like she was bracing herself.

oh, no.

“hi,” she began, voice a little shaky, eyes flicking between suho and sieun as if searching for some kind of permission. “sorry if this sounds stupid, but… would you maybe want to give me your number?”

sieun’s mind raced — yes, this sounds stupid, he thought, irritation flickering beneath the surface.

suho looked surprised for a moment, glancing at sieun before his smile softened. “i’m flattered, really,” he said gently, voice calm, “i’m actually interested in someone else right now.”

sieun noticed the polite tone didn’t hide the disappointment in her eyes. as she turned away, he could feel a strange twist of protectiveness and possessiveness knotting inside his chest. his hands trembled slightly, fingers curling and uncurling as a storm of doubt and hope waged war inside him. was suho talking about him? or was it someone else, someone beyond reach?

suho reached out, brushing a stray strand of hair behind sieun’s ear with a little smile.  

“shall we go?”

sieun nodded, his breath hitched at the touch, warmth flooding where fingers lingered. he was still unsettled but holding onto suho’s steady presence grounded him, as they left the quieter bar area behind. his fingers curled tighter around the soft fabric of the toy, hugging it like a small shield.

on the way back, the metro rattling gently beneath them, sieun sat with his plushie tucked tightly under one arm, arms crossed over his chest. his lips were set in a pout, eyebrows drawn together in the kind of quiet sulk that made him look both cute and unmistakably irritated.

suho glanced at him from the other seat, trying not to smile, and failed. a low, amused laugh escaped his throat.

sieun turned sharply, glaring. “what?”

suho grinned, still watching him. “what’s with the tone?” he teased, voice light, eyes gleaming. “what got you all upset, huh?”

sieun didn’t answer. he just tightened his hold around the soft fur, and stared ahead, jaw set.

suho leaned back a little, stretching his legs in front of him with a lazy confidence. “you know how many girls ask me that question?” he said, grinning like he was enjoying himself a little too much. “i should start keeping count.”

sieun turned to him slowly, eyes narrowed in disbelief, lips parting like he was about to say something, then he scoffed under his breath and looked away again, facing the dark window beside him.

he didn’t need a reflection to know suho was still smiling.

they didn’t talk again until they reached the dorms.

the night air had cooled a little, brushing over their skin with a softness that didn’t match the weight pressing on sieun’s chest. they walked in the direction of sieun’s room, footsteps quiet against the pavement, the silence between them stretching long and uncertain.

just outside the building, suho slowed down, then turned to him with looking very happy and pleased.

“so,” he said, scratching lightly at the back of his neck, “am i allowed to come over? or am i banned from your room now?”

his voice was light, teasing,

“stupid.” sieun murmured under his breath, barely loud enough for suho to catch it.

suho blinked, leaning in a little. “huh?”

but sieun was already turning toward the door, his voice quiet but steady this time.

“come over,” he said, pulling out his key. “you can help me pack.”

he didn’t look at suho when he said it, but his ears were pink, and his grip on the plushie hadn’t eased. suho just laughed and followed him in.

the room was a little messy from the morning, bedsheets half-kicked down, a pair of socks abandoned under the desk.

sieun dragged his suitcase out from beneath the bed with a low grunt, setting it open in the middle of the room. suho had already dropped to the floor beside his closet, cross-legged, and caught the first shirt sieun tossed his way. without being asked, he started folding it, slow and precise.

“you don’t have to—”

“i want to,” suho said simply, smoothing out a wrinkle in one of sieun’s favorite t-shirts. he looked up and grinned. “besides, i’m good at this. it’s my hidden talent.”

sieun rolled his eyes but couldn’t help smiling. “just don’t mess up my favorite shirt.”

suho chuckled softly, eyes twinkling. “no promises.”

they settled into a comfortable rhythm, clothes flying gently through the air and landing in neat piles. the quiet was punctuated only by the soft thuds of fabric and the occasional rustle of zippers or hangers.

after a few moments, sieun tossed a hoodie toward suho, who caught it with ease and folded it carefully.

“you’re impressively efficient,” sieun remarked.

“i’ve had practice,” suho replied with a wink.

sieun’s lips curled, the warmth of the moment spreading through him like a quiet glow. when he picked up the plush cat from his bed, he hesitated, holding it for a moment before gently setting it down on the pillow. he looked at it fondly, brushing its ear.

“i wish i could take him,” he murmured. “but he’s too big. he’d take up half the suitcase.”

suho glanced up, still holding a neatly folded pair of pants.

“i’ll bring him,” he said, like it was the most obvious thing in the world. “i’ll stuff him in my backpack. he can ride with me.”

sieun blinked. “seriously?”

“of course,” suho shrugged. “someone has to keep me company on the flight. and i mean, it’s only right i travel with the team mascot.”

sieun smiled, wide and helpless and so full of something soft that it made his chest ache.

he looked down, cheeks flushing, and said quietly, “he likes you, too.”

about twenty minutes later, sieun zipped the suitcase closed with a soft, final sound. it stood neatly by the door now, everything folded and tucked inside, his performance costumes, the backup laces, his travel hoodie, the notebook he always took with him, just in case nerves got too loud. he stood for a second, looking at it, chest tight. that was it. he was packed.

behind him, suho pushed off the floor and stood, brushing his palms together absently.

“should i sleep here tonight?” he asked casually, eyes scanning sieun’s face like he wasn’t trying to make it a big deal.

sieun turned around slowly. “i have to wake up at like... five. you’ll barely get any sleep—”

“that’s not a problem for me,” suho cut in before sieun could finish, his voice firm but gentle.

their eyes locked across the room. suho’s was steady, like he’d already made the decision long ago.

sieun hesitated, then nodded softly. “okay.”

his voice was small, but he smiled. something inside him settled just knowing suho would be there when the alarm went off.

and sure enough, suho, after a brief stop at his own room to grab a toothbrush and something to sleep in, came back without hesitation. he showered quickly in sieun’s bathroom while sieun curled up under the covers, already slipping into that soft, drowsy state

the room filled with the familiar scent of shampoo and the low rush of water, then the creak of the bathroom door opening, footsteps padding closer in the dark.

sieun didn’t even have to open his eyes.

the mattress dipped beside him, and a moment later, suho slid in, his skin warm and clean from the shower. he didn’t say anything, just shifted until his arms found their place again, one curling under sieun’s neck, the other wrapping firmly around his waist, pulling him in with a quiet exhale.

just before settling fully, suho reached over and gently laid the soft plush cat beside them on the bed, as if making sure their quiet friend wouldn’t be left behind. his chest pressed to sieun’s back like it always did, steady and grounding, and his thumb brushed lazy patterns against his stomach beneath the blanket.

sieun smiled into the pillow. as he drifted closer to sleep, warmth pooled in his chest like melted sugar, slow and golden.

that was the best day of my life, he thought, his lips curving faintly in the dark.

and somewhere, beneath the comfort, a quiet hope stirred, that seongje was okay. that he was warm. safe. maybe even sleeping like this, with someone kind beside him.

and then he let the thought carry him under.

Chapter Text

the alarm buzzed soft and low against the silence of the room, muffled beneath sieun’s pillow where he’d tucked his phone the night before. outside, the sky hadn’t decided whether to be night or morning. that quiet hour just before dawn.

sieun stirred first. his eyes blinked open slowly, lashes fluttering against the curve of his cheek as he turned toward the sound. the pale screen of his phone lit up through the fabric, casting a weak glow. 4:47 a.m.

he sighed, thumb slipping under the pillow to silence it. the room returned to stillness.

suho lay behind him, warm and tangled close. one arm was draped across sieun’s waist, the weight of it grounding, like a tether. his breath came slow and even against the back of sieun’s neck, soft puffs that made the air feel less cold.

sieun didn’t move right away. he stared at the dim ceiling, feeling the heaviness of the hour settle into his limbs. the plushie was squished between their bodies, barely visible, but its presence made something in his chest ache quietly.

then suho shifted—just a little. a sleepy mumble broke the silence, voice low and rough with sleep.

“mm… too early…”

sieun turned his head slightly, his voice a whisper. “it’s the alarm. i have to be up.”

but suho didn’t let go. his arm tightened, pulling sieun closer with a stubborn noise, as if he could keep him here just by holding on. his face nuzzled into the back of sieun’s shoulder, breath warm against the thin fabric of his shirt.

sieun smiled softly, eyes slipping shut for a moment. he could stay like this forever. wrapped up in suho’s warmth. safe. whole.

“just five more minutes,” suho mumbled, barely audible.

“you say that almost every morning,” sieun whispered back, and even he could hear the fondness in his voice.

but his fingers were already brushing gently at suho’s arm, loosening his hold. “i really have to go.”

suho let out a quiet groan. he didn’t protest again, just buried his face deeper into sieun’s shoulder—like maybe if he couldn’t see him leave, it wouldn’t happen.

sieun carefully untangled himself from suho’s embrace, moving slowly, not wanting to wake him fully. suho murmured something incoherent when the weight of sieun’s body slipped away, but didn’t open his eyes—just reached half-blindly toward the pillow where sieun had been.

the room was still dim, the windows black with lingering night. sieun moved on autopilot, feet light on the floor as he padded into the small bathroom. the light hummed to life above the mirror, too bright and too sharp for how quiet the morning felt.

he brushed his teeth in silence, leaning slightly against the sink. his eyes looked tired in the mirror, but not empty. something glowed low behind them, nervousness, excitement, maybe something softer too.

after rinsing, he dressed quickly: a grey hoodie that hung a little long on him, and soft black sweatpants. comfortable for the flight. his hair still looked sleep-mussed, but he didn’t do much about it. something about the way suho always looked at him made him care less.

when he stepped back into the room, the silence was still there. the plushie was tucked under the blankets now, caught in the dip between two warm bodies that used to be there. suho was awake—barely. his eyes were slitted open, one arm bent beneath his head as he watched sieun cross the room.

“you look cozy,” he said, voice gravel-thick from sleep.

sieun didn’t respond at first. he crouched by his suitcase and zipped it open, sliding his toothbrush into a side pouch, checking for his passport one last time. when he glanced up, suho was still watching him with the kind of expression that made sieun’s heart catch—a lazy, fond softness that felt too much like home.

“go back to your room to sleep some more,” sieun whispered, trying to smile.

but suho only hummed and shook his head slightly. “nah… can’t. want to see you off.”

sieun’s chest fluttered, the zipper slipping through his fingers. he looked down quickly, pretending to fuss with his bag, but his cheeks were warm.

the moment lingered, soft and heavy, until sieun’s phone buzzed sharply on the nightstand.

he flinched. suho blinked.

sieun reached for it, thumb dragging across the screen, and then it lit up again, this time with an incoming call.

he pressed it to his ear, voice barely audible. “hello?”

“good morning,” came a polite but tired voice on the other end. “your car has arrived at the gate. we’re loading one more athlete now. can you come down with your luggage?”

“yes, i’m on my way,” sieun said quickly, throat dry. “thank you.”

he ended the call and turned toward suho, who was already sitting up, hoodie rumpled and hair flattened.

“they’re ready,” sieun said, quieter this time.

suho nodded and stood without hesitation. he didn’t say anything, just stepped around the bed, reached for sieun’s suitcase, and lifted it by the handle like it weighed nothing.

“i’ll walk you down.”

sieun watched him for a beat, something twisting deep in his chest. he grabbed his jacket and phone from the desk, pulling the sleeves on with practiced motions. suho was already holding the door open for him, patient and steady, like always.

with one last glance around the room, sieun stepped into the hallway and pulled the door shut behind him, then turned the key in the lock, the soft click sounding too final.

the hallway outside was still asleep. no other doors stirred. no voices, no footsteps. just the hush of early morning, the soft whir of suitcase wheels, and the quiet sound of leaving.

sieun walked beside suho, hoodie sleeves pulled over his hands, his steps just a little slower than usual. every few feet he glanced sideways, as if trying to memorize how suho looked in the morning, soft-eyed, hoodie hanging off one shoulder, his hand steady on the suitcase handle.

they reached the main lobby. the wide windows revealed the waiting car outside, headlights gently cutting through the dimness. a man stood near the vehicle, arms crossed, clipboard in hand. another athlete climbed into the backseat.

sieun’s chest tightened.

he turned to suho. “you didn’t have to come down, you know.”

suho smiled, small and warm. “i know.”

they stood for a second longer, too aware of the time slipping away.

“text me when you land,” suho said quietly.

“okay.”

“and when you check in.”

sieun nodded, voice soft. “okay.”

suho handed him the suitcase, fingers brushing against sieun’s as he let go.

“you have everything?” he asked softly.

sieun nodded again, unable to speak. his throat felt tight.

suho stepped back just slightly, hands shoved into his hoodie pocket. “and if the hotel’s weird or your room sucks or—i don’t know—if you can’t sleep, just call me, okay?”

sieun managed another nod. “okay.”

without thinking, suho closed the small space between them, arms folding around sieun in a gentle, firm embrace, like he was holding onto something fragile and precious, something he never wanted to lose.

sieun’s breath hitched, a quiet surprise that melted into relief as he leaned into the warmth pressing against his back. his own arms found suho’s waist, pulling him closer, as if trying to hold onto every last second before the inevitable goodbye. the suitcase slipped from sieun’s fingers, forgotten for the moment, as their bodies settled into the soft rhythm of the hug.

suho’s cheek pressed against the side of sieun’s head, his voice a whisper, low and steady. “i will see you in beijing.”

when they finally pulled apart, eyes lingering just a moment longer, sieun swallowed the lump in his throat.

”not if i see you first.” he said, with a breath full of quiet boldness.

his heart hammered painfully, the urge to reach up on his tiptoes and press a kiss to suho’s lips pulling at him, fierce and sudden. he fought it, the tension coiling in his chest, wanting so badly to close the space between them.

but before he could move, suho’s hand came up, gentle but firm, cupping sieun’s jaw. his cheeks were flushed a soft pink as he leaned down, pressing a delicate kiss to sieun’s cheek—warm, tender, full of unspoken promises.

suho stepped back two careful steps, eyes locked on sieun’s face, reading every flicker of emotion.

“be safe,” he said softly, voice steady but carrying all the weight of his care.

sieun stood frozen for a beat, the ghost of suho’s kiss lingering warm on his cheek like a secret only they knew. it was soft, barely a breath, but it lit something inside him. not just the ache of longing, but a quiet certainty blooming in his chest.

just one week, he thought. one week until i can finally tell him i love him.

it didn’t scare him anymore.

the fear had been there once—tight and cold, but now it had unraveled. now it was only light. he could feel it shimmering in his eyes, bright and impossible to hide, and he wondered if suho could see it too, standing there just a few steps away, watching him so closely.

“see you soon,” he whispered with a smile.

then he bent to grab the suitcase, the handle cool against his fingers, and turned toward the waiting car, walking straight into the soft hum of morning and the strange hush of leaving.

sieun buckled in, the seatbelt clicking into place, and only then noticed the figure already sitting in the front passenger seat—his coach, hunched slightly forward, scrolling through something on his phone. he looked over his shoulder just briefly, gave sieun a short nod of acknowledgment, then returned to whatever was on the screen.

not much was said. it didn’t need to be. they both knew the rhythm of travel days by now, early mornings, half-slept nerves, the dull thrum of adrenaline just starting to build in the bloodstream.

the ranch faded behind them, swallowed by trees and early light, as the car slipped quietly onto the road. they drove together into the soft hush of morning, toward the city that waited beyond the edge of the horizon.

the ride was long, nearly an hour and a half, the car cutting steadily through the winding outskirts before merging into the city. they passed silent suburbs still cloaked in sleep, empty gas stations, and long stretches of highway where the only sound was the steady hum of tires against asphalt.

somewhere near the edge of queens, the skyline flickered into view—low and hazy behind the morning light. the highways twisted tighter, traffic beginning to clot around ramps and exits.

the driver turned off the main road, weaving through looping access lanes and terminal signs. planes blinked through the haze in the distance, their wings silver and sharp against the pale sky.

sieun sat up a little straighter as the car slowed in front of the terminal doors.

“good luck out there,” the driver said, voice quiet but kind.

sieun gave a small nod in return.

his coach was already unbuckling, stepping out with practiced ease, hoisting his duffel over one shoulder. sieun followed quickly, grabbing his suitcase from the trunk. the air outside was sharper now—city-tinged, dry with jet fuel and distant rain.

the terminal loomed above them, tall glass and steel glinting faintly as they stepped onto the sidewalk.

“passport?” his coach asked without looking, already moving toward the sliding glass doors.

sieun patted his jacket pocket. “got it.”

“stay close.”

they entered the building together, swallowed into the vast hum of the airport—screens flickering with flight information, voices crackling over the loudspeakers, the low rumble of wheels dragging across tile. his coach navigated ahead like it was second nature, checking their flight details at the kiosk, then leading sieun toward the bag drop.

sieun barely spoke. the world felt too big all of a sudden, full of movement and glass and strangers, and underneath it all, the quiet pulse of something heavier, that had nothing to do with flying and everything to do with suho’s lips still warm on his cheek.

the waiting area buzzed with movement, the scent of coffee and rolling luggage. his coach sank into a seat and immediately opened his laptop, muttering something about scheduling. sieun sat a few chairs away, pulling out his phone again. he flicked on his playlist, and leaned back, earbuds tucked in.

after a moment, he tapped out a quick message:

just went through security. how is your morning going?

a moment later, sieun’s phone buzzed softly against his leg.

suho

good:) training’s brutal today. coach’s pushing harder than ever. thinking of you helps, though.

sieun’s breath caught, a smile spreading slowly across his face despite the weariness tugging at his limbs. the weight of the day lightened just a little, carried away by suho’s words.

he watched the other passengers. one skater sat nearby, someone he vaguely recognized from last year, already wearing their federation jacket. there were a few coaches, a cluster of journalists whispering over laptops, and a group of younger athletes stretching their legs near the windows.

he should’ve felt intimidated. but all he could think about was seven days.

seven days until suho.

until his hands again. until the way he looked at him like sieun was the only thing in the room. until he could finally say it.

suho, i love you.

his stomach twisted at the thought, not with fear, but with the kind of anticipation that felt like standing at the edge of a dive.

they boarded without much fanfare, just the usual shuffle of seats and overhead bins and polite exchanges with flight attendants. his coach took the aisle seat and immediately pulled out a clipboard, already scribbling notes with a quiet intensity.

sieun slid into the window seat beside him and buckled in, tucking his arms close. outside, the tarmac shimmered under the soft glow of early sunlight, planes lined up like silver birds waiting their turn.

his mind was fixed on one thing.

beijing.

he pressed his palm against the cool window, feeling the hum of the plane beneath him, carrying him forward, away from the quiet ranch and toward the stadiums, the ice, and the waiting crowds.

the plane lifted, slicing through clouds, and sieun let himself drift with it, hope burning steady in his chest. he was on his way.

the flight from new york to beijing stretched for nearly fourteen hours, a long, grinding journey that took them steadily across different time zones and continents. when they finally touched down in beijing, it was late evening, around 11:30 p.m. local time.

after disembarking, the coach and sieun took a taxi through the sprawling city, the streets alive with neon and the low murmur of night traffic. the drive to their hotel took nearly forty minutes, weaving past glowing towers and quiet side streets.

their hotel sat just a ten-minute walk from the arena, close enough for sieun to feel the electric buzz of competition even before he arrived. inside his room, the clock blinked 12:15 a.m., the air thick with the weight of exhaustion and anticipation.

sieun’s room was minimalist but elegant, all clean lines and warm tones. floor-to-ceiling windows offered a hazy view of the city’s skyline, and the king-size bed sat perfectly made beneath soft lighting, a welcome kind of silence stretching across the space.

sieun pulled his phone from the bedside table, fingers moving quickly as he typed, the words coming quietly.

you’re probably at the gym, but i just got to the kerry hotel — it’s only a ten-minute walk from the capital indoor stadium. one bed though… hope that’s okay. although it’s very big

he stared at the message for a second, then hit send. the screen dimmed in his hand, and the stillness of the room settled around him like a breath held just a moment longer.

he dropped his suitcase near the closet, kicked off his shoes, and finally sat on the edge of the bed. after setting his phone to charge, he padded barefoot toward the bathroom, the door swinging open with a soft click.

it was beautiful. not just clean—beautiful. the tiles were a soft gray stone, cool beneath his feet, and the lighting was low and warm. a glass-walled rainfall shower took up one side of the room, and a deep soaking tub gleamed under a marble counter lined with neatly arranged hotel products.

he ran his fingers over the tiny bottles, lavender body wash, bergamot shampoo, something minty and fresh, and smiled faintly as he peeled off his clothes and stepped under the water.

steam curled up instantly, wrapping around his shoulders like something kind. he stayed there for a while, letting the water wash away the long flight, the hours of stillness, the ache in his knees.  and when he finally stepped out, toweling his hair dry with one of the thick, impossibly soft hotel towels, he felt clean. not just from the soap. but from the absence.

no cameras. no needles.

no shawn’s voice calling him beautiful. no stranger’s hands on his body like he belonged to someone else.

just this: the quiet of a room that wasn’t watching him. the soft bedding waiting for no one but him.

sieun turned off the bathroom light and crawled into bed, the sheets crisp and cool, the pillows swallowing him with softness. he laid on his side, arm curled beneath his cheek, and let himself exhale for real.

he liked hotel rooms when they were like this. private and untouched. his.

as sieun was just drifting toward sleep, the soft hum of the city outside fading into the quiet, his phone vibrated gently on the bedside table. the screen lit up, casting a pale glow across the room.

he reached over, blinking against the haze of exhaustion.

suho

just finished practice. still thinking about you. sleep well, okay? and one, big bed is even better ;)

small, tired smile tugged at the corner of sieun’s lips, warmth blooming in his chest. he typed back, a teasing edge in his slow, deliberate words.

oh, so it’s a strategic advantage, huh? hope the rest of your day goes well—give it your all.

he only had to wait few seconds for a reply.

suho

i meant there’ll be plenty of space to sleep, no funny business. where did your mind wander off to, sieun?

he read the message few times and laughed out loud, the sound soft but genuine in the quiet room. burying his face into the pillow, cool and smooth against his skin, he let the smile linger as he set his phone down on the stand beside the bed. with a final breath, eyes heavy and heart lighter, he drifted slowly into sleep.

the morning sun spilled over beijing, casting a warm golden light across the city’s ancient rooftops and sleek glass towers alike. the air was crisp and carried a faint scent of jasmine and city life—cars humming softly, street vendors calling out in the distance.

sieun kept looking out the window of the kerry hotel, quietly amazed at how history and modern life wove together in every corner. throughout the day, he snapped pictures—lanterns strung across narrow alleys, the curve of a pagoda roof against the pale sky, neon signs flickering to life as dusk settled.

he sent some to suho, little glimpses of the city and the quiet street outside his window, sometimes a quick selfie with the city stretched behind him.

that evening, sieun and his coach drove toward the arena for the first time. the capital indoor stadium rose before them, a vast structure of steel and glass, its walls glowing softly under the city lights. banners for the upcoming championships fluttered in the cool breeze, and the low murmur of workers mingled with the scrape of skates on ice.

inside, the arena felt immense yet somehow intimate. rows of empty seats stretched high into shadowed balconies, their colors muted in the dim light. the ice gleamed like glass, spotless and waiting, framed by bright boards and soft overhead spotlights. equipment carts and staff moved with purpose, the hum of last-minute preparations filling the space.

sieun felt a coil of awe and nervous energy twist inside him. this was the stage he’d dreamed of, the place where years of sweat and sacrifice would finally come together.

he pulled out his phone and passed it to his coach, who took a picture of sieun standing by the rink’s edge—arm stretched out, head tilted back, smiling with quiet wonder, the vast arena folding behind him like a secret.

he sent the photo with a message:

first time at the arena. can’t believe it’s real.

a moment later, sieun’s phone buzzed with suho’s reply:

beautiful. another.

grinning, sieun snapped a quick photo of the arena itself, the gleaming ice, the empty seats fading into shadow, and sent it.

suho

i meant only of yourself. the arena’s nice too, though.

sieun stared at the message, the glow of his phone casting soft light on his face. standing there, on the world stage where he would debut in six days, a slow, foolish smile spread across his lips.

he took another picture, fumbling a little as he tried to make himself look just right. his head tilted back slightly, eyes soft and a little lidded, the kind of look that felt both natural and a little rehearsed. after a few tries, he finally settled on one and sent it.

suho

my god. gorgeous, beautiful, absolutely stunning. fuck.

sieun’s cheeks flushed as he read suho’s message, the boldness in his words catching him off guard. maybe it was the distance, the space between them that made suho braver, looser with his feelings. but sieun couldn’t help but think, soon enough, just a few days from now, they’d be together again.

sharing the same bed.

a slow smile spread across sieun’s face as he tucked the phone away, warmth settling deep inside him.

the next few days passed in a blur of nerves and exhaustion.

the first time sieun stepped onto the arena ice, his heart pounded so loud he thought everyone could hear it. the cold, smooth surface gleamed under the bright lights, but his body didn’t cooperate. within minutes, he fell, not once, but three times. each stumble chipped away at his confidence, and the ache in his wrist reminded him sharply of its lingering pain. when he finally shuffled off the ice, cheeks burning, he felt every eye on him.

his coach waited by the boards, arms crossed, and sieun barely met his gaze, embarrassment knotting tight inside him.

to make it worse, nearby, some of the sport’s greats, skaters older and more experienced, glided effortlessly across the ice, their movements graceful and sure. he swallowed the sting and nodded to his coach, determination flickering beneath the shame.

it was about the fifth day when everything finally clicked.

sieun stepped onto the ice with a steadier breath, muscles looser, mind sharper. as he moved through his routine, each jump landed cleanly, solid and sure, no wobble, no stumble. the hours of frustration and falls seemed to melt away beneath the smooth glide of progress.

when he finished, his coach was waiting at the edge of the rink, a rare smile tugging at his lips. nearby, his choreographer nodded in approval, eyes bright with encouragement.

”that was really good, sieun,” his coach said, voice low but proud. ”keep this up.”

sieun’s chest swelled with a quiet satisfaction, the hard work beginning to feel worth it.

as he came back from his shower at the hotel, sieun grabbed his phone again.

he typed quickly, the words light but full of pride:

i skated clean today. can’t wait to see you tomorrow. what time do you land?

suho

so proud! can’t wait to see you too. i land around 6:30 pm. should be at the kerry hotel by 7:15.

your plushy kitty just told me, through the suitcase, of course, that he misses you a lot. just like me.

sieun smiled, fingers moving fast as he answered.

tell the kitty i miss him too. and you, of course.

sieun’s fingers moved quickly, adding another message before suho could reply.

i’ll wait for you outside. then we’ll slip past reception quickly—hope no one notices. if they do, they’ll probably just think you’re another athlete. the hotel’s packed anyway.

that’s the plan, sieun thought. kind of stupid, really. if it doesn’t work, he’ll probably end up sleeping on the street with suho. but honestly, he didn’t care. the thought of seeing suho again, of sharing those small, stolen moments, even if it meant bending the rules a little, made his heart race.

god, he was so excited. so happy.

he was even happier the next morning, when he skated clean again, just one day before the championships. every jump, every turn, landed with a steady confidence that surprised him. it felt like his body finally understood what was coming, moving with a quiet certainty that made him proud.

for the first time in a long while, he felt ready. like everything was falling into place exactly when it needed to.

after his practice, he met with his coach and choreographer, reviewing the smallest details one last time. later came the technical meeting, where rules were explained and schedules confirmed. the air buzzed with nervous energy, but sieun held steady, absorbing it all with quiet focus.

equipment checks followed, skates sharpened to perfection, costumes inspected under harsh light. then a brief media interview, cameras flashing, questions routine but eyes searching.

the small press room hummed with quiet activity. cameras clicked softly as reporters adjusted microphones and shuffled papers. sieun sat on the edge of a folding chair, the bright lights making his skin warm beneath his practiced calm. a cluster of journalists leaned forward, ready with their questions.

the lead reporter began, voice steady but warm.

“sieun, you’re about to make your world championship debut, how are you feeling stepping onto such a huge stage?”

sieun took a breath, steadying the flutter in his chest. “nervous, but ready. this is what i’ve worked for, every practice, every early morning, every fall. i’m focused on skating my best.”

another reporter chimed in. “there’s been a lot of talk about you being one of the favorites this year, despite it being your first world championship. how do you handle that kind of pressure?”

the question didn’t catch him off guard, he’d heard it before. in interviews, online, whispered at the edge of practice rinks. people said he was korea’s best shot in decades, their hope for something that had never happened before: a men’s free skate medal at worlds. it was all over the headlines. “young prodigy with olympic legacy steps into world stage.”

he tried not to let it settle too deep, but he could feel it in every glance, every reporter’s tone, even in the eyes of the delegation leaders. he wasn’t just skating for himself anymore.

he smiled, a hint of quiet confidence shining through. “i try not to think about the expectations too much. i just focus on my routine and trust the work i’ve put in. pressure can be a good thing, it pushes me.”

a third reporter asked, “what part of your program are you most excited to show the world?”

“definitely the jumps,” sieun replied. “i’ve been working hard to make them clean and strong. landing them in competition means everything.”

the questions continued, about his training, his coaches, and how he stays motivated—but through it all, sieun’s calm focus never wavered. years of media training had taught him how to hold himself steady, even when inside, the pressure threatened to overwhelm him.

then, a quieter voice from the back broke in, hesitant but earnest. “sieun, if we may ask—how have you been coping with the recent news about seongje’s disappearance? has it affected your preparation or mindset at all?”

for a moment, time seemed to slow. sieun’s eyes flickered, a shadow passing over them as a sudden heaviness settled in his chest. no words came. the room fell silent, the pause stretching longer than anyone expected.

inside, a cold sadness crept in, an ache he hadn’t fully allowed himself to feel until now. the weight of uncertainty pressed down, and for the first time in the interview, he was at a loss.

before sieun could answer, a team official stepped forward, voice firm but polite.

”we appreciate your concern, but that’s a private matter for the athlete and his family. we ask for respect and understanding as sieun focuses on the competition.”

there was a brief, respectful silence. sieun’s eyes flickered briefly with something unspoken, but he simply nodded. the interview moved on, the weight of the question lingering just beneath the surface.

as sieun stepped out of the interview room, the weight of the questions still pressing lightly on his shoulders, he pulled out his phone, typing a message to suho:

just got back from my press conference. they asked me about seongje, and god, the room went so quiet, i felt awful.

i really need to see you. can’t wait. text me as soon as you land.

he went on about his day, the buzz of the arena and the press slowly fading behind him. yet beneath the surface, a hollow feeling gnawed at him, after nearly a week of nonstop texting, sharing every detail, every little moment, suho hadn’t reached out since yesterday.

no good morning message. no check-in about the flight. nothing. the silence felt heavier than he expected, and sieun found himself staring at his phone.

in his hotel room, he took a long, thorough shower, letting the warm water wash away the day’s tension. afterward, he dressed carefully in the best clothes he’d brought—clean, sharp, something that felt right for tonight.

he paced the room for a moment, excitement bubbling beneath his calm exterior, then settled by the window, eyes flicking to his phone as he waited for suho to arrive. every minute stretched, but his heart raced with the thought of seeing him again.

tomorrow was the day, the championships he’d trained for, dreamed of, fought for. and tomorrow, too, he would finally find the courage to tell suho exactly what he meant to him.

they’d be sharing a bed, just the two of them, close enough that maybe—just maybe—

the thought made his heart race, warmth flooding his cheeks. he hoped for that moment, for the quiet brush of skin, the way words could slip into touches, and all the unspoken things that might follow.

when the clock struck 6:30 pm, there was still no message from suho.

by 7:00 pm, the silence felt heavier, more urgent.

sieun frantically checked the flight status, no delays, no cancellations. his chest tightened, heart pounding in his ears.

he scrolled through their last texts, reading suho’s arrival time over and over, hoping for some sign he’d missed. finally, swallowing the lump in his throat, he typed a single, desperate message:

where are you?

sieun stared at the text, his thumb hovering just slightly over the screen. the silence stretched too long.

but no, no, he told himself. suho’s phone probably died. maybe his luggage took too long, or he got stuck at immigration. he’d be here any minute now, breathless from rushing, apologizing again and again between soft kisses pressed to sieun’s forehead.

they’d sneak past the reception desk just like they planned, maybe holding their laughter as they reached the elevator. suho would shower first, singing some dumb song off-key, loud enough for sieun to hear through the bathroom door.

and then, finally, they’d lie down in the dark together, sieun would ramble about how pretty beijing looked at night, how many delivery drivers wore bright orange, and how the arena looked even bigger at sunset. suho would listen, smiling, maybe brushing his fingers down sieun’s arm until the words slowed.

they’d fall asleep tangled up in each other, legs knotted and arms warm, the plush cat tucked between them, its soft head resting against both their chests.

any minute now, sieun thought. any second.

at 7:07 pm, he left the lobby.

he crossed through the soft lighting of the hotel entrance and stepped out into the early evening air, pulling his sleeves down against the breeze. the city was quieter than usual in this part of town, hushed in that way only the edge of something important could be, like everyone was holding their breath.

at 7:10 pm, sieun was outside the hotel, standing exactly where they had agreed. outside the hotel. just past the second pillar. not too close to the door, not too far. somewhere in the middle—where he could still be seen, still be found. the air was cooler now, the soft buzz of the city dimming under the slow descent of night. people passed by in waves, tourists, athletes, families, staff—but not suho. never suho.

he checked his phone again. and again. nothing.

he told himself five more minutes. just five. but when that passed, he stayed. and stayed.

by 8:00, his arms were crossed tightly against his chest, not from the chill but from the ache building in his stomach. the soft hope he’d held all day began to fray, thread by thread.

by 8:30, the sob he’d been holding back nearly broke free. he swallowed it down, jaw clenched, as the cold evening air wrapped itself around him like a warning.

he hadn’t moved. he couldn’t. he just stood there, waiting. still hoping. still convincing himself that any moment, suho would round the corner, suitcase in hand, apologizing softly like sieun had imagined.

but the sidewalk stayed empty.

his fingers were cold now, and so was his chest.

he blinked fast and reached for his phone again, going straight to suho’s contact. he called. it rang and rang — then went to voicemail.

he tried again. voicemail. again.

then, with shaking hands, he tapped on jamie’s name. the phone rang once before he picked up, his voice casual. “hey, we’re just about to get on the plane, what’s—”

“is suho with you?” sieun asked quickly, too sharp.

a pause. “uh, no? why?”

“he was supposed to be here an hour ago. he’s not answering. i thought maybe… i don’t know.”

jamie’s tone shifted immediately. “he left hours before us—he said he had an earlier flight. are you sure he’s not just late?”

“it’s past eight-thirty.” sieun’s voice was starting to fray. “his flight landed at six-thirty. he said he’d be here by seven fifteen. he’s not picking up, i called him like twenty times.”

nico’s voice came through the background: “is everything okay?”

“listen, we’re literally standing next to our plane right now,” jamie said quickly, probably speaking to both of them now. then back into the phone: “maybe his phone died? or he got held up with customs? don’t panic yet.”

“i’m not—” sieun cut himself off. he was. “can you text me when you land? the second you land?”

“of course. promise. i’m sure it’s just a delay. we’ll find him.”

sieun didn’t say anything at first. he stared out at the road, empty except for a few cars and shadows.

“hey,” nico added softly, “we’ll be there soon, okay?”

sieun finally nodded, even though no one could see. “okay. safe flight.”

“you too. try to sleep if you can. nico says love you, by the way. my parents too.”

sieun let out the smallest breath of a laugh. “love you guys.”

he hung up, and sat down hard on the edge of a low planter outside the hotel, the cold stone pressing through his jeans, but he barely felt it. the silence from his phone was unbearable now, every second ticking by louder than the last.

in a daze, he opened his browser.

“beijing flight crash today”

“jfk beijing news”

“china eastern flight delayed or lost?”

he clicked through pages with shaking hands, his breath caught somewhere between his ribs. no reports. no headlines. nothing. but that didn’t calm him. it only made the knot in his stomach twist tighter.

his eyes were burning. he swiped angrily at them, refusing to let himself cry on a street full of strangers. but the panic was breaking through in waves, deep, sharp, and helpless.

“please,” he whispered into the still night, gripping his phone like it could hear him.

his hands felt numb, like they belonged to someone else, cold and unsteady, useless. panic clawed at his chest, squeezing until it was hard to breathe. he thought about calling his coach, but then remembered: his coach didn’t even know suho was supposed to be here. he hadn’t told anyone else.

and then the thought of shawn hit him hard. he knew shawn would be at the championships—always was—but where?

he didn’t know which hotel shawn was staying at. maybe somewhere close, maybe far. the uncertainty twisted in his gut.

in a moment of panic, he tried calling him, hands shaking as he tapped the screen—but the call rang, and then went to voicemail. no answer.

just like suho.

and for the first time since arriving in beijing, sieun felt completely alone.

after what felt like an eternity, he finally forced himself to his feet, legs heavy and trembling. he slipped inside his room, the door closing softly behind him, shutting out the cold night and the empty streets.

as he changed into his pajamas, a sob tore free from deep inside, raw and unexpected. it caught him off guard, dragging with it a flood of memories he thought he’d locked away.

the same helplessness he’d felt when seongje disappeared, the way his heart had shattered, how the silence after the news had stretched endlessly around him. the panic, the fear, the sickening ache of not knowing where his friend was, or if he was safe.

even now, over a month later, the weight of that trauma settled heavy on his chest, squeezing tight with every breath.

and tonight, alone and scared, it came rushing back in waves he couldn’t hold back.

he tried to imagine what suho might be doing, stuck somewhere, delayed, or just out of reach. but the longer the silence stretched, the harder it was to believe.

he lay awake the entire night, tears silently streaming down his face as he clutched his phone tight against his chest. the screen was dark, but to him, it felt like the only connection left, the last thread to suho. sleep never came. every time his eyes closed, his mind filled with worry, fear, and a hollow ache that wouldn’t fade. the hours dragged on, the silence around him growing heavier with each passing moment.

a sharp, urgent knock at the door tore through the quiet room. sieun jolted upright, heart hammering in his chest, and threw the door open so quickly he nearly lost his balance.

but it wasn’t suho.

his coach stood in the doorway, eyes wide with surprise at the sudden movement. his expression was cautious, steady, the calm eye in the storm sieun desperately needed but couldn’t find.

“it’s time to get ready for the last practice,” his coach said quietly, voice steady but with an edge of concern.

sieun’s body shook violently as a fresh wave of sobs broke free.

“please,” he gasped, voice cracking, “help me. suho was supposed to be here yesterday evening. he was supposed to land and—stay with me. he never came.”

the coach’s eyebrows knit together, clearly taken aback. “what are you saying?”

sieun wiped his face roughly with trembling hands, struggling for breath between hiccups.

“i’m sorry i didn’t tell you before… he was supposed to be here at seven-fifteen. he was coming here, to sleep in my room. but he never showed up. he’s not answering his phone. i’ve called him so many times. please, you have to help me.”

he took a step forward, reaching out like a child would, desperately, like touch might anchor him in this moment.

but his coach didn’t reach back.

“sieun,” he said firmly, “you need to pull yourself together. we have our last practice. this is not the time for distractions. whatever happened—or didn’t—you still have a job to do.”

sieun flinched. “but he’s missing,” he whispered, voice shrill and unraveling.

his coach turned, already stepping into the room, moving toward sieun’s bag with quiet efficiency. “i’m packing your things. we leave in thirty minutes.”

sieun’s mouth opened and closed. he looked at the man, looked at the floor, looked at his phone still clutched in his hand.

“please,” he said again, this time smaller. “i’m scared. i don’t know what to do.”

his coach didn’t answer.

something in him cracked.

sieun’s knees buckled and he sank to the floor, trembling, his whole body folding inward. the panic, the exhaustion, the heartbreak, everything that had been building since the night before collapsed under its own weight.

he curled forward as if trying to disappear, sobs rising so violently he couldn’t keep them in. “i won’t skate,” he wept. “i won’t perform. not without him. i don’t care if you’re angry. i don’t care if the whole committee hates me. i can’t do this—i can’t.”

his coach stood still now, silent, watching him from across the room. but he didn’t move to help him. didn’t come closer. didn’t kneel down.

and that silence—after all the others—was the worst of them all.

“help me,” sieun begged, voice cracking again, barely human now. “help me… please… can someone finally help me?”

but there was no answer. only the soft zip of the suitcase being closed.

a moment later, footsteps approached. then strong hands grabbed sieun by the arms and dragged him upright.

“pull yourself together,” his coach snapped, shaking him once, hard enough to jolt him back into his body. “this is the fucking world championships. this isn’t some school recital you get to cry your way out of.”

sieun’s breath caught in his throat, not allowing him to speak. his limbs felt too heavy, his throat raw.

“do you even realize what’s at stake?” the coach hissed. “there are sponsors watching. promoters in the stands. endorsement deals lined up—real money on the line. the federation expects a podium finish from you, and if you blow it, it will affect stuff.”

he let go of sieun with a shove, stepping back like he couldn’t even look at him.

“you don’t get to fall apart because some boy didn’t show up on the other side of the world last night.”

those words cut deep—some boy—like suho hadn’t meant anything. like he was just a distraction, an inconvenience, a non-factor in the cold machinery of competition.

sieun stood there, shaking, the echo of his coach’s words thudding in his chest louder than his heartbeat. his voice came out hoarse, barely above a whisper.

“if something happened to him…” he swallowed hard, hands trembling at his sides, “i don’t want to do this anymore. i don’t want to be here.”

the silence that followed was deafening.

his coach froze, the fury in his face draining slowly into something else, something heavier. he stared at sieun like he wasn’t a student anymore, not a skater or a product or a symbol of national pride, but a boy on the edge.

finally, he spoke, quieter this time.

“listen to me.” his voice didn’t soften, but the weight of it shifted. “just get through today. skate your program. do what you came here to do.”

he stepped closer, steadier now. “after that, i promise you—i will do everything in my power to find out where he is. whatever it takes.”

sieun didn’t respond. he couldn’t. he just stood there, broken open, trying to hold himself together. his coach shifted beside him, maybe about to say something else, but then—

a buzz broke the silence.

the sharp vibration of a phone cut through the thick air. his coach glanced down at the screen, brow furrowing.

“hold on,” he muttered, already stepping a few feet away as he pressed the phone to his ear.

sieun barely registered the conversation. everything around him felt dim and distant, like he was underwater, like the world had taken a step back and left him there, suspended

“yeah,” his coach said into the phone, turning half away. “he’s not doing well. the kid’s falling apart—completely cracked.”

sieun’s heart lurched.

his breath caught in his throat. shawn. he was talking to shawn. who else would call right now? who else would call about him?

sieun’s eyes snapped to the phone, wide and frantic, his mind racing through possibilities he couldn’t quite piece together. the blood in his ears roared louder than reason. he took a step forward before he could stop himself, heart pounding so loud it felt like it echoed off the hotel walls.

“is it him?” he gasped, reaching out. “is it shawn? let me talk to him—i need to ask him—please—just let me ask—”

his coach jerked the phone out of reach, arm lifting with practiced calm. “it’s not him,” he said, voice firm, measured, trying to keep control. “calm down, sieun—it’s not—”

but sieun didn’t calm down.

his fingers clawed through the air, desperate, wild, as though somewhere in that little device was the answer that would fix everything, make it all make sense, rewind time.

“give it to me!” he cried out, eyes brimming, voice cracking. his hand collided with his coach’s wrist, more a plea than a hit, and the phone slipped, clattering hard against the floor with a sound that made both of them flinch.

but sieun didn’t look at it. didn’t even hear the impact.

instead, he crumpled forward like someone had cut the strings holding him up.

his hands caught at his coach’s jacket, gripping, clinging, and he buried his face in the man’s chest, sobs tearing free from his throat before he could silence them. his whole body shook with the force of it, raw and gasping, like it had been waiting too long to collapse.

his coach staggered back half a step, arms moving instinctively to steady him. but sieun pulled away again just as fast, staggering, breath hitching on a sound that wasn’t quite a word. his chest was rising too fast, lungs unable to keep up with the panic spiraling through him.

“you know,” he said, voice rising into a shout. “you know what he did to me. you knew!”

his coach froze—just for a second.

sieun stared up at him, face soaked in tears, chest heaving like a trapped animal, teeth clenched so tight it hurt. his fingers were still curled in the fabric of his coach’s jacket, knuckles white.

he didn’t even know where the words were coming from. he’d spent years pretending they weren’t true. that the hands on his body had been his choice. but now everything was bleeding through. the shame, the fear, the quiet humiliation of being passed around like something owed. he wasn’t just talking about what happened that night. he was talking about every night.

and when he spoke now, the words shattered out of him like glass—

“you did nothing,” he choked. “you let him touch me. you let him use me. and now he’s here again, and suho’s gone too, and i’m—i’m—”

his knees gave out.

he slid downward, collapsing into a crouch without grace, fists still tangled in the jacket, dragging the fabric with him like he couldn’t let go.

“i’m so fucking scared,” he sobbed.

his coach’s mouth parted, like he might try to say something, but no words came. just silence.

no denial. no horror. just that too-long pause. and that was all the answer sieun needed.

his hands let go, and they fell limply to his sides.

he staggered to his feet, slowly, every movement stiff and shaking like he didn’t quite belong to his own body. his breath still stuttered out in broken gasps, but his voice came low, almost eerily quiet.

“get out.”

his coach blinked, like he hadn’t heard right. “sieun—”

“get out!”

the sound that came from him barely sounded human. it was raw, cracked, torn from the center of him like something dying.

his coach stepped back, startled, grabbing his phone off the floor, saying nothing more. the door closed a second later with a soft click.

sieun stood alone in the room, surrounded by silence again. shaking. unraveling.

and outside that silence, the world kept moving. arena lights warming up, cameras being tested, announcers reviewing scripts. the stage was being set for him, the favorite, the name on everyone’s lips.

they were all waiting. waiting for yeon sieun to show up and be brilliant.

and he couldn’t even breathe.

Chapter Text

the silence was unbearable—too loud. every tick of the clock sounded like a hammer, each second pounding a relentless rhythm against his ribs. he wanted to scream into the silence, shatter the walls, but all that came out was a ragged sigh, a breath too heavy to hold.

sieun sat on the floor, legs curled toward his chest, back pressed to the side of the bed.

his mind raced, spiraling through fears that twisted like snakes beneath his skin. where was suho? was he safe? hurt? lost? the questions were endless, looping again and again until the panic bloomed.

his ears rang faintly. the corner of his lip stung. his knuckles were red from clenching them too hard. he didn’t know how much time had passed since he first sank down — minutes, maybe longer.

then — footsteps.

heavy, hurried, unmistakable.

sieun’s head snapped up, heart thudding hard against his ribs. he wrapped his arms around himself, seeking a phantom comfort.

then the door burst open with a sharp crack, making him flinch.

“what the fuck are you doing?” shawn’s voice cut through the room, sharp and raw, breaking the quiet all at once.

he was dressed in civilian clothes for once — jeans, a navy jacket zipped halfway up, and his left arm was in a pale cast, strapped to a soft sling at his shoulder.

sieun’s eyes darted to it immediately.

he didn’t say anything. not about the cast. not yet. he just stared, frozen where he sat.

his coach trailed in behind shawn, hesitating just past the threshold, like he didn’t know what to do. like he was afraid to speak.

shawn clicked the door shut behind him and looked around once.

“well?” he asked, voice sharp. “you gonna explain what this is? because i just got off fourteen-hour flight and a call saying my skater’s having some kind of meltdown.”

he took a step forward. the sling creaked faintly. “you’re supposed to be at final prep. instead you’re locked in your room crying like a toddler. what the hell happened?”

sieun stood slowly.

“where’s suho?” he asked, voice thin.

shawn blinked. “what?”

“where is he?” sieun repeated. “he was supposed to be here. he said he bought a ticket. he said—”

“i don’t know,” shawn cut in, brows lifting. “you think i track the personal flights of every damn person who’s ever stepped foot on the ranch?”

but sieun’s eyes didn’t move from him. they narrowed — just slightly.

his voice dropped lower. “you know something.”

shawn scoffed. “oh, give me a break.”

“you do,” sieun said again, louder this time, voice cracking at the end. “he was coming here. he promised. he bought a ticket. and now he’s gone. not answering. and you show up with—” he gestured sharply to the cast, “—with that.”

shawn’s jaw flexed. he didn’t speak.

behind him, the coach shifted awkwardly. “sieun,” he started carefully, “i was the one who called shawn. i didn’t know what else to do. you weren’t speaking. i didn’t know what was happening—”

but sieun wasn’t listening anymore. he was looking at shawn.

“you did something,” he whispered. “i know you did.”

shawn didn’t answer. not right away.

he stood there, framed in the low morning light filtering through the hotel curtains. he just looked back at sieun, cool and steady, like none of this mattered. like suho’s name didn’t belong in this room.

“you’re spiraling,” shawn said at last, quiet but cutting.“i know that look. paranoid. exhausted. convinced the world’s out to get you.”

he tilted his head slightly, voice still calm.

“but you’re wrong.”

sieun flinched, almost too small to see, but it felt like his whole chest caved in. his legs wobbled.

he sat down again, knees folding beneath him. the clock on the wall kept ticking. loud. steady. 8:03 a.m.

ten hours to go. just ten.

“you think i had something to do with it?” shawn asked, his voice flatter now, cold with something deeper. “you really believe i flew halfway across the world with my arm like this, just to stand here and play games with you?”

sieun didn’t speak. he couldn’t.

his throat was dry and his mind wouldn’t stop spinning.

where is suho. where is suho. where is suho.

he wrapped his arms tight around his knees, trying to hold himself together, but it didn’t help.

“i’m not here to fight with you,” shawn continued. “i’m here because you have a championship tonight, and the press is already sniffing around. reporters. sponsors. investors.”

he said the words like they were a list of weapons.

“your performance is the headliner,” he added. “do you understand that? you’re the main draw. there are important people flying in from different countries just to see you. you are the face of this season.”

he took a step closer, his voice lowering, tone sharp as glass.

“if you collapse now, they’ll tear you apart. every promoter, every journalist, every executive that put your name on a poster — they will eat you alive.”

sieun’s eyes burned.

“this isn’t just about you,” shawn said. “it’s your country. it’s the brands who’ve already printed your image. it’s the choreography teams, the coaching staff, the stylists, the goddamn skate technician who hasn’t slept in two days.”

his voice rose slightly — not yelling. just enough to cut through the haze.

“you think you’re tired?” shawn asked. “you think you’re scared? they all bet on you. and now you’re hiding in your hotel room like a child.”

sieun looked down at the floor.

his chest rose and fell, shallow and quick.

he felt like he couldn’t breathe.

but suho—

but what if he’s hurt. what if something happened. what if shawn—

he looked up again, mouth trembling.

“he wouldn’t just disappear,” he said, almost pleading now. “not like this. he wouldn’t leave me.”

“maybe something came up,” shawn replied, too calm. “maybe he changed his mind.”

“he wouldn’t,” sieun whispered.

shawn’s mouth pressed into a thin line.

“then i guess you’ll find out later,” he said. “but right now? you have a job to do. and no one is going to wait around while you have a breakdown.”

he stepped back, adjusting the strap on his sling.

“you have until six. that’s when the world turns its eyes on you. not suho. not me. you.”

his voice didn’t rise. it didn’t need to. every word felt final. he looked at the coach next, sharp and efficient.

“tell the team,” shawn said. “we’ll release a statement. say the wrist is still bothering him. ‘re-aggravated injury,’ something like that. vague, sympathetic, clean.”

the coach nodded, slowly, clearly uncomfortable. his mouth opened like he might say something, a question, maybe, or a protest, but nothing came out.

shawn lingered in the silence, staring at him.

then, with a shift in his voice, not louder, not colder, just quieter in a way that drew the air out of the room, he added:

“and find that kid.”

a pause.

“track him down. quickly. report to me the second you do.”

his tone didn’t change. there was no snarl. no growl. just calm. like he was asking for a glass of water.

the coach went still. completely still. his eyes flicked to sieun, then quickly away again. he nodded once more, slower this time. smaller.

nobody breathed.

shawn turned back to sieun, gaze unreadable. not cruel. not angry. not anything he could name.

just… blank.

“this doesn’t have to be a disaster,” he continued. “you can still come out of this as a champion. everything’s in place. the music. the cameras. the lights. you just have to skate.”

he paused by the door, hand resting on the handle.

“so shower. eat something. go through your warmup. fix your face.”

his eyes lingered on sieun one last time, distant and unmoved.

“and when you step on the ice tonight,” he said softly, “make sure no one sees this version of you again.”

then he turned the handle and stepped out.

the door clicked shut behind him, not loud, not slammed. just neat. and then he was gone. the room was too quiet again.

sieun sat frozen on the floor, arms still around his knees, head bent. he didn’t move. didn’t blink. his ribs ached from the way he was holding his breath. his fingers were numb.

what just happened.

what did he mean by find him.

what if suho’s already—

he squeezed his eyes shut. his throat burned, and all he could hear was the clock. less than ten hours left, and the world would be watching.

he pressed his palms to his face. he wanted to disappear into the dark behind his eyes, crawl into some place where time couldn’t reach him.

he sat like that for a long time. still. silent. aching.

then, slowly, he moved.

he crossed the room and stood in front of the mirror.

he didn’t look like a skater.

he didn’t look like anything.

his face was blotchy, tear-streaked. his eyes were swollen. a smear of blood stained the corner of his mouth from where he’d bitten it raw. his shirt hung off one shoulder. his hair was sticking up in strange directions.

but beneath it, under all the mess — was the version of him the world wanted. the clean lines, the poised chin. the weightless grace he’d been trained into since he was old enough to walk.

he’d spent his whole life becoming someone else. now he just had to finish it.

he leaned over the sink and turned the water on cold. his hands cupped beneath it, then splashed it across his face again and again until his skin stung. until the tears stopped. until the trembling dulled.

you can still come out of this as a champion.

shawn’s voice echoed behind his ribs.

he gripped the edges of the sink and stared at the water swirling down the drain. for a second, he wanted to follow it, and just disappear.

then — a knock at the door. sharp. two quick taps.

the knock came again, followed by a voice.

soft. female. careful.

“hair and makeup,” she said. “sent by shawn.”

he stared at the door, wet hands still braced on the porcelain.

of course.

of course he would do this.

sieun swallowed hard, turned off the tap, and wiped his face roughly with the hand towel.

when he opened the door, the woman standing outside looked startled.

“may i?” she asked gently, already stepping inside before he answered.

her cart rattled behind her, a wheeled case filled with palettes, powders, sprays, and soft brushes all arranged like surgical instruments. she rolled it to the window and pulled back the curtain for better light.

“i’ll be quick,” she said. “we were told to keep it clean. simple. like you slept.”

he didn’t say anything. just walked over and sat down at the small table.

her hands were light. practiced. a tissue under the chin. a brush to the cheek. concealer tapped carefully under the eyes, over the mouth, along the jawline.

“do you want a little color?” she asked. “just for the cameras?”

he shrugged.

she took it as a yes.

as she worked, he watched her in the mirror.

not her face, but her hands. how steady they were. how unbothered.

“there,” she said at last, stepping back. “you look rested.”

he looked up at his reflection.

his skin was even now. the redness had faded, drained out of his cheeks like a storm passing. the swelling beneath his eyes had softened into something faint, almost invisible unless you knew to look for it.

he looked—

he looked like someone who wasn’t falling apart.

“you’ll want to avoid touching your face,” she said gently, already packing her things. “and don’t cry.”

he almost laughed. it came out as a breath.

the cart wheels rattled again. she gave him a polite nod at the door.

“good luck tonight,” she said, and then she was gone.

the door clicked shut behind her, and sieun was alone again.

but not the same kind of alone as before.

this time, he was alone in a body that no longer looked like it belonged to him. the mirror still held his image, but only barely.

9:00 a.m.

he sat back down on the bed, slowly, like his bones had aged ten years in the last hour. the mattress dipped beneath him, too soft, too shallow.

his hands hovered over it, then pulled away.

he didn’t deserve comfort.

not when suho was still—

god, where was he?

the silence stretched again, dry and breathless.

and then, all at once, sieun reached for his phone.

it was still lying where he’d left it, face down on the carpet near the bed. he grabbed it with both hands, almost dropped it, then turned the screen on.

his heart jumped at the brightness. 8 missed calls from his coach. three messages from staff.

none from suho.

his fingers moved quickly now, frantic, tapping suho’s name, hitting the call button, holding the phone to his ear like it could save his life.

it rang.

voicemail.

he ended the call and tried again.

again.

again.

he stood up and paced the room.

kept pressing call, over and over, even though it kept ending the same way.

at 9:32 am, another knock came.

the door opened. his coach stepped inside with a clipboard tucked under one arm and a bottle of electrolyte water in the other.

he stopped in the doorway, gaze landing on sieun — and held there.

he didn’t speak right away. just stood there for a moment, taking in the scene — the untouched costume laid out on the back of a chair, the stillness of the room, the way sieun stood by the window, phone pressed to his ear, one arm folded tightly across his ribs.

his gaze softened, slow and heavy with worry. he looked at him like someone trying to understand the damage without making it worse. like someone both afraid to ask and afraid not to.

quietly, anxiously, he stepped further inside.

“…how are you feeling?”

the question hung in the air, soft but heavy, as if spoken too loudly might shatter something fragile.

sieun gave the smallest nod.

“fine.”

“you sure?”

he nodded again. a little firmer this time, but his eyes stayed fixed on the floor. he didn’t say more. he didn’t want to say more.

the coach hesitated, then crossed the room and handed him the bottle.

“you don’t have to push hard this morning,” he said quietly. “just stretch. get on the ice. feel your blades. then we’ll regroup at one.”

he didn’t say you’re going to be fine. he didn’t say you’re strong. not today. not now.

sieun clutched the bottle with both hands. it was cold. grounding. something to hold onto when everything else felt like it was slipping sideways.

his fingers curled tighter around the plastic. the ridges pressed into his palms.

“media will be circling after warmup,” the coach added. “you don’t have to talk to them. we’ll manage it.”

sieun looked up at him.

“what…” he started, then paused. his throat felt like sandpaper. he tried again, quieter this time. “what did they say… in the statement?”

the coach shifted his weight.

“that your wrist’s still bothering you,” he said carefully. “that we’re managing expectations. just enough to quiet the press. enough to keep the spotlight from burning too hot.”

sieun nodded again, slower now. it felt like agreeing to something he couldn’t take back.

then, after a long pause — his voice barely audible, like he was afraid of the answer before it even came:

“are you really looking for him?”

his eyes flicked up. met sieun’s for a split second. just long enough for something to pass between them, a flicker of honesty, or maybe just caution.

“yes,” he said, soft but deliberate. “people are working on it.”

the words felt carefully chosen. not dishonest, but not open either.

the kind of answer that wouldn’t cause a spiral. the kind you gave a skater few hours before the world championship lights turn on.

sieun swallowed, throat dry. he didn’t look away.

“like—” his voice caught, then pushed through it. “actually looking? not just… assuming he’s late or—?”

the coach let out a quiet breath through his nose. almost a sigh, but not quite.

”people are making calls. checking flight manifests. hotel records. customs logs. everything.”

he paused. his eyes flicked up again, softer this time.

“we’re not ignoring it, sieun.”

sieun’s fingers tightened around the bottle. it creaked faintly under the pressure. his heart was hammering again — not with the same sharp panic as before, but something heavier, slower. dread that had settled into his bones.

“has anyone found anything?” he asked. “a voicemail? a ticket confirmation? anything?”

again, a pause. longer this time.

the coach’s eyes lowered. he adjusted the clipboard against his side like it gave him something to do with his hands.

“not yet.”

the words hit like a bruise blooming beneath the skin. quiet. deep.

“but it’s probably nothing,” the coach added quickly, gently. “travel’s chaotic. phones die. people get turned around. especially with international arrivals. these things happen all the time.”

sieun didn’t believe him. not entirely.

because something in the coach’s face, the tightness around his mouth, the way he avoided looking too long, said he was worried too.

“we’ll keep you updated,” the coach said, voice still even, still calm. “i promise. right now, i need you focused on warmup. that’s all you have to think about. go through the motions. stretch. feel the ice.”

a pause. then, softer:

“you’ve worked too hard for this.”

he didn't say don’t throw it away, don’t let it slip through your hands. 

he didn't have to.

the weight of it was already in the room, in the silence hanging between them.

the coach lingered a second longer. his eyes stayed on sieun, not expecting anything, just… waiting. like he might find the right thing to say if he waited long enough.

but there was nothing left to offer.

so he gave a single nod. quiet. respectful. almost like a bow. then he turned for the door.

“text me when you get ready,” he said. “i’ll be downstairs.”

the door closed with a soft click.

and for a while, sieun just sat there.

phone in one hand, water bottle in the other. eyes on nothing.

the world outside the window kept moving, sunlight shifting across the carpet, voices muffled from down the hallway, the distant hum of traffic, but it all felt like it was happening on another planet.

he sat, staring at his phone, thumb hovering over the call button. he was so tired of the ring tone, tired of the silence that followed it. tired of pressing send and hoping that this time would be different.

but still — he called.

again.

again.

again.

and eventually, something inside him stopped trying. the panic didn’t vanish, it just shifted. curled low in his chest like a stone. cold. unmoving. aftershock settled into his bones. his fingers felt far away, and his face didn’t quite belong to him anymore.

he stood up.

the movement felt slow. not heavy — just numb. like everything had thickened underwater. he crossed the room and began to dress. warm-up tights, undershirt. jacket with the federation crest. everything exactly where it was supposed to be.

he didn’t think about what he was doing.

he didn’t even look in the mirror, he just moved.

he zipped up his bag, placed his costume inside, his skates, double-checked the laces like he’d done a thousand times before. then he sat on the edge of the bed again, and stared at his phone.

for a second, he thought about texting suho.

just one more time. a single word, maybe. please.

but his hands didn’t move. instead, he opened his messages and tapped his coach’s name.

i’m ready. you can come up.

he hit send. then turned off the screen.

the world kept turning. and he would follow it, even if it dragged him behind.

at 11:30 am, the car rolled to a stop beneath the arena. low ceilings, concrete walls, the sharp smell of cold air and gasoline.

sieun stepped out into it like a dream he couldn’t wake from.

volunteers were already moving, pushing carts, and checking clipboards. voices echoed in half a dozen languages. a woman in a headset called someone’s name and didn’t wait for an answer.

a badge was clipped around his neck. his coach led him forward. everything looked grey.

past the black curtains, the arena opened wide — not yet lit for cameras, but already towering. rows of empty seats. the sound of a single blade carving the practice rink nearby. the scoreboard flickered to life above them.

he didn’t look up.

the locker rooms were colder than he expected. someone’s music leaked through headphones, loud, bass-heavy, out of sync with the quiet tension that pulsed beneath everything. another skater laughed into a phone, voice echoing off the walls. a costume bag hung crooked from a hook.

sieun sat down in silence.

his bag sat unopened by his feet. his phone lay face-down on the bench beside him.

12:00 am.

he missed his last practice.

his coach came back ten minutes later, his expression tight but trying to stay neutral. “they moved on without you. nothing we can do now.”

sieun didn’t say anything.

outside, the sound of blades echoed, someone else out there, running jumps. someone else warming up for the moment he was supposed to claim.

time passed in a blur after that. he didn’t really register the movement, just remembered standing when he was told, walking when a hand gently guided his shoulder.

his coach took him to the athletes’ lounge, where a buffet table had been set up along one wall — simple things: fruit, sandwiches, soup in paper cups. nothing fancy, just enough to get them through the day.

sieun wasn’t hungry. not even close. but his coach pressed a sandwich into his hand anyway, soft bread, some kind of turkey and lettuce, and didn’t move until sieun took a bite. he chewed slowly. forced it down.