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Summary
Someone is there, in the back of the restaurant, a cook— body lean and cut, wiping greasy hands on a rag that hangs from his front pocket. His head is down, with beads of sweat gathering on the back of his neck from the heat of the stoves. Ink black hair falls over his eyes, obscuring Sieun from seeing the entirety of his face. A second or two pass, a torturous eternity, and the man’s head tilts up. Warm lights catch a cheekbone, sharper than Sieun was expecting to see, but nonetheless familiar. Then dark brown irises, so dark they’re nearly black.
Suho.
Sieun thinks he’s going to throw up.
Standing on numb legs, he does the only thing he knows how to do in the moment. He runs.
☾
Or— Sieun runs away, but he and Suho will always be tied together