Fool enough to almost be it, cool enough to not quite see it (Doomed)

by voidorwhatever

Summary:

Sieun is many things. Miserable, mainly. And cruel too. He wasn't always this way, but he is now, and he never would've thought someone could love him anyway. Until he meets Suho, until he survives with him. It seems the universe has a lot in store for them.

-

It all started with a rippling in the quiet sea, with a wrinkle in the smoothest fabric. It all started when the world stirred its morning coffee and Sieun got sucked into the languid swirl of it. It all started with interrupted sleep and a punch so hard Sieun’s heart pounds just from imagining it again.

Notes:

Title is from Mayonaise by The Smashing Pumpkins

Chapter 1: And I know that you mean so well, but I am not a vessel for your good intent.

Notes:

Starting with a re-written scene from the first episode, after this I will diverge from canon though.
Title is from Tongues & Teeth by The Crane Wives

Yeon Sieun lives in a world of chaos. Yeon Sieun lives between bullies and victims, kings and pawns, and those kind of traitors who will shamelessly twist a knife into somebody else’s back just to save their own skin. 

Paradoxically, Sieun finds that at the core of this chaos are rules. Rules to be followed if you want to survive. Few for the kings, many for the pawns. Most people do follow them – religiously, devotedly – because they think their lives depend on them. 

Sometimes, when he lies in bed and procrastinates sleep under the guise of revising biology in his head, he thinks about these rules instead. If the chaos came first or if the rules did, Sieun doesn’t know. Sieun doesn’t know if they’ve always been the same either, if they’re different elsewhere, or if they’re breakable in a way that doesn’t leave you bruised and bleeding. All Sieun knows is what he’s been observing from his desk in the middle of his cramped classroom right in the heart of the towering building that is Byeoksan High School.

Pawns are to be quiet, obedient, invisible. Pawns should have good grades, because the unintelligent will get their heads bashed in for their flaws. Their grades can’t be too good though, otherwise the kings might smell competition. Pawns need to be average in everything they do, need to be bread shuttles and idiots that let people copy their homework. Dumb enough to not be a threat, smart enough to be useful, to keep their mouths shut.

Kings on the other hand only have one rule: Don’t let yourself get knocked off your throne. 

Sieun isn’t a king. Far from it, actually. Is he a pawn then? It’s a question he asks himself too often these days.

He’s quiet, yes, invisible. It’s not to escape the wrath of whoever is ruling the classroom, though. It’s because he can’t stand himself talking, can’t stand the life that he leads. He’s only here to please his parents anyway. He’s only here to prepare for a lifetime of work he isn’t sure he’ll ever want. He doesn’t need to speak. 

Then.. maybe he’s a pawn in the way that he stubbornly stares ahead regardless of what’s going on around him. Or maybe he’s a pawn in the way he has never raised a hand to protect himself or anyone else. Or maybe he’s a pawn in the way his fingers tremble with an overwhelming anger he keeps locked inside of himself every time a king gets in his way. 

Sieun snaps out of his musings when he realises he’s been procrastinating again, eyes fixed on his English vocabulary while his mind is far away. He holds in a sigh – it’s too much noise, it’s too attention grabbing – and blinks a few times until his vision clears enough to read through his notes again. He has to use his break times better, he realises, but it's difficult with the way Yeongbin is yelling in the back of the classroom, the way he bumps against desks, and the way music is blaring from his and his friends’ phones. 

Sieun is hyperfocused on the sounds, wishes he wouldn’t have forgotten his earbuds today. The loudness in this classroom is overwhelming in a way he’s awfully used to (bouncing off of the walls and digging right into his eardrums) and still it makes his skin crawl. He considers studying in the school bathrooms for a second – a far more quiet endeavour, he’d hope – but then he remembers the stolen glances, empty threats and plain old drugs being exchanged in them. 

At least in the several too many stories he’s overheard his classmates telling each other they were. His classmates might not be the most reliable sources, but then again Sieun has seen some things around here, and it doesn’t take him much to admit that he doesn’t really want to find out if Byeoksan High’s school bathrooms are genuinely as much of a battlefield as they are described as. 

Before he can waste any more of his precious time on contemplating bathrooms out of all things, the door to the classroom slams open. That in and of itself isn’t weird. However, whatever conversations have just been interrupted by the booming sound don’t just start up again like they usually do, and even the weird song playing off of Jeongchan’s phone that is now fading out never returns. It’s not seamless. Or natural. It’s a disgusting cut in both atmosphere and routine, and maybe Sieun could’ve accepted that in exchange for the silence that drapes over the room like a white sheet over abandoned furniture, but silence in this world can only mean three things. Respect, fear, or death. 

Sieun isn’t very fond of any of these options. 

He manages to stare at his English vocabulary for another whopping five seconds before curiosity gets the better of him and he raises his head. His dead eyes meet a ridiculous ensemble. 

Half of the sports club in their baseball uniforms stand angry and firm in the front of the classroom, scowls on their faces as they scan each student for something Sieun couldn't even begin to guess. 

“Who is Ahn Suho?”, the first one who stormed in demands to know. He has an unremarkable face and an even less remarkable posture (an attempt at coolness that doesn’t translate well in connection with his obvious hotheadedness) and Sieun draws the conclusion that it’s just not worth it to pretend to care about whatever grudges he’s holding.

Out of the corner of his eye, he can see Jeongchan and Taehoon point towards the other end of the room. Expected, but disappointing nonetheless. It’s a little funny how quickly they cave in though – once someone they deem more dangerous than their king starts slamming doors open they can suddenly follow orders just as well as their victims can. It's a little less funny to think of the beating anyone lower rank than them would receive if this had played out any other way. (God forbid anyone snitches on them, but if it's about some random kid in the back of the class? They'll deliver him on a silver platter no matter the occasion.)

But actually- Sieun turns his head, barely, watches a kid he only half heartedly remembers trying to shake Suho awake -It doesn't have to be someone random. Technically, most of the king's do follow a vague pattern in their tactics. It's not that Sieun thinks none of them bully indiscriminately, some definitely do, but to show up in someone else's classroom with all of your friends to back you up warrants at least some sort of reason. But then again, Sieun's never been a king, so he wouldn't know either way.

He stares at Suho from across the classroom, at the way he wakes up, still groggy and drowsy from sleep. Sieun has to admit.. Up until now, he's barely noticed him.

Suho ranks low on tests and doesn’t speak much. Mainly because he’s sleeping most of the time. After he wakes up he can be chatty, yes, asking what's for lunch or what happened while he was napping, but Sieun has never cared much for anyone in this class (or life) so he only listens with half an ear, if at all. 

The only thing Sieun has deemed at least slightly interesting about Suho so far has been the fact that Suho is at school even earlier than him, laying on pushed together desks as if it is comfortable in any capacity. It was easy to forget about though.

It's easy to forget about most things that don’t fuel Sieun’s attempt at finding a purpose in this life. Hell, if he's honest, he barely knows the layout of his own school. He walks to his classroom and back, obviously, and sometimes he has to find his way to the field where they have sports too. But he does that with his eyes glued onto the floor and his mind deep in the next exam’s topic, and hardly anything except for school work stays in his thoughts for very long at all. So yes, Suho is easy to forget. 

You can imagine Sieun's surprise then, when half of the sports club shows up here, ready to beat Suho to a pulp, glaring at him as if he was significant enough to even warrant that in the first place.

Or, well, maybe it's not surprise. Violence is common and deceptively easy to get used to after all, and while that isn't good it's still the reality that Sieun lives in. But what is it if not surprise? Shock? Confusion? Perhaps intrigue is the most fitting term.

It's fascinating to watch Suho stare in the face of imminent danger and just.. laugh. That's what it feels like, at least, seeing as he casually responds to the unremarkable senior's questions with an ease and a disinterest that'd be hard to pull off for even the most powerful students here. 

Sieun barely makes out the actual contents of the rather one-sidedly passionate discussion that is unfolding right in front of him, but pretty soon that isn't even necessary anymore. Whatever Suho has said must've touched a nerve, because suddenly the senior calls for his friends and in a matter of seconds all hell breaks loose. 

People jump away from the scene, flee to the edges of the classroom, because no one feels particularly safe with feet stomping through the rows of desks and baseball bats raining down on whatever they can reach.

With expert skill, Suho dodges the hits, dances around them, defends himself with a genuinely impressive simplicity that exudes incredible confidence.

Sieun's eyes narrow as the fight goes on, and he's so immersed in it he barely notices he's the only one still firmly glued to his seat. 

It's weird. Suho's weird. Despite his constant studies, Sieun has seen movies before. He’s read books, he’s played video games, and no matter how often a main character mows down entire groups of their opponents it’s just never been realistic to him. How could it? How could one person navigate, manage, survive the onslaught of several opponents, predict which moves come next, and then also have the physical capabilities to take the occasional hit? 

Today, Sieun’s scope of realism is turned up on its head though. Today, Suho (barely awake, with his hair mussed up from sleeping so long) is going to take Sieun’s memory and punch a dent so deep into it that Sieun will never be able to forget him again. 

How Suho manages to evade the chairs and the fists and the baseball bats so efficiently is a mystery to Sieun, who himself can hardly run a lap without breaking a sweat, but it's so awfully thrilling he can't tear his eyes away. 

He tries not to stare, he really does, wants nothing more than to force his gaze back onto his paper, but watching Suho fight is.. a work of art, almost. It'd be crazy to admit. It'd be the nail in his coffin to admit that he's enamoured, entranced by the way another boy delivers punches so hard it has people staggering to the ground. 

He'll settle on calling it impressive instead, yes. It's nothing more than a simple appreciation of strength and foresight. 

And then Suho winks before grabbing the leader of the sports club by the ear and Sieun feels like he's plunged into ice cold water. His stomach does a very real, very embarrassing flip, and it’s not even in the feeling-nauseated-way. Not really. Sieun wants to explain where it comes from, wants to go about this with logic and poise, but he just can’t find an answer. 

Oh, how he hates how that wink made him feel. Oh, how he hates the goosebumps that dot his skin after Suho masterfully pushes back one of the bats that was meant to smash his teeth out. He hates how easily Suho makes his attackers flinch by feigning an attack, how naturally his face contorts into a shit-eating grin. Worst of it all: It looks good on him.

He’s won already anyway. No matter what happens next he’s won already. Because even if this goes sideways and he ends up beaten and bruised, he’s ripped such a big chunk out of their egos and reputation already that it’ll take months to repair. 

Somewhere in the back of his mind, Sieun knows that he could use this opportunity to observe a real fight, to learn from the example so kindly presented to him. It’s hard to, when instead his eyes can drop down to where Suho’s shirt is riding up whenever he dodges a punch, or when he can observe every twitch of Suho's face, every small sign of Suho's minimal but apparent exertion. 

The fighters pause, promise to stop, and stupidly, Sieun actually thinks it's over. He thinks the sports club will come back for more later, and Suho will eat shit because they'll catch him off guard as a punishment for showing them up like this, yes, but like an idiot he genuinely thinks they’ll leave for now. 

Instantly, again, Sieun is proven wrong. The leader of the club – mercifully released – betrays his promise of letting this go within a second. He charges at Suho, whips his bat around like crazy while Suho backs up, close, closer to where Sieun is sitting. It has his ears ringing, his heart beating hard and fast in his chest. 

And then the bat goes flying and Suho has to dodge it at the very last moment, right into Sieun, right onto his desk, sweeping his pencil case onto the floor in the process. Sieun barely manages to stop his lip from curling in annoyance, but then Suho is gone already and it wouldn't have made a difference anyhow. 

There's cursing and a rush of air as the senior comes at Suho with a raised fist and- Suho punches him in the face as if it was the most normal thing in the world. His body falls to the ground with a dull thud and there's a gasp and the sharp intake of a breath.

Suddenly everything is over. 

Suddenly, the tense silence from earlier returns, overcomes every single student here. It's stretched like a net over the entire room. Every twitch, every movement is too harsh, too loud in contrast to the deafening lack of sound. 

"Take him to the nurses office. Don't say my name or I'll kill you", Suho orders, and there’s a roughness in his voice that makes Sieun want to bite his tongue through. Suho sounds like a king now, all assertive and mighty. Almost bored, in the way he points at the body at his feet. 

Suho has every right to be. Sieun knows that. Sieun knows that Suho was only defending himself, Sieun knows that he was only putting an end to an otherwise endless fight. And still it reminds him too much of everyone else around here who threatens with destroying futures and involving parents. 

Classmates of his shuffle where they stand, cautiously exchange glances, and Sieun keeps the urge to grimace behind strong locks, doesn't let his disgust show on his face. 

He stares up at Suho and wonders if this display of strength will have any repercussions. He stares up at Suho and questions if he’ll be like Yeongbin now. 

Of course, there’s clear differences in the behaviour of the two, even Sieun knows that. Yeongbin doesn’t often do the dirty work. He’s a talker, a manipulator, but he's got a glare intimidating enough to be worth something and Taehoon as his muscle.

If Suho is muscle and brain alike (because it takes intelligence to react quickly, to evade punches like this), he could easily become the next king of this class. Quite honestly Sieun would hate that even more than he hates Yeongbin’s iron rule over each student here.

He snaps back into reality right in the moment Suho meets his eyes for the first time ever. Sieun feels the blood freeze in his veins as he takes in Suho standing tall and confident over his desk. 

It, too, makes him look like a king.

Sieun ignores that Suho’s almost-smile falters when he turns around and sees his obvious discomfort. Sieun ignores that Suho doesn’t lose his patience even when he’s glared at like this. 

Instead, Sieun averts his eyes. Maybe because he’s embarrassed at being caught staring (they all are, it doesn't matter), maybe because Suho’s wink is still too fresh in his mind (no, that can’t be it either). Perhaps – the most logical answer – he just wants to assess the damage his pencil case has taken. When his eyes fall onto his pens littering the ground, whatever he was feeling fades into instant annoyance. He is not going to bend down and pick up something somebody else knocked over. 

Suho’s gaze follows Sieun’s downwards. 

“Oh.”, he says, “Was that me?”, and Sieun wants to scoff. Suho scans for his reaction now, meets a stern face expertly controlled, meets dead eyes and honesty. Meets an affirmative noise that probably comes out softer than Sieun had intended it to be.

Sieun expects everything. Sieun expects a sly comment, Sieun expects a smirk or a shrug. Sieun even considers the possibility of getting the rest of his stuff swept off his desk for good measure.

Sieun doesn’t expect Suho to grab his pencil case off of the ground and swiftly place it in front of him again. Least of all, Sieun expects an apology. 

“Sorry, man”, Suho says, and lifts his fingers as if to wave the situation off. He bows a little, and nods like he wants to underline his words with it.

Sieun doesn’t think he’s ever been so confused. He understands biology easily – revises it only to get every single detail right – in English almost every word he has to remember directly corresponds to a Korean one, and even in maths (the class he spends the most time studying for) everything follows a firm structure. If x is 2 it’ll stay 2, no matter how long you do mental gymnastics to get to a different answer. 

Suho acted like a king. Why does he spare Sieun now? 

“Why would you do that in the classroom?”, Sieun asks, because he just has to. He wants to ask so much more – the question he’s asked himself just now, why Suho is so good at fighting, and if he’ll try to overthrow Yeongbin too – but he’s never wanted to involve himself with anyone ever again so the one, mainly rhetorical question that just left his lips will have to do. 

Sieun turns around because the conversation is over. 

Suho smiles to himself because something big has just begun.

Notes:

Thought I'd start something with a few chapters again. I still have exams to prepare for but oh boy the sad gays have gripped me and won't let me go. I hope y'all enjoyed and I appreciate comments and kudos as always <3

Chapter 2: So what, I want no sympathy. I got knots inside of me.

Notes:

Title from Sedona by Sir Chloe

It all started with a rippling in the quiet sea, with a wrinkle in the smoothest fabric. It all started when the world stirred its morning coffee and Sieun got sucked into the languid swirl of it. It all started with interrupted sleep and a punch so hard Sieun’s heart pounds just from imagining it again. 

Ever since Suho has shown exactly what he can do, the classroom’s been even more tense than usual, on high-alert almost. Sieun should relate, theoretically. Sieun should keep his head ducked between his shoulders and hold his breaths when he sits down in the mornings and sees Suho laying on the desks in the back, sleeping.

Sieun does none of it. Maybe he has too much pride. Or maybe he’s simply stopped caring about what happens to his outer edges, what happens to his legs and arms and skin. He’s barely human anyway. He’s an empty shell and a spark of light. He’s a distant void, he’s invisible altogether. He’s whatever his brain needs to visualise him as. He’s only real because there’s people that know him – it’s like they’re sewn right onto him, building him a body to inhabit. Who cares about what happens to the boy wearing other people’s skin?

Sieun feels scraps of his father’s palm on his shoulders (his father doesn’t touch, rarely does, only pats Sieun on the back if he’s done something deemed worthy enough), Sieun feels his shins burn with the impact of heavy feet (patches of their soles mark his body like bruises), feels the roots of his hair prickle from whenever it was pulled. Sieun swallows and saliva spills out of the edges of the skin of his throat. It’s made from too many people, has too many fingerprints woven into its intricate mesh, and it (like everything else) is stitched together by the thread of his mother (loosely, so she can unravel him whenever she wants to).

Really, he’d be nothing on his own. It’s a frustrating thought.

It’s quite impressive though. Impressive that Sieun (this cluster of experiences, of thoughts and of pain, all braided together into a tight knot), has even made it this far without being untied. 

He’d used to fear it. The day he would snap. The day all of him would spill out in bloody bursts. He’s come to accept it now, has come to accept the inevitable. He’ll let people slap at him, punch and yell. If they cut his threads he’ll have entire oceans of hatred prepared to unleash on them. 

In conclusion, nothing much has changed for Sieun ever since Suho has beaten up the leader of the sports club. In conclusion, Sieun rips open the door to his classroom and the curtains in front of the windows when he comes to school the next morning. 

He turns, and immediately Suho’s sleeping form falls into his field of vision. The boy stirs under the bright sun and it’s almost enough to make Sieun regret letting the light in in the first place. It’s cloudy today, and soon the boys are tinged in grey again.

Sieun sits down in his own seat and takes his notes out. No distractions. There’s an elegant kind of control in this part of his life (the strict routines, the keeping his mind busy), and it smooths over the uncertainties in his heart. He can lose himself in formulas and numbers because they’re predictable. 

Suho – somewhere behind him – groans loud and exhausted. 

See? That’s different. That’s unpredictable. Suho could do anything and everything he wants and Sieun would just have to accept it. Because Suho isn’t a math problem, because humans don’t work as variables. Sieun thinks that maybe he hates that most about them.

He bites down on his lip to get his mind to focus on his study guide instead. 

Stubbornly, his gaze betrays him. It falls back on Suho, falls back onto an unmoving body wrapped in a light blanket. Falls back on strands of hair sticking in every possible direction. Suho is so vulnerable like this. Sieun wonders if he has to be. Maybe it’s a power play. Maybe Suho knows he can still win a fight even after being awoken here, like this. Maybe he’s only pretending he can.

Somewhere past the window a cloud follows the wind, moves on and away from the sun. Sieun watches intently as a golden ray of light falls onto Suho’s peaceful expression. 

Sieun decides he doesn’t only like when Suho bashes people’s heads in. Sieun decides that Suho looks quite nice even when he’s sleeping. He doesn’t look as cocky as he does while fighting, he doesn’t look angry. Sieun can’t even explain why that means so much to him. Sieun himself barely moves the muscles in his face, but there’s a certain wonder in watching someone else seem so serene, so blissful. 

It makes Sieun miss his own bed in a way. It makes Sieun miss sleeping in, sleeping long and hard, and waking up to sunrays caressing your skin instead of a cold room tinged in darkness. It makes Sieun miss childlike innocence and mornings spent playing instead of studying. It makes Sieun miss when his house still felt like a home. 

He shakes his head at himself. It’s stupid. He’s found a purpose in his life and that purpose is learning everything there is to learn, getting into a good university and leading a good life.

Sometimes Sieun asks himself if he even knows what good means, even though it’s a metric that his entire life has been measured by. 

“You’ll do good.”

“You’re a good kid.”

“You won the competition? That’s good.”

“You’re good, Sieun, we’re proud of you.”

It’s lost its meaning, really. Good is a side of a scale, good is what he’s supposed to be. Sieun can’t remember a time his parents didn’t call him that. The novelty has worn off – it’s been gone for years actually – and now he’s stuck in the eternal endeavour of staying good, of never being less than it. 

He can’t impress his parents, and least of all he can impress himself. 

Whatever. It’s not that he has to enjoy his life. He’ll just have to survive long enough to reach his goal. His goal of being good, of being better, of making something out of himself. Maybe then his mother will hug him. Maybe then she won’t run away at the next possible call she receives. 

Sometimes Sieun believes that even if he’d come back home with a diploma and a salary better than those of his parents combined all he will receive in return is the strong squeeze of his father’s hand on his shoulder or the tight lipped smile of apology his mother sends his way every time she’s too busy to give him the time of day. 

Sometimes Sieun believes he doesn’t remember a time he’s gotten a different response. 

Whatever. 

Whatever, whatever, whatever, whatever. Sieun can barely keep himself from grimacing at the bitter taste spreading on his tongue. He's beginning to annoy himself. It’s fine. He’s fine. It’s fine to wake up to a cold, empty house, it’s fine to break apart over your homework. It’s fine to never speak or laugh or smile. It’s fine to not be a kid anymore. 

Sieun observes as Suho’s chest raises with each long breath he takes. Sieun observes as Suho’s eyebrows twist and his eyes flutter at the bright light shining onto them. Quickly, he turns around again. 

When Suho wakes up the sun is warm on his skin. Sieun is jealous, even if he doesn’t deserve to be.

***

It’s been hours since Sieun has arrived at school and he’s growing more and more tired with every breath he takes. But Yeongbin and his friends have been suspiciously quiet and it’s unnerving enough (on top of his need to study) that Sieun can't find it in him to close his eyes for even just a few seconds. 

When in one of their longer breaks one of Sieun’s classmates comes up to him all shaky and skittish Sieun already knows why. 

“Mrs. Kim wants to see you in her office”, he says, but he doesn’t meet Sieun’s gaze. He’s bowing his head as if he’s scared someone will rip it right off shoulders, and one of his eyes twitches nervously. 

It’s clear the kid has had a run-in with Yeongbin not too long ago, and it’s even clearer that with Sieun’s squeaky clean record (and his lack of interest in any school activities) his homeroom teacher has no real reason to call him into her office. 

Sieun looks down on his notes for a moment, fighting with himself to keep a sigh in his throat. He almost considers asking where exactly Yeongbin wants to see him, because he hates these petty games he plays, but in the end he gives it up. His chair makes a horrible noise as he slides it back, but he doesn’t flinch. He’ll have a bigger problem than this in somewhat under a minute and he doesn’t like to waste his energy. His classmate runs off as soon as he realises his message has been relayed.

As Sieun walks out of the classroom his gaze gets caught by the sleeping form of Suho, sticks there a little too long to be normal. Suho’s face is squished into his pink rabbit pillow, his back hunched and pressed into his chair. Sieun questions if that’s even comfortable, but then he remembers that Suho sleeps on hard wooden desks every night, so – seemingly – comfort is not much of a priority to him. 

Shoes slide over dirty linoleum floors, arms swing from side to side. Life is like an outer body experience for Sieun sometimes. Especially when he knows he’s walking towards certain death like right now. Sieun doesn’t know if it makes him suicidal to choose this path. Sieun doesn’t know if he just can’t help it, if he has to poke the bear. Sieun doesn't know if he plans on provoking someone in hopes of unleashing the years of pent up rage bubbling underneath his skin. 

He walks around a corner and is greeted by Yeongbin, Taehoon and Jeongchan blocking his path. Not the most surprising encounter Sieun has had today, he’ll be honest.

“Hey, dude”, Yeongbin begins, his eyes narrowed and a slimy smile pressed into his features. Sieun’s always thought he looked like snake, but like this the resemblance is even more obvious. Mentally, he apologises to snakes for the comparison. He’s sure they’re much sweeter than Yeongbin is. “Come and walk with us for a bit, will you?”

Sieun’s tired eyes drag upwards, slowly, like he has all the time in the world. It takes a bit for them to arrive at a height that lets him meet Yeongbin’s gaze. The boy is tall already, but Sieun is slouching and that gives Yeongbin those added few centimetres that his ego probably feeds on gladly. Not that Sieun cares.

“I was told Mrs. Kim wanted to see me”, he responds, because he’d like to be entirely sure that it was just an excuse to get him here. Jeongchan snickers, and punches Taehoon on the arm (whispering “He believed that!”), and now Sieun has his answer. Well. Time to get this over with.

“Oh, worry about that later, I have something to say to you.”

Yeongbin starts walking and smoothly lays his arm around Sieun’s shoulder to force him forwards. Sieun’s skin burns where they touch, but not in the good way. It makes him want to chop Yeongbin’s limbs off. Still, his legs fall into a lazy trot to keep up with him. So up close, Yeongbin’s smell is far too easy to decipher. He smells like a sports team, he smells like the backpack of Sieun’s father whenever he comes home from training. He smells like he’s picked the most masculine sounding body spray from the grocery store and has doused himself from head to toe with it. It’s enough to have Sieun’s nose screw up in disgust.

“Do you remember the last test we took?”, Yeongbin asks all of a sudden and the condescension is laid so thick in his voice that Sieun can barely stop his eyes from rolling into the back of his head. There’s nothing wrong with his memory. Nothing much.

“Yeah.”

“Good!”, Yeongbin encourages with the same sort of sing-song voice you’d use to speak to a toddler. It reminds Sieun of his parents in the worst way. “And you probably remember your ranking too then?”

In all honesty, Sieun remembers none of his rankings except for the bad ones. Excellence is his average, he can’t afford to fall back. He shrugs mainly to answer the question, but thankfully Yeongbin’s arm falls right off his shoulders with it.

“Well, it’s nice that we walked right to the postings then. Take a look.”

There’s a dangerous sort of gleam in Yeongbin’s eyes as he stands still, and it feels like his smile can’t fully reach them because he hides something behind his pupils. Something he doesn’t want Sieun to see just yet.

Sieun ignores it like he ignores his desperate need for sleep. He forces himself to skim over the paper pinned to the wall. 

He’s the first place. Not with a perfect score but it’s acceptable. Yeongbin is third. No doubt with the help of bribing some people to intentionally flunk. Anything to appear smart, huh? He may be decently intelligent, but a guy like him rarely studies for long. He has to keep up appearances and stroke his ego after all. Very time-consuming.

Sieun turns back to Yeongbin. His gaze speaks volumes. And? What about these ranks was important enough to show me?

“As you may have noticed you’re up there-” Yeongbin points at Sieun’s name almost accusatorily. “And I’m down here!” His finger scratches over the paper to move down to his own name, but Sieun finds the attempt at a display of power rather pathetic. 

“Now I’ve had a talk with Jaehwi already”, Yeongbin proudly nods to himself as both of their eyes fall onto the second place. If Sieun still had an ounce of empathy left in himself he maybe would’ve let it shown on his face. Instead, he wishes Jaehwi the best of luck in his mind. Poor kid’s far too sensitive for this school. Yeongbin gives him a blinding smile. “The only thing standing in my way is you if you get my gist.”

Sieun gets his gist. Of course he does. It’s pretty hard no to.

“We can do this the easy way.” At that Yeongbin opens his arms welcomingly. “Or the hard way!” His dangerous smile is back and he lets his arms drop. 

Sieun doubts he’ll escape the bullying either way. He shrugs disinterestedly. It doesn’t look good for him. He’s trapped between the postings and three other boys, all towering over him. Except Jeongchan maybe, but even he is a bit taller than Sieun. 

That’s what he came for, wasn’t it? That’s why he didn’t run? His father used to tell him to face things head on, and now here he is. 

“How about you study instead?”, Sieun asks, but apparently Yeongbin didn’t want advice. 

“Hard way. Okay, got it”

He motions towards Taehoon and within a second Sieun has a hand around his throat. The impact catapults him backwards, his head hitting the cork of the board and a string of coughs leaves his mouth as he tries to make sense of the situation. 

There’s an ache where the hand touches him, there's a stinging where the fingernails dig into his skin. Worst of all there’s a violent pressure on his windpipe that has him gasping for air already. Sieun’s own hands fly to Taehoon’s, claw and scratch at them in an attempt to get him off, but it’s impossible. Taehoon goes to the gym, Sieun is out of breath after climbing a couple of stairs. It’s not a fair fight. Not that it matters. Not that anything matters except for Sieun’s undying wish to get oxygen into his lungs again. 

There’s an itching in his windpipe and Sieun wants to cough it out, but it’s hard to, when all that comes out of his mouth are aborted breaths. His eyes feel like they’re bulging out of their sockets, it’s like they’re going to pop any second now. Blood rushes into his face, and Sieun feels it pulsate under his upmost layer of skin. Taehoon lifts him up a little and that has panic coursing through his veins. 

Sieun tries to balance on the tips of his feet, tries to kick at Taehoon just the same. The latter simply takes a step back and it’s so frustrating Sieun wants to cry. 

“You rather wanna talk about it now?”, Yeongbin asks, standing tall and mean and awful over Taehoon’s shoulder. It’s unfair. It’s so unfair. Sieun wants to bite their tendons through, wants to rip them apart, but he can’t even reach up to Taehoon’s elbow like this. He yearns to rake his fingernails over his captor’s arms so hard it'll draw blood, but that would mean stopping trying to get him away from his throat and Sieun can’t do that. It hurts. Everything hurts. The fury, the rage runs white hot through his gut, and it makes his fingers tremble. 

“S..stop”, he gets out between pathetic little gasps. He hears a nasty laugh in response but it’s hard to focus on where it comes from.

Yeongbin shakes his head – at least that’s what Sieun thinks he’s seeing through the tears in his eyes – and flashes a grin so disgustingly saccharine the pressure on Sieun’s throat isn't the only thing that's going to make him vomit.

“Oh, we will. You just have to agree to fuck up a few tests here and there, eh? It’s easy.”

If Sieun could, he would gather all of his saliva and spit it right into Yeongbin’s face. He makes a choked off noise instead, because Taehoon’s fingertips dig into his flesh a little harder, and the pain that shoots through him is sharp and pointed. 

“Come on. Agree!”, Yeongbin taunts, “Can’t be that hard.”

Sieun feels his resolve slip, drip down his fingers as if it melted in his palm. There’s a rushing in his ears that can’t be normal and his entire body shakes from the effort of keeping his windpipe open even just a sliver.

When a door opens beside them he’s too far gone to even register the sound. The silence that follows is hard to recall too, because at this point Sieun hears everything through cotton, like his brain has gone mushy.

“Can’t even go piss in peace..”, someone mumbles, but his voice gets louder when he continues speaking. “You’re blocking the hallway, come on. Do this shit elsewhere.”

If Sieun’s mind was any clearer he would’ve questioned why Yeongbin doesn’t immediately push back at the obvious disrespect. Here and now, he can only focus on how Taehoon’s firm grip falters a little. Sieun fights for air immediately, gasps and pants and digs his nails even further into the fingers around his throat. His eyes are squeezed shut and his arms tremble.

“F.. Move along then”, Yeongbin invites, and it’s obvious that he bites back the curse sitting right on his tongue. 

Sieun hears the shuffling of feet and his heart sinks. Taehoon’s hand grips tighter again. Sieun has missed his chance. Whoever was here just now gave him the opportunity to free himself, endangered himself for Sieun, and Sieun wasted it like a fucking idiot. 

“Aren’t you embarrassed?”, the unfamiliar voice asks suddenly and that has Sieun perking up again, “Fighting someone three on one?”

Yeongbin scoffs. “It’s not your business, is it?”

The sound of the sole of a shoe turning on the linoleum floors presses insistently into Sieun’s ears. His throat will bruise, there’s no doubt about it, and he thinks it would be easier to simply die. Easier than covering it up, easier than explaining it. At least his father isn’t home.

“It’s not. But I have no problem teaching people some manners every once in a while. Fight him one on one if you have to – not my problem – but you all look like cowards like this. Just some friendly advice.”

Sieun’s eyes flutter open slightly, and he can see Taehoon stare at Yeongbin questioningly. 

“Don’t you fucking dare let him go”, Yeongbin hisses, and of course his order is followed. 

“Well.”, the unfamiliar voice says. Sieun sees broad shoulders in their school uniform shrug casually. “Then you won’t mind me making this fight a little fairer, I suppose.”

Everything after that happens too fast. The unknown kid punches Jeongchan square in the face. Jeongchan goes down holding his jaw and now Yeongbin has to try and dodge the violent fists of his opponent. Taehoon lets Sieun go in favour of dashing into the tangle of limbs. Punches fly and legs kick indiscriminately as Sieun falls onto the floor. Coughs topple out of his throat, and he gasps like his life depends on it. Maybe it does. 

He sits there for seconds trying to get his spinning head to calm down again. When finally he’s ready his shaky hands grab at the wall as he begins to pull himself upwards. He can watch as Jeongchan crawls away from the chaos, obviously having taken a few more hits, and as Suho dodges whatever Taehoon and Yeongbin throw at him. 

Wait. 

Suho?

Sieun winks the tears out of eyes to clear up his vision a little and he flinches when an elbow digs right into Suho’s ribs while he is distracted. 

Suho. Yes, Suho. 

Suho fighting the king of the classroom. For Sieun. Whatever Sieun has said about Suho’s intelligence has to have been a misunderstanding. God, that boy is an idiot. 

Easily, Suho twists out of Taehoon’s grip on his arm and a spike of jealousy spears through Sieun at the view. It’s infuriating how simple he makes it look while Sieun has to stand on the sidelines and catch his breath. His mind feels fuzzy still, and he can feel a headache creep up on him. 

A realisation spreads in Sieun’s brain. Suho has not only spared him – Suho has defended him, is defending him right now. Suho fights fair, Suho is no king. Suho doesn’t want to be. 

It’s so noble Sieun wants to vomit a little. 

He watches as arms parry strikes and shoes slide over the floors. He watches as flesh is pinched, as the fighters push and pull each other around. 

It’s obvious Suho has the upper hand, even more than it was with the sports club. It’s a shame he doesn’t fight dirty, Sieun thinks, because then Suho would’ve had Taehoon and Yeongbin on the ground already. 

Suho throws the latter off of himself and he stumbles into the wall with a loud thump. There’s that grin again. Not Yeongbin’s gross one, but Suho’s stupid, confident one. The one that does something to Sieun’s insides he can’t explain.

Taehoon and Suho stand face to face. The air feels electrified, almost, and Suho’s gaze is perfectly challenging. 

Even with the pain clouding Sieun’s mind he knows when something is up. With Yeongbin out of the game, Taehoon should’ve backed down already. His gaze frantically moves around the hallway and it hardens when it falls on a crouching Jeongchan, ready to trip Suho when he least expects it. 

Taehoon swings, Suho steps back, and- And Sieun pushes himself off of the wall and rushes forward kicking his foot with all his might into the stupid cunt squatting on the floor.

Taehoon falters at the last second, eyes wide, and Suho uses that time to retaliate. With a thud, Suho’s fist connects with the second jaw today.

After that, an uncomfortable atmosphere wafts through the air. It’s like the world has been put on pause, now that everyone’s tasted defeat in some sort of way. They’re all still trying to catch their breaths, especially Sieun, and the three bullies stumble before they manage to stand straight. 

“You’ll regret this” Yeongbin bites out through closed teeth, but Sieun’s brain waves it off. He regrets many things. He doesn’t have the energy to think of the million further things he will eventually write on that list.

He waits for everyone to leave, wants nothing more than to have a moment to himself, but Suho (leaning against the wall, hands on his sides) makes no effort to move. 

Sieun looks up from where he is standing. He almost expects Suho to demand that he thank him. It’d be understandable. It’d be warranted. Suho raises an eyebrow. 

“What?”, he asks, “Are you gonna ask me why I’d fight so close to the classroom again?”

There’s an easy smile on his face and it’s nearly enough to have Sieun give in to the urge to mirror it. He keeps his mouth shut and he keeps on staring, because that’s what he’s supposed to do. That’s what's familiar. 

Suho laughs, but it doesn’t sound mocking. 

“Let’s have lunch together sometime. I gotta thank the hero that kicked Jeongchan’s ass for me, right?”

Notes:

I have an exam tomorrow but i wrote this chapter instead of studying oops. Hope y'all enjoyed it <3 Kudos and comments are appreciated as always!

Chapter 3: I wanted more than life could ever grant me, bored by the chore of saving face.

Notes:

Title from Today by The Smashing Pumpkins

It’s been a while ever since Sieun’s last encounter with Suho. The days have passed just as they have passed before, and it’s unfair that it feels like the earth is rumbling with change when the reality of Sieun’s existence is as stagnant and slow as it always is. He feels like someone has built a dam in the creek of his life, like someone has purposefully halted him. He doesn’t know what that means. He doesn’t know if he wants to tear the dam down or throw more branches onto it.

Whatever it is, whatever that means, Sieun is glad that Suho has forgotten about his invitation. Sieun’s too busy with homework and cram school and exam preparations anyway. Suho should be too busy with that too. 

Sieun's father is still not home, and that’s fine with Sieun as well. His throat is red and bruised and he’s already receiving too much attention for it from people that don’t even know him. He can’t imagine the fuss his own father would make. 

Sieun goes to school and Sieun ignores the wrath in Yeongbin’s eyes, ignores the way he can feel his gaze pierce into his back every second of the day. Sieun sits glued to his chair and Sieun studies. 

He feels a touch too warm in his jacket, he notices about halfway through the day. Summer is coming. Maybe that scares him a little bit. Maybe that’s ridiculous to admit. Needless to say, his jacket stays on. He doesn’t even roll his sleeves up. Maybe if he pretends not to notice the rising temperatures then they won’t get any higher.  

His classes end like spring is ending. Life is like a collage of random snapshots: a photo every few hours. The blackboard with some formula for physics scribbled on it. Sieun in front of the classroom writing down the answers to their maths homework without speaking a word (he never does, his teachers have given up on him explaining himself). Sieun dropping his pens into his pencil case. Cram school. There’s no snapshot for that yet. 

Sieun shoulders his backpack and makes his way down the hill his school sits on (like a cruel king it towers over its students, as if it knows what they’re subjected to everyday underneath its wooden stare). He feels like he’s in a shoal of fish, feels like the crowd of students is consuming him. 

At least the song playing in his earphones is bearable today. His heart aches a little bit at the plain chord progression and perhaps that should be embarrassing. It’s not embarrassing enough for him to turn it off. The sun shines onto his face and he basks in the warm discomfort just because he wants to like it. 

As so very often, he wishes he could be on a journey forever. He wishes he could walk until his legs give out, he wishes he could be alone with his thoughts for all eternity. He likes walking. He likes walking places more. You achieve something with every step you take. You don’t have to study while you walk. Maybe you should. But you don’t have to. You can just walk. It’s so simple. Sieun wishes everything could be this way.

He’s almost at the bottom of the hill, and that means he can see the masses of students dissipate already. It’s cool, in a way, watching everyone choose their own direction. The stream of people breaks off into four major streaks, and Sieun is about to follow the one he always does, when suddenly.. he hears someone shout his name. 

He looks around as subtly as he can, because perhaps they didn’t mean him, or perhaps it was an illusion, or perhaps - Sieun forces himself to breathe - or perhaps Suho has parked his scooter in the middle of the street, standing confidently next to it and waving with an excited grin on his face. Right. Obviously. 

For a brief second Sieun considers ignoring him. For a brief second Sieun considers leaving him alone and bewildered in the middle of the road. The crowd drags him forward though, like a sludge of molasses down a slope, and he doesn’t have the energy to fight it. He walks towards Suho because he has no other choice, and he hopes Suho knows that.

Sieun ignores the curiosity sparking in his heart, the curiosity that makes his fingertips tingle. He’d never admit it, but that’s a reason he walks forward too. He’s curious about Suho. Curious about what Suho wants with him. He takes his earbuds out and maybe that reveals his true intentions already.

The sun makes Suho’s skin glow. He’s more tan than Sieun is, if only by a little, and it suits him. He’s wearing a shirt, jacket lying over his scooter (of course he welcomes the summer, of course he accepts the inevitable change), and Sieun has to force his eyes away from the areas where the fabric stretches tightly over Suho’s torso. He looks good like this too. Sieun is beginning to believe Suho looks good anytime. It’s kind of unfair.

Suho picks Sieun out of the masses like it’s the easiest thing in the world, and it makes him feel awfully visible, awfully seen. It’s odd. His and Suho’s eyes meet and suddenly several realisations click into place.

Sieun realises that standing face to face with Suho feels even worse than staring from afar. (His stomach churns, his heart jumps clumsily as if it forgot how to pump blood through his body.)

Sieun realises Suho oozes a certain kind of confidence, a freedom, a flexibility that reaches out with gentle hands and grabs at Sieun’s composure. (He doesn’t know if he wants to run away or fight back.)

Sieun realises he’s never been good with eye contact (always too much, always too intense, and he’s suffered the consequences for it).

Sieun realises Suho doesn’t seem to mind. 

He grinds his teeth together and keeps his expression neutral. This is bad. What happened to not getting distracted? He has cram school. In, like, 20 minutes, sure, but it’ll take him a while to get there. What is he doing here, in the middle of the street, staring up at Suho? What is he doing here disrupting his routine for a boy? 

Suho shifts where he stands.

“Let’s have lunch together. It’s a little late, but still.”

Sieun blinks. Sieun blinks and stares. His voice sounds raspy and unused when he finally speaks up.

“I have cram school.”

He’s so quiet. He usually doesn’t feel self-conscious about it. Somehow it’s weird now, under Suho’s scrutiny. 

“And?” Suho gazes back at him completely unbothered. Sieun’s eyebrows aren't far from twisting together in irritation. “You’re top of the class. Missing it one time can’t hurt.”

Thoughts elude Sieun. Words flow around his mind but he can’t catch them. He very nearly settles on ‘I don’t want to miss it’, because it’s true enough, but his mouth won’t obey him. 

Most teens don’t like to go to cram school, Sieun realises, and it makes him feel like there’s a void in his stomach, like he is hollow. Most teens do something with themselves now, and don’t just wait for their lives to begin. In a moment of unforgivable weakness Sieun wishes he could swallow down his obsessive need to be the best he could ever be. In a moment of unforgivable weakness Sieun wishes he could let go of the rigid lines, of the firm structure of his days. 

“It’s one time. Do it for me?” Suho tilts his head to the side. If he’s trying to look inviting and kind he’s unfortunately succeeding. “I’ll pay for whatever you get. Because of the Jeongchan thing, remember?”

Sieun thinks it’s ridiculous that Suho asks him to remember when it seemed like he forgot it himself. Sieun thinks it’s ridiculous that Suho asks him to remember when Sieun’s first night after the incident was spent tossing and turning trying to find a way to sleep without anything digging into his throat uncomfortably. 

Suho is ridiculous and Suho grabs his helmet and puts it over Sieun’s head. And yeah, maybe Sieun forgets how to breathe at that. Just a little bit. Not that it has to mean anything.

“Come on. You need to get out more, I only ever see you study.”

Sieun almost thinks Suho wants to grab his shoulders and shake him out of his unresponsive state. Sieun cannot even begin to understand why Suho doesn’t do that, why Suho is being so patient. Sieun cannot even begin to understand why he doesn’t walk away. 

Suho puts his jacket on again. Sieun pretends not to notice Suho’s muscles flex while he does it. They look a little stupid, probably, standing in the street like this, arguing back and forth. People are staring. At least Sieun can appreciate his lack of giving a shit about others’ opinions now.

The sun is bright and the day is long. Suho jumps on his scooter and motions for Sieun to get on. And maybe it’s the light and the passage of time Sieun wants to escape for a while, or maybe it’s the utter stagnation he’s been subjected to recently, or maybe it’s the way the sun rays get caught in Suho’s dark eyes and let them sparkle in a wonderful shade of brown – in the end it doesn’t really matter what pushes him over the edge – Sieun takes a step forward. He tries to ignore the way Suho's face splits into a small grin at that.  

Clumsily, Sieun clasps the helmet shut. When he swings his leg over the scooter it’s far from graceful, and he silently curses his lack of athleticism. He’s just sitting at desks the entire day, he doesn’t need to bend his body in these ways – not usually. Now he does.

It’s nothing he couldn’t get used to. Maybe the simplicity of that scares him.

“Don’t fall off”, Suho says and there's a happiness in his voice that makes Sieun dizzy, "You can hold onto me if I go too fast."

It’s the beginning of a trip that feels refreshing in a way Sieun isn’t used to. It’s the beginning of a certain kind of thrill spreading through his body like a disease would. His fingers twitch as Suho starts up his scooter. And then they’re off. Wind smacks into his face, eases the burn of the sun, worms itself underneath his jacket and uniform and chills what suffered under the heat for the entire day. It’s not even summer yet, and the temperatures are already too much. Sometimes Sieun wishes he’d be less resilient to the cold. He’s used to goosebumps and hiding himself in blankets. He’s not used to opening himself up, to showing himself. As if it was meant to be, the wind whips those thoughts right out of his brain when Suho accelerates. 

Quickly, Sieun realises that this version of getting places reminds him of walking, of the way his mind clears up when he makes his way through the world. He almost thinks that perhaps they can drive away from their problems, that perhaps they can leave his cram school and their exams in the dust that’s being raised under the tar black wheels of Suho’s scooter. 

Just the thought of it feels freeing already, feels as unpredictable and as chaotic as Suho is. Sieun’s hands grip into Suho’s jacket as he cuts a corner particularly fast, and for a second he could swear Suho smiles at that – sheepish yet fond. 

Seoul’s streets are busy with afternoon traffic, and Sieun hasn’t had time to be convinced of Suho’s driving skills so far. It’s an adventurous ride through the city at least, and a genuinely terrifying endeavour at most, and when they finally arrive at their destination Sieun feels shaken and a little guilty again (the thought of what he’s missing is back, making him feel irresponsible as all hell). 

He swallows the regret down in favour of actually taking his surroundings for once. The place Suho has brought him to is a seemingly family owned restaurant tucked between multi-storied buildings and a few other stores. It looks cozy, even from the outside. Sieun isn’t used to it. At least manoeuvring off of the scooter is a little easier than getting on, and while Sieun takes off the helmet Suho locks his scooter. 

“I work here so I might help out a little before we eat”, he warns, and for the first time ever there’s something vulnerable in his gaze. Hastily, his expression switches to his usual demeanour though. 

Sieun follows him inside because now he’s already here anyway and immediately he is hit with the delicious smell of food. His stomach grumbles – an urgent reminder of the hunger that is often so inconvenient Sieun tends to ignore it altogether – and Suho gives him a scolding look. 

A girl behind the counter waves excitedly when she spots Suho and Suho breaks his eye contact with Sieun to wave back. Sieun lets his own gaze fall on her too. Her black hair goes down to her shoulders and her face is a light pink, likely from standing in the hot kitchen for a while. There’s a youthful spark in her pupils, in the way she smiles.

“You’re early”, she comments happily, and somehow it reminds Sieun of Suho. 

“Yep”, Suho agrees, stepping closer. Sieun stands behind him like a lost puppy. “You need any help?”

She shrugs easily. “Today’s been slow, so not really. Your shift hasn’t started yet either. Just chill for now.”

Suho nods and turns around to Sieun again, raising his eyebrows expectantly as if to communicate something Sieun cannot quite grasp, but before he can usher him to one of the tables, the girl speaks up again.

“Who are you by the way?”

Sieun looks over at her. This time she clearly means him. The smile hasn’t dropped off her face and there seems to be no malicious intent in her expression. Still, he only stares back at her. He’s never liked introductions. 

Suho’s eyes rush from Sieun to her to Sieun to her, and he chuckles lightly when the silence persists. 

“That’s Yeon Sieun. Don’t mind him, he’s not much of a conversationalist.”

Sieun has to admit, he hadn’t expected Suho to take this so lightly. Neither did he expect the girl to shrug, still with that smile on her face, and accept it as it is. 

“Cool”, she says like she means it, “I’m Lee Eunji.” She faces Suho again. “I was just wondering, ‘cause you never bring anyone around.” There’s a teasing lilt to her voice that is reserved for friends only, and Sieun wonders what it’s like to so casually bicker with somebody. “Thought you were incapable of getting someone to hang out with you at this point.”

Suho makes a noise that sounds half offended, half amused and shakes his head. “You’ll be delighted to know it wasn’t easy to get him here in the first place.”

“Oh, I am.” She grins and grabs something from behind the counter, reaching out again. “Here’s the menu. I doubt you need one, but Sieun might, eh?”

“Thanks”, Suho replies cheerily, and with that he guides Sieun to one of the tables further in the back. What he says next he whispers, as if he’s sharing an important secret only they can know. “Everyone always wants to sit at the windows, so it’s quieter here, more private.” He wiggles his eyebrows and Sieun would roll his eyes if his stomach hadn’t made an honest to God flip at that. “Jokes aside, I just like it better like this. Even if it’s not as busy right now, there might be more people coming in later and then we’ve already secured a less loud spot.”

Sieun thinks this might be the most unconventional opinion he’s heard on seat preferences in restaurants to date, but then again he’s talking to Suho (the one who could be king but isn’t, the one who beats up people as if it was a hobby, the one who sleeps through classes and waits for Sieun in the middle of the road to keep him from going to cram school) and suddenly anything weird simply kind of fits. But silence is a blessing, so he can’t even find a fault in Suho’s reasoning.

They both sit down and Sieun has to admit that Suho was right. So secluded it feels tons more intimate than if they had settled a little closer to the handful of other customers in the front of the restaurant. At least no one can spot them from the windows from here and get the wrong idea. 

Suho slides the menu over the table. When Sieun looks down at it he can tell it’s been years since it was printed. It’s a large sheet of paper, laminated at least, and some prices have been crossed out and changed in sharpie. The font is a little embarrassing, but that's nothing new from an establishment like this. Sneakily, Sieun lets his eyes fall onto Suho again. Turns out, he wasn’t being sneaky at all, because Suho is looking at him already. 

He seems proud of this restaurant. He seems proud of the cramped space and the plastic tables. He seems proud of the dim lights and the old menus, he seems proud of the food they have to offer. Sieun considers him. In the end, he decides he likes this about Suho too. It’s a kind of loyalty, a sincerity that he can learn to appreciate. He’s unsure why Suho chooses to be this way, but that doesn’t mean he can’t respect it.

In the end he picks something from the menu that Suho recommends in his endless stream of remarks and anecdotes. Sieun doesn’t expect much from it. It’s not because he doubts the restaurant or because he doubts Suho’s tastes (the latter is a lie), it’s more so the fact that Sieun’s been keeping himself alive with instant ramen and whatever microwavable food he can find at the bottom of the cooling shelf for a good chunk of his life already, and if it isn’t the general numbness of his life, then those kinds of meals have probably already killed most of his taste buds off. 

While they wait for the food Suho entangles Sieun in a rather one-sided conversation about a sequel of a popular video game coming out soon and surprisingly enough Sieun remembers playing its prequel when he was younger. He doesn’t really show it, but he listens intently as Suho describes the trailer in vivid detail. Maybe it’s because he used to enjoy that game. Maybe it’s because Suho’s eyes sparkle with joy and not even Sieun’s selfish jealousy of other people’s happiness can make him want to destroy the smile on his face. 

Seemingly at random, Suho pauses. He searches for Sieun’s eye contact and Sieun gives it easily, because creepily staring at people has been his thing for years now. Suho struggles to keep it up, looking down, looking sideways, looking right back for a second. It’s insulting in the way a weak handshake is. Too quickly Sieun realises it’s a comparison his father would make, and that has him grinding his teeth together. 

“Sorry it took me so long to ask you to get lunch together by the way”, Suho says apropos of nothing, and Sieun barely keeps himself from grimacing at the useless apology. He never wanted this in the first place. It doesn’t matter that he’s enjoyed the journey, that he’s still intrigued by Suho. This was never meant to happen. “I got a day off from one of my part time jobs so I could finally pay you back.”

Sieun’s mouth opens at that – Stupid, stupid stupid, like an idiot he can’t just let Suho ramble on – then closes it again. Shit. How does one phrase things, how does one speak? He feels like a computer drowned in a kiddie pool. All his functions gone, his brain going haywire, all because of a reason so ridiculous it’s almost a miracle it happened in the first place. 

You don’t have to pay me back, Sieun starts in his head, but he doesn’t have any money on him so it’d be brainless to say. You helped me out there too, thank you. But that sounds too nice. You’re crazy for going against Yeongbin. But that sounds too pathetic. I don’t even know why I helped you. At least that’s honest.

Sieun opens his mouth again, planning on mixing all these muddled thoughts in his mind into one cohesive sentence that is relevant to the conversation and short enough to be easily understood.

“You’re not a king”, Sieun states so matter of factly that it takes him about two seconds to finally realise that that really does only make sense in his own head. 

“What?”, Suho asks, and Sieun must agree that that is a very good question. Explaining it would take a far too intimate look into how his brain conceptualises violence and power dynamics though, so he opts for distraction. 

“Why did you defend me?”

He tries to say it accusatorily, like he said his first words to Suho. He tries to put bite into his voice, the same kind of anger and hatred he has for Yeongbin and Jeongchan and Taehoon and everyone else like them – the kings and their knights. He finds that he can’t. It comes out quiet and tired. For a moment, Sieun feels his heart sink at revealing just how exhausted he really is. 

It’s fine. It has to be fine. His father doesn’t notice either. Maybe he pretends not to. Whatever. It’ll be fine. Sieun wills himself to calm down, tenses his muscles that have gone limp. He’s taut like a bow, always stiff and solid because that’s what keeps him from falling apart.

Suho looks like he can see right through him. It’s terrifying. It’s a great reason to never have lunch with anyone again.

Eunji brings them their food and says something about them enjoying their meals, but Sieun can only listen with half an ear. The plates that stand between Suho and him stay untouched, neither of them making a move to take anything on it. 

If Suho decides to ignore Sieun’s slip up or if he genuinely doesn’t notice it is impossible to figure out. 

“Why wouldn’t I have defended you?”, he asks eventually, and suddenly Sieun thinks he’s getting sick of this back and forth of questions. 

He could stay quiet like usual. He could refrain from explaining himself like he always does. Something persistent in Suho’s gaze doesn’t let him. Something that tells him more questions would follow if he didn’t clarify.

“Because fighting Yeongbin when he didn’t consider attacking you is ridiculously stupid.”

Suho soaks the words in, contemplates them earnestly. It makes Sieun feel a little funny. Not only does Suho look right into him, but also he tries to understand him, tries to listen as best as he can. It’s sad that Sieun feels like he’s needed that for years. It’s sad that there’s a knot right where his heart is that pulls together tightly at the thought. 

“I just kinda wanted to”, Suho replies. He shifts on his chair. “Maybe I liked how you told me not to fight in the classroom.” The grin he breaks into is blinding and Sieun really wishes it wasn’t, because it’s awfully distracting. Quickly, Suho’s expression shifts into something more serious though. “Ah, just kidding. It's more so the fighting etiquette you know? Three against one is crazy unfair.”

Sieun doesn’t believe that’s a great reason, not really. It’s not worth it to argue though. Perhaps Suho can tell what Sieun is thinking, because he drops the topic entirely without making a fuss. 

“Let’s eat before the food gets cold”, he suggests. He says it as confidently as he does everything and still there’s a gentleness in his voice that Sieun almost didn’t know existed. 

Suho’s four bites into it when Sieun takes his first. Flavour explodes in his mouth, fresh vegetables and spicy seasonings. It takes him effort to keep his face controlled as his mouth waters. He has to admit, it does taste good. 

Suho looks up expectantly. He doesn’t ask if Sieun likes it, he’s learned his lesson on Sieun’s unresponsive states already, but he watches as Sieun stuffs another bite into his mouth and then the corners of his mouth tug upwards again as if Sieun even deserves that sight, that response, that kind of positivity. 

Sieun decides for his own sanity’s sake that he’ll have to stop looking at Suho or otherwise his stomach might twist right out of his gut with how much it’s flipping around today. The thought of Suho smiling because of him threatens to leave Sieun dazed and dizzy. 

From now on, Sieun trains his gaze strictly on what’s behind Suho – the windows, the other tables, the counter, and effectively Eunji as well. It’s almost accidental, but now that Sieun has spotted her his mind wanders. 

Eunji’s pretty. Obviously. Her black hair frames her face nicely, she seems lively and happy. She has been nothing but kind so far too. Still, Sieun doesn’t feel his fingers tremble, doesn’t feel his stomach do spins and twirls when he looks at her. It’s weird. Because Suho evokes that reaction in him sometimes, and Suho is a boy. 

Suho’s good looking too. Sieun’s already admitted to that, at least to himself. In fact, Eunji and Suho are fairly similar all around. Maybe not in appearance, but in the way they carry themselves, in how smoothly they interact. So why does Sieun feel shaky exclusively under Suho’s ever observing gaze? 

He remembers clumsy explanations from his father about liking and liking liking people, remembers how boys his age talked about crushes and girls. But if Suho makes him feel this way, why is a girl so similar to him only a girl and not someone to swoon over? Sieun hasn’t taken himself for the swooning type anyway, but it does leave him wondering. Should he be? How does it even feel to like someone?

It’s annoying to think about. Sieun swallows the thought down with the next bite he takes. 

In the end, Suho pays for both of them like he promised. 

“Do you know how you can get home from here?”, he asks, his apron already in his hand.

Sieun shrugs. Probably. He’ll manage. 

“I still have a little time, I can drive you, you know?”, Suho says, and Sieun curses the boy’s generosity. 

“You don’t have to”, he replies, voice quiet over the sizzling of pots and the chatter in the background. 

“You’d have more time to study” Suho tries to reel him in. As if he wants to drive him. It’s exactly as weird as how Sieun feels about him. He shrugs again.

“It’s fine.” He shoulders his backpack. “..Bye.”

Suho tilts his head, watching Sieun leave. “See ya tomorrow!”

Sieun welcomes the late afternoon’s strong winds almost happily when he opens the door and steps out into the world again. The temperatures are a good kind of mild and there’s no sun to blind him, because instead it’s hiding behind the tall buildings around him. He looks left. He looks right. He takes his phone out to find the nearest bus stop. 

Out of the corner of his eyes he sees Eunji passionately wave her hands in the air while talking to Suho. It doesn’t matter. He forces himself forward, breathes in the warm air around him. He’s missed this already. He’s missed walking, clearing his head, being completely on his own. And yeah, maybe there is something in him that misses the restaurant too. Maybe there is something in him that misses the hope that he can be a person, have a purpose, without cram school or studying. Maybe there is something in him that changed the very second Suho smiled at his reaction to the food. 

He shakes his head at himself. This was an exception. This was the one and only time Suho will invite him and that’s good. Whatever good means. Suho’s probably tired of him, and Sieun has responsibilities that he so irresponsibly ignored to do this. He’s got it out of his system. Now he simply has to get home and continue as usual, fall back into the halted stream of his life. Fall back into days that stretch like bubblegum and routines that are about as flexible as a brick. 

Oh well. At least that’s familiar, at least that’s what he’s used to.

“Sieun! Wait!”, someone yells from behind him and Sieun’s heart skips a beat. That’s not just someone. He’s listened to Suho for so long today that he could identify his voice even half asleep. 

Sieun turns, right on time to watch Suho run up to him, wearing his apron over his tight shirt. He’s so fast and so far from being out of breath that Sieun immediately promises himself to never get into a situation where Suho will have to chase him down. That hunt would end embarrassingly fast. 

“I’ll drive you”, Suho announces almost proudly. Sieun stares at him incredulously. “I talked to Eunji and she said that there’s a bus strike. Come on, you don’t have to walk!”

Sieun rummages around in his brain until he vaguely remembers hearing about it somewhere. Would it really hurt to rely on Suho one more time? 

Apparently not enough to override the urge that splits Sieun open, the shameful yearning to hold onto Suho and let himself be driven to the end of the world, away from everything he knows. His legs act as if they had a mind of their own, and Suho smiles easily when Sieun takes some steps towards him again. 

He puts an arm around Sieun’s shoulders and for a second the world falls apart. For a second Sieun has flashbacks of Yeongbin and fighting and a hand digging into his throat. And then he realises Suho’s arm almost hovers over his skin. And then he realises Suho isn’t pushing him forward, isn’t even close to putting him in a headlock. 

And then he realises Suho just wants to be close, is happy and loosened up from the day. 

Sieun’s fingers tremble. It’s far from being cold enough for the temperatures to be at fault.

That’s how he finds himself with Suho’s helmet on his head and Suho’s scooter beneath him and Suho himself in front of him again. That’s how he finds himself mumbling his address into the wind and hoping that Suho won’t need endless directions for it. Thankfully, Suho immediately reassures Sieun he knows exactly where it is. 

The scooter speeds up and Sieun’s shaky hands dig into the fabric of Suho’s apron. He can’t get himself to stare at Suho’s strong arms, even though he has the perfect opportunity to. He thinks his stomach has had enough roller coaster rides for today. 

Somehow, his second time on Suho’s scooter feels even better. Somehow, giving all his control over to Suho is the scariest yet most comforting thing Sieun has ever done. He feels like Suho has taken the responsibility of today off of Sieun’s shoulders, as if he’s taking the blame for Sieun not going to cram school. It’s just an excuse, but it’s something, and it eases Sieun’s guilt.

Suho even walks Sieun up to his front door. Sieun thinks it’s ridiculous for Suho to do that when he has work so soon, but he guesses Eunji will cover for Suho. It’s kind of useful to have a friend, he has to admit that.

“Well then”, Suho begins, “Hope my way of saying thanks was acceptable.”

It’s clear he’s joking, it’s clear he thinks he’s done enough. Still, Sieun stares at Suho as if he was an alien. All that Sieun did was tackle Jeongchan to the floor. All that Sieun did was getting choked and gasping in pain and sitting and staring and doing nothing at all. He hasn’t even thanked Suho yet. For driving him back, for saving him. Of course, Sieun didn’t even want Suho’s thanks in the first place, but it’s insane to him how friendly and open the other boy is being. 

“It was.. good.”, Sieun mumbles. He doesn’t know how he means it. If he means it like his parents do, if he means it like a compliment. He doesn’t know if it’s a lie or the truth or if he can even lie if he doesn’t know what he actually thinks. These thoughts fade into the back of Sieun’s mind when Suho grins at his response and holds a fist out.

Hesitantly, Sieun raises his own. Suho fistbumps him, punches his shoulder lightly.

“See ya, Sieun!”, he calls out as he walks away, waving with one hand, the other smoothly sliding into a pocket of his apron. 

Sieun doesn’t respond. Sieun stands still and stares after Suho, and it’s not because that’s familiar to him. Sieun stands still and stares after Suho because the dam that halted his life is breaking. Sieun stands still and stares after Suho because it feels like a wave just smacked him straight in the face, like he’s turned upside down and inside out. 

The world is turning, and finally Sieun is turning with it.

Notes:

2/4 exams done y'all! Fun fact: this fic was once supposed to be three chapters. Pretty sure I'll need at least 2 more to get everything wrapped up nicely oops. Comments and kudos are appreciated as always :] <3

Chapter 4: But there's something on your skin that you can't get clean, there's a fawn in the fence that you can't get free.

Notes:

Sorry for the wait, but for that you get an extra long chapter :P
Title is from Francis by Haley Heynderickx and Max García Conover

As summer creeps closer and closer, Sieun and Suho get closer too. Sieun doesn't even know how it happens. Not really. 

He hadn’t seen it coming when he first came home that one special afternoon to an empty house and the overbearing dread of having missed cram school. He had thought that this would be it. He had thought he’d be done with silly wastes of his time. He had thought Suho was done with him too. He wasn’t exactly the most welcoming person to be around after all. 

The next day, when all he’d been doing was stuffing mediocre school food into his mouth while revising biology, the clang of a tray hitting the table snapped him out of his thoughts. Suho had sighed dramatically as he slumped into the chair facing Sieun, and he’d greeted him too. As if it was normal. 

And then it became normal. 

They eat lunch together now, in the school cafeteria, every day. Sieun places parts of his own meals on Suho's tray sometimes. When he doesn't like the texture of a food or when Suho seems especially exhausted from his part-time jobs. Sieun's pretty sure he's masking it well as loading off the food he hates onto Suho even when it's meant to cheer him up. Suho jokes that he's Sieun’s own personal garbage disposal sometimes. 

They sit at their usual table and Sieun’s placing a chunk of his food onto Suho’s tray when he says it. 

“Yo, are you going on that school trip?” 

It’s a little hard to understand through Suho’s chewing (gross, but Sieun’s had to get used to much more irritating things in his life), but that's not even the worst of it. Sieun has dreaded this question ever since their homeroom teacher had explained they’d go on a week-long trip mainly meant as a means for examining the local-ish flora and fauna, analysing habitats and the biosphere, but also for a little bit of relaxation before studying takes all priority again. Anyone who doesn’t want to or can’t go will have to spend their week in another class.

Sieun doesn’t want to make this choice. Sieun doesn’t want to go. And it’s not because their biology teacher would accompany them, and it’s not because Yeongbin and friends glare at him as if they want to kill him with their stares alone. They’ve been backing off a little, now that he’s hanging around Suho (more like Suho is hanging around him), but he knows that that doesn’t equal peace. They’ve tripped him and they’ve made threats. They want to rile him up and he knows it. For now he can hold back, but there’s anger bubbling underneath his skin and they’re lucky that they always leave the scene they cause pretty quickly.

If any of them stay any longer Sieun will lose himself and he is very aware of that. 

Whatever. The point is Sieun doesn’t want to go because guilt is gnawing at his bones. Because he’s being eaten alive by his own conscience if he spends an entire week in a shitty hostel with horribly loud teenagers all around him. Because he can’t study like that, because he doesn’t want to. Sieun hates the choice he has to make, because he doesn’t want to get used to a new hierarchy either, because his father will be home by then and because he can’t explain being beaten to a pulp for simply existing.

He shrugs while poking his chopsticks into his meal, picking at his food as if he had to take it apart to find an answer to his problem. Fuck the Oracle of Delphi, fuck thinking logically, just try to find your fate in your rice or something. 

“Well, I’m kinda considering going”, Suho says, leaning back on his chair, staring at the ceiling. “My grandma said I deserve some off-time. If I beg enough it’ll work out with my part-time jobs too. I can work wonders on my bosses, you don’t understand.” He winks at that last sentence. “I can be awfully charming when I have to.”

Sieun lifts an eyebrow. It's a surprising improvement from his usually so stagnant face – that happened without him noticing too.

“Sure you do”, he offers with sarcasm dripping from his voice and though Suho tries to glare at him he just ends up grinning instead. A light punch on Sieun’s shoulder from across the table settles it fully, and then Suho is back to stuffing food into his mouth and Sieun is back to dissecting his chicken. It’s a little hard with chopsticks, he wouldn’t recommend them as surgical tools. It makes Suho eye him skeptically. 

A glint appears in his gaze, a mischievous look on his face, before he schools his expression into something dramatically exhausted.

“You know, yesterday at work I had to carry like thirty crates of soju into the restaurant, my arms feel so heavy I could die.” 

He flops them onto the table, pouting slightly as if it would help his case. 

It does.

Sieun pushes his tray forward.

“I’m not really hungry anymore. You can have it”, he says, and he hopes that if Suho takes it he can find the answer to his question from earlier in Sieun’s rice. It’s the least Sieun can do if he can’t find it himself.

Usually that has the desired effect. Usually Suho happily takes Sieun up on his offer and eats whatever is left on his plates or bowls. Today, Suho’s eyebrows furrow. 

“All of it?”

Sieun nods. He’s lost his appetite, thinking about the trip. It’s hard to tell when he’s hungry anyway. He’s hollow inside, hollow and empty where his organs are supposed to be. How would he know when he wants food?

“Do I need to bring you back to the restaurant?”, Suho asks incredulously, “Get some actual meals into you? You’re probably dying because of that shitty microwave food you eat all day.”

Sieun shrugs. He doesn’t really care if he is dying, if he’s getting sick from it. His mouth waters as he’s thinking about what they ate together though, and maybe that says something. If that something is him or the school lunch is left to be discussed. 

Suho shakes his head.

“You’re so weird”, he mumbles and Sieun rolls his eyes. 

“You’re weird too.”

***

It’s evening already when Sieun is back from cram school. He’s had dinner (a poor excuse for dinner, as Suho would put it) and he’s doing his math homework in his room when his phone vibrates. In the past that hadn’t happened often. In the past Sieun only got messages from his internet provider or his father. In the here and now, his phone vibrates once more. Sieun breathes out slowly, reminding himself to change his settings if he wants to get anything done. It vibrates a third time. He unlocks his phone. 

3 notifications from Suho. Who else would it be? 

____________

수호 • KakaoTalk • now

hwy sieun guess what

i convinced everyone

i’m going on the school trip

____________

Not this topic again. Sieun closes his eyes and lets his face drop into his hands, rubbing his fingers into his eyelids as if that could alleviate some of his exhaustion. He doesn’t want to think about this impossible choice, he’d much rather wait until it’s too late to even make it. 

Without even clicking on the chat he throws his phone somewhere onto his bed. It vibrates in protest. Sieun keeps a sigh locked inside of himself. He can check that in the morning. 

And then it’s morning and Sieun still isn’t ready to face the stupid school trip. His phone is getting on his nerves (half because of his alarm blasting from it every day, half because it is exactly the thing that’s delivering messages about said school trip), and everything seems to take a little longer than usual. Breakfast tastes like nothing as always, and Sieun notices that his favourite jacket might need a wash soon. 

In the end, Sieun checks his phone only when he’s halfway up the hill to his school already. So early in the morning he doesn’t risk running into a car anyway, but he feels a little stupid staring down at the glowing screen as he makes his way upwards. 

____________

수호 • KakaoTalk • 7 hours ago

i’m going on the school trip

have you decided yet?

it’ll be fun 2 go 2gether

____________

Another downside to this whole thing. Having to deal with the feelings of people who have stuck with you despite your inability to show gratitude, despite your silence. 

Sometimes Sieun wants to call Suho ridiculously stupid for even putting up with him. Sieun doesn’t have time for this, Sieun doesn’t have time for meaningless distractions. They’re both just wasting their lives on each other. Sometimes Sieun wants Suho to realise this. Sometimes Sieun wants Suho to never find out. 

Sometimes Sieun wants to throw a chair at Suho’s head for not leaving him to die laying in a puddle of his own self-pity, sometimes Sieun thinks about just how embarrassing that thought is. 

Sometimes Sieun realises how much of a dick he is. Sometimes he excuses it because at least he’s aware he’s being an asshole. Sometimes he hates himself because he’s not even making an effort to change. Sometimes he wants to be an asshole forever, because he feels so much safer this way – the walls he’s built up towering over his feelings, locked away somewhere inside of himself.

He rolls his eyes at himself. Suho has made everything so much more complicated. Before him, it was easy for Sieun to keep his cool. Before Suho, firm routines stayed firm routines and Sieun’s lunch breaks were spent studying. It’s like Suho ran face first into the walls around Sieun’s heart and now some of the bricks have loosened and Sieun’s control is slipping slowly but surely, running out of his hands like sand would. 

He clicks on his chat with Suho, his thumb hovering over his keyboard. In the end, he exits out of it without answering. He doesn’t know if Suho's phone is on silent and at this time the boy is definitely still sleeping. For whatever reason, Sieun doesn’t want to wake him up. He hopes that if Suho sees the lack of response he’ll think that Sieun is just ignoring him. 

He climbs the stairs up to the floor his classroom is on, opens the door in a gentle motion with hands that are far from gentle at all. The lights stay off, the window makes a small noise when it bangs against the wall. Suho lays peaceful and quiet on the desks in the back. At least that stays a constant in Sieun’s life. At least that’s one last routine he can hold on to. 

He takes his notes out, stares down at them as if that would make their contents magically appear in his brain. It’s way too early for everything the day has thrown at him already. He can’t wait for it to end. 

***

Maybe he should’ve expected it. Maybe he should’ve seen it in Yeongbin’s eyes when he passed him in the hallway today. Maybe this is just the day for everything to go to shit. 

Not too far away from his cram school, somewhere where the street lamps only stand sporadically around the winding pavement, some time only they provide light, Sieun feels his heart beat out of his chest and the ground under his feet sway. His gaze flicks over his surroundings again, over the feral sort of look in Yeongbin’s eyes, over the nasty smiles of everyone around him. Maybe this was inevitable.

They have him cornered, as they always do. The usual three assholes and some fuckers from another high school. On the left there’s Taehoon, Jeongchan and someone Sieun doesn’t recognise, smirking creepily into the night. They stand laid back, with hands in their pockets. It’s like they want to prove just how normal this is for them, how sure they are of themselves. Jeongchan snickers and turns right. Sieun’s gaze follows his, and ends up at the students from the other schools. 

There’s a boy with a bottle of beer in their hands, and two girls, holding onto each other while glancing over. One is reeling already, seemingly drunk from whatever she’s had before coming here. 

Sieun forces himself to breathe evenly. He needs to think.

This doesn’t look like a simple threat. This doesn’t look like the kind of annoyance he can walk right off again, halfheartedly begging himself to keep it together. This looks like a situation a smarter kid than him would’ve run from, and he grinds his teeth together because first of all he’s not a runner, and worse of all, because he doesn’t want to run.

He sees what he wants in front of himself already, and it comes to him easily because he’s fantasised about it before. Like an absolute creep he’s thought about this before, about how he’d take revenge for what they’ve done to him. Like an absolute creep he's imagined Jeongchan dying all on his own without anyone left to impress. Like an absolute creep he’s imagined breaking every single one of Yeongbin’s bones, really making a show out of it. Like an absolute creep he’s imagined Taehoon with a pen sticking out of his throat, choking and spluttering and unable to fix it. Maybe he’d try clawing at Sieun like Sieun clawed at him. Maybe he’d beg. 

“Suho let you off your leash for once?”, Yeongbin asks, raising his eyebrows, and effectively snaps Sieun out of his daydreams. Right. They’re not at that point yet and, yeah, perhaps they’ll never be. 

Sieun wants them to be there. Sieun wants to tower over them, wants to feel the ropes tied around him snap. They’re digging into his skin, leave red marks just like Taehoon did. It’s suffocating. It’s suffocating when these assholes rile him up just to vanish right away. It’s suffocating – the way they wait for Sieun to lose it so they can blame him for throwing the first punch. They think they’ve waited long enough. Sieun knows that. Sieun also knows that they don’t think they can lose.

“No answer? Must be true then”, Yeongbin taunts. Sieun thinks that maybe one day Yeongbin will realise that no one has to belong to anyone, that Suho hasn’t put Sieun on a leash in the same way that Yeongbin doesn’t have to put the people around him on one. Sieun thinks that it’s more like Suho is the dog anyway, running after him every second of the day. 

He knows that’s mean. Maybe he’ll regret the thought later. 

Again Suho is the reason for Sieun’s distraction, again Suho gets brought up in a feud that should be between Yeongbin and Sieun only. In a weird kind of self-sacrificial way Sieun wishes Suho would’ve let him choke under Taehoon’s cruel grip, just so everyone wouldn’t feel the need to mention him all of the time. With a weird kind of jealousy Sieun wishes he could be seen as powerful as Suho is. Now he has the chance. Now he is alone, Suho nowhere to be seen, and now he can prove himself. Realistically, Sieun knows it’s not a competition. Realistically, Sieun knows it’s about survival. But when you’ve long stopped caring about your life you need to find a different motivation to keep yourself alive. 

Sieun’s hands move from the straps of his backpack, slowly, down to the pockets of his jacket. He’s staring back at Yeongbin again, stares as if his eyes could somehow break the boy’s spine with only the violent fury that swirl within its irises. 

“Hey Sieun, have you looked at our class’s scores recently?”, Yeongbin asks, and Sieun knows where this is going already. He keeps his mouth shut and focuses on what he can find in his pockets instead. He knows he’s outnumbered by a long shot, so he needs to use his brain now, use everything he can find. Right pocket. His phone and his keys. Left pocket. Some loose change and a pen he’d forgotten to put into his pencil case earlier. He can work with that. 

Correction. 

He has to work with that. 

Yeongbin’s eyebrow cocks. “Do we have to fuck you up before you can be bothered to answer me?”

Pretty much, Sieun thinks. He doesn’t want to give him the satisfaction of playing into his game, though. So he doesn’t. Staring and silence is one hell of a weapon wielded against the right enemy, so Sieun widens his eyes and presses his mouth shut, and notes that Yeongbin’s teeth grind together and that that wrinkle appears, the one right between his brows. He’s so easy to anger, it’s like the feeling consumes him. Sieun doesn’t feel bad for him though. Yeongbin will have to learn to soothe the ache of his wrath, learn to find a balm for the burns it leaves, or go up in flames with it. Like the rest of them do. 

There’s no time to contemplate Yeongbin’s problems though. Sieun forces his brain back on track. A plan to make it out of here. He decides he can ignore the students from the other high schools for now. The sober girl is unlikely to abandon her friend in her drunken state, and the boy is busy with his beer. It’s not their fight anyway. Jeongchan seems distracted and the guy in the red shirt and hooded jacket beside him is only scary because Sieun cannot yet gauge what he’s like. Yeongbin stands in his way rather obnoxiously though, and Taehoon is probably one of the biggest problems he has. 

A plan forms in his head rather quickly, and Sieun doesn’t have the time to contemplate if that’s a good or a bad sign. First, he’ll throw the few coins in his pocket into Yeongbin’s face to distract him. Next, he’ll run towards Taehoon, swallow the fear in his heart and strike him with his pen, while his other hand uses the key on Jeongchan. If the guy in the red shirt feels it’s necessary to retaliate, Sieun can use either item on him as well. Yeongbin is not one to get physical and the rest of them are busy with themselves, so that could be just enough to walk out of here unscathed. 

“I told you to stay away from that number one spot in the ranking”, Yeongbin says like he’s talking to a dog. Sieun stares back with daggers in his eyes. His fingers tightens around the loose change in his pocket. 

And Suho bashed your head in for it, he wants to shoot back. There’s a bitter taste on his tongue knowing that he’s only standing here now because Suho took pity on him. There’s a trembling underneath his skin, there’s a burning heat scorching him from the inside out. Yeongbin isn’t the only one with untameable hatred coursing through his veins. 

Sieun raises his fist, slowly, deliberately, until it’s at the same height that Yeongbin’s face is. It’s like a beacon in the sea of darkness around them, and Sieun sees Yeongbin’s gaze turn to it questioningly, mockingly almost. It’s like he can’t believe Sieun would dare to strike him. It’s like he can’t believe Sieun could even hurt him. 

And then Sieun swings his arm forward, throws the coins as fast as he can. Without even checking if they’ve collided with Yeongbin he lurches forward, sprints right past him while his hands fall back onto his pockets. There’s a grunt of pain behind him, and his knuckles must turn white with how hard he grips onto the key in his left hand and the pen in his right. 

The click of the pen echoes through his ears and all that he sees before burying it in Taehoon’s shoulder is the widened eyes and the open mouths of the scum that call themselves the kings of their class. His key digs into his palm as it clashes with Jeongchan’s stomach, with his sides, with his arms that start to raise to protect his torso from the onslaught of the solid metal. Taehoon screams now, finally reacting to the pen digging into his flesh. Sieun holds onto it, moves as he stabs into Jeongchan, and it has Taehoon writhing, the pen tearing his skin apart like it tears an agonised groan from his throat.  

For a second it’s working. For a second Sieun feels fireworks go off in his heart, feels powerful, and his anger splashes out of him in violent bursts. For a second there’s a peaceful silence that envelops his brain, for a second he feels free as he lets his pain take control over him. 

And then the guy in the red shirt makes eye contact with him. Intense and threatening. Sieun forgets to react. Before he can even blink, strong arms have shoved him to the ground already, punching the air out of his lungs as he hits the pavement. There’s a moment where ice cold shock lets all of Sieun’s systems short circuit. Fuck. This is not how this was supposed to go. 

He can salvage it though, he’s sure of it. With more effort than he’d like to admit he scrambles up on his feet again, stumbles backwards as he scans his surroundings with his heart beating faster than it should. Yeongbin holds his cheek with an impressive scowl on his face and even through the darkness of the evening Sieun can see that his lip is bloody. Foul pride flares up in his chest, makes him feel like he’s floating.

He wrenches his gaze away just in time to realise that he’s earned himself the attention of the other students as well, the sober girl staring him down with twisting eyebrows while the boy right next to her makes a comment about how simple it’d be to take Sieun in a fight. His voice is slurring already.

On the other side, Jeongchan holds his stomach, curling into himself, and Taehoon trembles with his fingers gripping into his shoulder as if that could fix the wound. His eyes are widened still, and his mouth hangs open in a silent cry. Sieun wishes he would have aimed for his throat instead, wishes he could dig his fingers into the hole and split more of Taehoon apart, but just this is fine too. Just this was much needed after all. He mourns his pen, still stuck in Taehoon’s flesh, but he can’t be distracted by it for long.

“Fucking do something!”, Yeongbin snaps at his friends, and the thought of leaving him without a direct order to give makes Sieun preen too. 

Red Shirt from earlier steps forward. His eyes narrow, but the smirk on his face stays the same, and instinctively Sieun’s stance hardens, all his muscles tensing up. So much for this being his and Yeongbin’s fight. 

His backpack is only hanging over one of his shoulders at this point, and his key is cold in his grasp. It’s not enough to cool his anger down. He doesn’t think anything will ever be enough again. 

“So you’re the nerd that doesn’t wanna give up his grades to do our good old Yeongbin here a favour?”, Red Shirt asks with raised eyebrows and Sieun answers with an unimpressed glare. Red Shirt talks like he’s Yeongbin’s friend, not his servant, and that makes him seem even more repulsive than he already is. 

Sieun could tackle him to the floor. Sieun could stab his key into him and pretend that it'll do enough damage. Red Shirt looks far too tough for that though, looks prepared.

Sieun feels horribly cornered, because he is, because in pretty much every direction there is someone ready to fuck him up, and Sieun feels the effects of being caught off-guard too – badly now – intercepted on his way back home. He doesn’t like improvising (which makes him hate the fact he’ll definitely have to improvise), and he doesn’t like the spark in Red Shirt’s eyes. It’s like he was waiting for this the way Sieun was too. It’s like he needs Sieun to do something that warrants a defence. It’s like he only pretends to fight fair. 

“Come on, Sieun!”, he says, voice full of vigour, “Come at me, dude, let’s go. Punch me. I know you want to. Don’t you wanna finish what you’ve started?”

Sieun doesn’t think he started anything. He doubts Red Shirt cares. 

Sieun also doesn’t think it’s smart to run right into his arms, so he stays put for now, watching this unfold. When Red Shirt moves left, Sieun moves right. When Red Shirt stands still, so does Sieun. They fall into a weird kind of dance like this, creeping away and towards one another, pacing in circles. 

It gets Sieun uncomfortably close to Taehoon and Jeongchan, and he has to keep his eye from twitching at the dwindling distance. 

“Back up for me, will ya?”, Red Shirt requests with a lethal smile, and the reasons for Sieun's concern actually do it. Maybe that's even more concerning than just how close they stood to him. "Thanks so much! This is between me and him now. Right, Sieun?" 

Sieun doesn't bother with a reply. He’s getting tired of this back and forth, of this waste of his time. He knows Red Shirt likely banks on that, is just waiting to dodge and retaliate, but who says Sieun can’t dodge in return? He still has his key on him, can jam it into throats and eyes and ears and noses, and if he does it right making the first move might actually give him the advantage he needs. 

Red Shirt takes a step left. Sieun plants his feet on the pavement firmly, not moving an inch. Their eyes meet. Thrill versus rage. Mockery versus determination. Maybe it’s just stubbornness. Whatever. 

Sieun leaps forward and the air feels cool on his skin. His hand is raised again, key jutting out between his fingers. He can’t wait to bury it in his opponent’s body, can’t wait to twist it into soft flesh. But then Red Shirt whips out a knife as if he’d just been waiting to use it and Sieun’s heels have to dig into the ground to try and stop himself from sprinting right into the glinting blade. Shit. His heart jumps up pitifully in his chest.

In the last second, he whirls his backpack around to hold it in front of himself. The knife digs into it greedily, digs into it with a conviction so strong Sieun stumbles backwards from the momentum. Red Shirt follows, eager, as if he hungers for it. An impatient, all-consuming craving for violence. The knife looks so light in his hand, as if his itch to draw blood overpowers any physical obstacle.

Sieun’s pushed away, feels the impact of the blade even through the backpack, pushes forward in return. Sieun and Red Shirt fall into a dance again, this time in swirls and in waves and without any order, this time with stakes higher than this fight ever needed to have. 

“What the fuck are you doing, Minsoo?”, one of the girls asks, louder than necessary. Sieun is too focused on not misstepping to find out which one of the two it is. 

Red shirt, no, Minsoo laughs. "Yeongbin promised I'd get to jump some annoying nerd and you came along knowing that. Don't act all innocent now."

Sieun’s mind is paralysed, as his hands move his backpack to deflect the horribly sharp blade again. Sieun’s mind is paralysed, because a knife means danger, because a knife means intent to kill. Sieun doesn’t care if he loses too much blood. Sieun doesn’t care if this ends with him injured beyond repair. Sieun does care about not giving Yeongbin – or frankly any of these fuckers here – the satisfaction of winning this fight, of breaking his spirit. And Sieun knows, deep down he knows, that Minsoo doesn't give a shit about honour or dignity or Yeongbin’s and Sieun’s feud. Deep down Sieun knows Minsoo’s here to feed on the violence, to stroke his ego, to hurt someone just for the sake of it. And that knife solidifies it. That knife solidifies that Minsoo is deadly serious about his attacks, that he fights for his own fucked up reason perhaps harder than anyone else – that he’s only sated when his opponent’s been split apart, right down the middle, when they beg for mercy. 

And maybe that is scarier than Yeongbin trying to avenge his ego. Maybe that is scarier than Taehoon and Jeongchan being ready to fight for a boy that would trade them for a sliver of power any day. 

Unquestionably, Sieun has to be careful, has to plan his moves right. This fight just turned from frightening but easy to horrifyingly dangerous and all that it took was one confident gaze and an object so simple it has been fought with for eons now. 

It’s so simple. 

Minsoo is toying with Sieun, and it’s so glaringly obvious that Sieun would rip his hair out if his hands weren’t so preoccupied right now. He raises his backpack to deflect a stab coming from above and prepares himself for the next one coming from a different angle already. 

It’s too simple. 

Minsoo’s at an obvious advantage, because his knife is light and because Sieun’s backpack is heavy. Thankfully that makes him grow painfully cocky. 

“Only brought a key to a knife fight, eh?”, he taunts, and Sieun evades his swings. They’re still moving from side to side, in winding lines, in a disordered whirlwind around one another.

On the next stab, Sieun lets his backpack fall down his shoulder completely now, right into his hands. He bends it in the middle around the blade, mourning his notes from class for just a second, before he twists it toward himself, the knife almost fully in his grip without the chance of injury. Minsoo tumbles into him, chasing it, holding onto it like a vice, and that makes it hard for Sieun to fully take the danger out of this fight. It makes it hard to do anything, practically glued together. Sieun feels Minsoo’s fingernails raking across his skin, feels the burning glare on his face. 

He’s not strong enough for this, can’t keep this up for long. He knows. He knows Minsoo knows. He knows the bullies know, standing on the sidelines like vultures circling over a starving animal.

Sieun isn’t dead just yet. 

With all his might his fingers cramp together, try their best to cling to the knife squashed between the fabric. He spins where he stands, tugging Minsoo along, and ultimately throws himself into Minsoo, leaving them both to topple onto the floor.

Sieun can hear the groan beneath him all too clearly as he lands on Minsoo’s body rather than the solid ground. The latter can barely breathe like this, is gasping for air after hitting the pavement at such an angle, but still his hand is tightly clamping the handle of the blade. Sieun hears himself pant, is growing erratic with the yearning to win this fight.

He gets on his knees as best as he can, sees his knuckles grow white at how hard his fingers dig into the fabric of his backpack. There are stones jabbing into his flesh, but he can’t get himself to care. With power he didn’t know he had he tosses himself onto Minsoo again, spearing his elbow into Minsoo’s stomach. Right after, he twists around, wrenches himself away, and-

He manages to wrangle the knife out of Minsoo’s hand. 

His entire body sets aflame with delight, there’s an electric current in his veins. New-found confidence in himself has Sieun stagger to his feet easily, and his backpack falls to the floor while his fingers wrap around the knife. His heart is running a marathon, and he’s dizzy and dazed.

The bone-deep relief that he feels leaves him reckless, and he notices it just a second too late. Beneath him, Minsoo has turned. 

They make eye contact. 

Minsoo kicks Sieun’s legs away. 

The first thing he feels is his jaw collide with the pavement, with the cold stone. He knows the temperature before he knows anything else, and his eyes squeeze shut on impact. Next are his nerve endings – flaring up with a booming, sharp ache, with a pain so deeply rooted in himself that it drags its tortuous touch all over his body, like he’s floating in agony, like there’s no other sensation allowed.

Perhaps worst of all: he knows when his wrist hits the ground, right on the bone, and his fingers react without his permission, dropping his well deserved price after all he has done to get it. He can’t even feel the pain from it, because his jaw makes a sound like it’s cracking, and its stinging overwhelms all other feelings, every touch. 

There’s a groan far too near to his ear, and so Sieun forces his eyes open even through the haze in his mind and the tears that obstruct his view. He sees fingers now, Minsoo’s, grabbing for the blade between them and his heart rate spikes like it’s never spiked before.

In a second he has to make a choice. In a second he has to make a choice between continuing this struggle for an object that can harm both wielder and victim, and putting a stop to it, at least for now. 

With as much strength as Sieun can still muster he shoves the knife away, watching it slide over the pavement, right into the nearby bushes. He’d sigh in relief if he could, but there’s a pressure on his lungs that he can’t alleviate, and he holds his breath as he scurries to his feet. Minsoo does the same, sadly, has his fist in Sieun’s hair before he can even straighten up, and quickly there’s nothing but a tornado of punches and tugs and kicks that both boys find themselves in. 

In this chaos Sieun grabs onto anything he can, feels his fingers brush over skin and hair and fabric, feels a fist bore into his side that has him reeling, thankfully not hitting the right angle to have his breakfast meet the outside world again. 

What happens next happens far too fast. Sieun thinks that’s a cliché. Everything always happens far too fast. In every book, in every movie. But this time it’s true. This time, he shakes with it, shakes with the effort to keep up while his body works on its own, while his brain is put on pause. 

In the whirl of limbs he somehow gets a hold of the hood of Minsoo’s jacket, and while they spin around each other it wraps around Minsoo’s throat. A strangled gasp for air leaves his mouth, and immediately Sieun’s stomach does a flip. It should be horrifying. It should be horrifying to do this to someone, to a person, to know they could die at your hands. It should disgust him.

Instead of horror, Sieun feels a dull ache of excitement drone out anything he could possibly focus on. Instead of horror, Sieun feels a repulsive sort of glory at turning the tables, at finally being the one to fear. 

He needs more, that’s what his hands think, that’s what his gut is urging him to do. He needs to stop, that’s what his brain thinks, reminding him of logic and control. 

Who needs to control themselves when you can just control other people? 

With straining muscles, with more adrenaline pumping through his arteries than ever before, Sieun tugs and pulls until he has a choking Minsoo underneath him, until he can feel the shaking and the gasps for air in his bones. It eases the ache in his jaw, if only by a bit – it soothes the rumbling throbbing that dares to consume him.

He is no better than Yeongbin. He doesn’t want to be.

There are hands clawing at his arms, tearing at the hood, trying and failing to free the panting boy in Sieun’s grasp. 

It’s even better than he imagined. It’s even better when he pretends it's Taehoon, there, beneath him, between the firm grip of his fingers and the constricting fabric. Sieun looks up and his eyes fall on Taehoon, on the fear the boy exudes. 

Not once before has Sieun ever seen a boy so tall look so tiny. He’s sunken into himself, holding onto his shoulder. He’s in pain still, undoubtedly, and he knows exactly what Sieun is fantasising about as he tightens the hood around Minsoo’s throat.

There’s a spluttering, a stutter of lungs deprived of air. It could come from anywhere, Sieun can’t tell the direction anymore. It’s like his ears want to hear that in actuality it’s Taehoon who’s choking, right over there next to Jeongchan, it’s like Sieun has forgotten there’s an entirely different boy at his mercy. Maybe his eyes are only seeing what they want to see, maybe Taehoon doesn’t really tremble, doesn’t really breathe as erratically as he seems to do now.

It doesn’t really matter anymore. 

“Fucking do something!”, Yeongbin repeats himself and Sieun thinks it’s funny. That Yeongbin has nothing else to say. That Yeongbin still won’t get his hands dirty. That his servants won’t listen to him anymore. “You stupid bastards, do something, come on!”

Sadly Yeongbin has more luck with his second command. Jeongchan unfreezes out of his deer-in-the-headlights-stance – his whole existence is spent serving Yeongbin after all, and he wants revenge for his pain. In the end he does something that is all too familiar to Sieun.

Jeongchan rushes forward, feet hitting his ground like that is his only purpose in life, and before Sieun can even react a shoulder jams into his chest, hard, and he stumbles backwards, still holding onto the hood in his grasp as Minsoo tries to follow. 

Sieun doesn’t quite recall how it happens anymore. Sieun doesn’t quite recall how Minsoo gets dragged out of the scuffle, how he coughs his lungs out on all fours somewhere on the sidelines, falling into himself as if his bones were made of butter. Sieun doesn’t quite recall how Jeongchan ends up face-first on the pavement, how Sieun finds himself wrestling his way on top.

Sieun does recall how he didn't even hesitate before grabbing his phone from his pocket, wrapping both of his hands around it until he could smash it right between Jeongchan’s shoulder blades. He hears the thud of his phone meeting flesh and he hears the grunts and the yelps of his victim. Maybe he loses himself at that moment. Maybe a piece of him dies above Jeongchan, bruising him for months to come. Maybe he can never be the same again.

In the end he doesn’t have the time to ponder that. In the end he hears the breaking of glass and an offended “Hey! My beer!” as the sound of a liquid dripping to the floor fills his ears. In the end he feels a raindrop fall onto his arm too. One becomes three, three become uncountable. His hands slow down. The rain’s a piercing noise in Sieun’s eardrums, it reverberates in his bones, hollow and empty. Nights like these are accompanied by a yearning for something you can never have.

Sieun misses his bed. Sieun misses holding onto Suho’s apron as they drive through the city. Just because it meant fleeing from his daily life, just because it meant the possibility of leaving everything behind. No other reason.

“All of this because you wouldn’t just fuck up a few tests for a while”, Yeongbin interrupts his thoughts, walking towards him. His tone is sweet as honey, as if that could hide the wrath in his words. He points a metaphorical finger, accuses like he always does, is the judge and the executioner. “Give up, Sieun. You can’t win.”

Internally, Sieun vouches to never follow an order again. Beneath him, Jeongchan trembles. Sieun wishes he would’ve beaten him unconscious. He puts his phone into his pocket and lets his hands grip onto his thighs to steel his nerves.

It’s painfully obvious what Yeongbin is trying here. It’s pathetically clear that Yeongbin doesn’t want to fight. Because he can’t. Because he never could. He can pull dirty tricks, sure, he can talk like a salesman. He’s convincing and cunning. But Sieun can’t find it in himself to be intimidated by him anymore. 

He’s over it. 

His jaw hurts. A lot. His wrist does too, his knees and his head and the side of his torso. 

He has to revise maths. 

He has to rewrite the notes he managed to destroy while getting that knife away from himself. 

He’s proven himself already. He just has to look around. Taehoon shivers under his gaze. Minsoo has apparently slipped into the shadows after catching his breath, bruised ego and hopefully bruising throat a constant reminder of Sieun’s victory. Jeongchan is Sieun’s throne.

Yeongbin’s attempts at deception are embarrassing. Even Sieun’s rapid heartbeat and the adrenaline still coursing through his veins aren’t enough to make him want to keep fighting. He’s had his fill. He just wants his peace. 

The steps coming closer are harder to hear now, barely getting carried over the increasing torrent of water rushing down on the pavement. Sieun watches as it soaks through Jeongchan’s shirt with mild disinterest, barely feels it on himself.

He aches everywhere instead, and it swallows any other touch. He's painted green and blue from people he never wanted to let lay another hand on him again. 

The rain is deafening, the uncertainty too. Sieun knows he has his back turned to the worst boy he has ever met. It’s so stupid he wants to slap himself. Anticipation is killing him. If Yeongbin doesn’t get to him first, that is.

“That’s a bad idea, Yeongbin”, Sieun hears a firm, familiar voice say. Slowly, he turns around. The sober girl checks her nails while she speaks. “A minor cutting someone with an empty alcohol bottle? Where'd he get it?”

Sieun looks up. Yep. Cool. Yeongbin’s fist is held above him, wrapped around the neck of the other guy’s beer bottle. Its bottom is broken, ragged pieces of glass all that’s left. Sieun almost winces at the thought of it impaling his stomach on its sharp edges. 

“People bleed out far too easily too. Don’t risk a murder charge. I know your dad’s influential n’ shit, but imagine the chaos if that came out”, the girl explains further. 

Sieun thinks she’s trying to help. Sieun thinks in her own fucked up way this is an attempt at saving him from Yeongbin, at least partially. Perhaps he should be thankful. 

Yeongbin shrugs. It’s clear he's not used to listening to people. 

“Eh, maybe”, he says. It almost sounds like he considers it.

For a long second nothing happens. Then he kicks Sieun off of Jeongchan with the force of almost two decades of pent up anger and a general hatred for anyone that opposes him. Sieun’s face scrapes over the pavement and the friction is like fire on his skin. 

Perhaps he shouldn’t be too thankful after all.

He can't even get up before a second kick follows, right in his side, and he folds together like he’s origami. It’s exactly the spot Minsoo had punched him earlier too, and it feels like there’s a bruise blossoming directly on his ribs, spreading through the bone. He bites his tongue to keep the pitiful noises inside, even though his jaw protests every step of the way. When a third kick follows on his other side (courtesy of Jeongchan), he can’t keep an unsteady exhale of air locked behind his teeth. 

Someone laughs as if it was funny, and Sieun hides his head in his arms. He can’t risk a concussion. Obviously. 

“Okay. Fuck. Enough. I need to bring Harin home and someone’s definitely walking with me to the car. Hurry up before she pukes”, the sober girl insists now.

“Chill. Gimme a sec”, Yeongbin responds, then turns his attention towards Sieun again. “I hope we have an agreement now.”

He sounds sugary sweet. Sieun wants to buy a flamethrower and roast him to death. 

After a last kick for good measure (Sieun twitches in pain, could swear he drew blood when he bit into his lip) they finally let off.

He hears them walk away through the rushing in his ears, hears the rain splatter on the pavement. His cheek feels swollen almost, but at least the cold droplets of water can soothe the burn.

It’s stupid. 

He won. And then he got kicked to the ground anyway. Because he was tired. Or something. Because Yeongbin can’t admit defeat. 

Sieun closes his eyes. He could almost fall asleep here, in the middle of the rain and the dirt from the street. It’s tempting, really.

It takes him a moment, but eventually he slowly but surely makes it into a standing position again. While moving, Sieun finds spots he didn’t even know could hurt in the first place, every jerk, every shudder revealing a new kind of ache. 

Only kind of limping he picks up his backpack. It’s soaked just like he is. Disappointingly enough he’ll have to check if his notes have survived this whole ordeal at home. Right now the rain is too strong and his mind is far too ill-equipped to possibly receive the news of having to rewrite every single page in his notebook again. 

He slaps his pockets, finds his key and his phone in them. His pen’s probably lost for good now, and that’s almost enough to have a scowl take over his face. 

He scrapes his loose change from the ground as if he’s putting himself together, one by one. Every coin is a part of himself he just has to stick into the right spot again. Somehow that’ll fix himself. Somehow that’ll fix this.

Sieun checks his phone. Fuck. Next bus is in a little more than an hour. For a long moment he stands still. So still he feels a stream of rain run from the crown of his head down to his chin. He supposes he has some time to kill now. 

That reminds him...

Sieun strolls over to the bushes almost casually. (As casual as you can be, soaking wet, at night, inspecting random bushes on the side of the road.) The knife is still there, lying unmoving and in denial of its crimes under leaves that have only recently turned green. 

Sieun stares at the blade reflecting the light of a nearby street lamp. ‘I hate you’, he wants to say, ‘You ruined my plan.’ But the knife is just a knife, and he knows it won’t answer, so he presses his lips together instead.

Sieun looks left. The empty street with lights dotting the distance of every ten metres or so. Sieun looks right. The empty street with lights dotting the distance of every ten metres or so. Well. He picks the knife up from the pavement and shoves it into his pocket. Finders keepers, he guesses.

A minute passes. Sieun has found refuge under a tree for now, wants to wait until the worst of the rain is over. The walk to his bus stop isn’t long per se, but he can’t really risk his school books and notes getting even wetter than they probably already are. 

He opens his phone, because there’s not much else to do, and the second he turns his mobile data on his phone plings with several messages. 

All from Suho. Not surprising. 

Yeah, Sieun regrets calling him a dog earlier. In the mean way. Suho’s loyal like a dog, he supposes. That’s good. It’s noble, like the rest of him. Sieun’s kind of jealous of how easy being a good person comes to Suho. He clicks on the chat and it’s probably at least half because he wants to forget about just how envious he can be.

 

수호

/did u have fun  at cram school?

/probably

/couldnt be me

/anyway

/forgot to ask u abt the school trip in person today

/u going?

/u dont have to, im just curious yk?

/are u home yet?

 

Sieun reads through the messages once. Then twice. Then thrice. Then decides only the last question is really worthy of an answer. He types ‘missed my bus’ and ‘have to wait an hour’ with clammy fingers (it’s the weather’s fault, he swears) and sends them without much of a second thought. 

‘Send me your location’, texts Suho, ‘I’m coming to get you’ and Sieun’s heart skips a concerning beat. 

He sends his location even though something tells him he’s going to regret it very, very soon.

Notes:

ooo how will suho react when he finds out sieun was beaten up....? :O

(3/4 exams done! if there's any glaring mistakes in this shhh its like 4:30am i'll fix them in the morning. thanks for reading and hopefully enjoying :D I'm so happy to see you all stick around for new chapters <3)

Chapter 5: To wither in denial, the bitterness of one who’s left alone.

Notes:

Title is from Disarm by The Smashing Pumpkins

Perhaps Sieun should actually feel the rain hammering down on him. Perhaps Sieun should feel it eliciting goosebumps on his bruised skin instead of only knowing it should. Perhaps Sieun should’ve walked home and collapsed somewhere on the way instead of accidentally roping Suho into his stupid problems. 

He burns knowing that there is relief sitting in his stomach like a warm soup in the middle of winter. He burns knowing that he wants nothing more than to shake off his responsibilities again, that he wants to dig his hands into Suho’s clothes as he speeds up his scooter, that he wants to pretend like that is the only thing his fists have done in the past hour. 

Sieun needs no confessional for his sins. Sieun needs no deflecting, needs no excuses on his or Yeongbin’s behalf. Sieun needs someone to scoop him up from the side of the road as if he was a stray kitten and silently accept him for who he is. He can deny it all he wants. He can say he wants to be left alone, he can scream into his pillow at night about how he’s wasting his time on Suho, on anyone even close to being a friend. In the end it’s always him and the walls he has built around his heart though, and looking closely at the mossy bricks reveals exactly when they cracked. 

Deep down, Sieun knows that the isolation is killing him. 

He never really cared all that much. Now that he’s learned what community can bring him he yearns for it, hopes for it, selfishly treasures every opportunity he can use to share his pain. Guilt sits heavy on his shoulders, like a parasite, and it picks at him, scratches at his skin until it’s an angry red. It’s nice to sic it onto somebody else sometimes. Just for a little while. Maybe that makes Sieun a parasite in his own regard – taking all the peace of mind Suho can offer him for the measly prize of school lunch rice. 

Suho boxed himself into Sieun’s life first though, so Sieun supposes it’s Suho’s fault too. He guesses Suho only stays with him because he knows no other option, because his loyalty is harder to betray than keeping up with Sieun is. Maybe regret gnaws at Suho’s ankles, leaving teeth marks in taut skin, tripping him when he least expects it. Maybe he feeds it with the extra school lunch rice to keep it at bay.

Sieun shivers despite himself. His jacket clings to him, wet and cold. Mostly cold. Humans don’t have receptors for wetness anyway. Whatever. Point is, he’s soaked. Point is, his jacket is too. He did say it needed a wash, but if he’s being entirely honest this was not on the list of ways he considered washing it. Not with himself still in it. Sieun shifts where he stands and the throbbing on the surface of his waist grows into something bigger, something that leaves him breathless with the pain. 

He bites his teeth together, but they can barely touch before he has to reverse the movement again. Right. His jaw. A sting so sharp he could cry. Sieun hopes it’s not dislocated or fractured or something. Or.. well, maybe he does. Maybe he deserves that as punishment for coming so far and then still losing. Maybe that’s what he gets for not being good this time.

He hears the whirring of an engine. It could be anyone. It could be Minsoo coming back for more, it could be his mother on her way home from work. It could be a cop on patrol, it could be someone on delivery. It could be a group of friends driving to a party, it could be anyone at all who’s better off without Sieun. He leans closer into the bark of the tree as if that could hide him. There’s no reason to become someone else’s problem, to ruin someone’s night. If it’s Minsoo there is. But Sieun is tired. He doesn’t want to fight. Not even Minsoo. Not anymore, not like this. 

“Sieun?”, he hears, and closes his eyes. He doesn’t know why he expected anyone else. Somehow he’s scared to face him. To face Suho, to face his rescue from this violent rain. 

With more hesitation than should be normal Sieun steps forward. His eyes open again. He hates what he sees. He hates what he sees, because the street lights are too bright and they blind him and he’s tired, and he hates what he sees because Suho’s wide smile immediately falls into itself when he really focuses on Sieun. It falls into itself like a house of cards, scattering on the floor like Sieun’s coins from earlier. Sieun feels like he’ll have to pick them up too, piece them together, just so he can see Suho smile again.

It’s not his responsibility. Not really. Stubbornly, he thinks Suho could also try simply not giving a shit about him. Then it’d be easy to smile.

“Hey..”, Suho murmurs, presses the words into the humid air insistently like he needs them to make their way over to Sieun. Suho’s soaked too. At least his jacket can withstand it. His bangs hang into his eyes though, are practically dripping. It looks good on him. Of course it does. Sieun wants to run. He knows that he would never get away, he knows it makes no sense. He could’ve refused Suho, could’ve simply not given him his location. He could’ve been his own problem for tonight. 

Guilt gnaws at him, because it’s always there for him when he least needs it. Yearning pools in his gut, the all consuming need to lean onto someone and be allowed to stay. It’s as if he’s split in half for real now, it’s as if the raindrops hammering onto the crown of his head are strong enough to pry his skin open, to saw through his skull. He doesn’t know what he wants, is torn between shame and longing, and revealing that to Suho is just as humiliating as it is pathetic.

The latter jumps off of his scooter, walks towards Sieun. His feet seem so light, it’s like he’s weightless. It’s like he doesn’t want to make a sound. He’s careful too, moving slowly and cautiously. It’s like he’s sneaking up on a scared animal, a wounded deer. Sieun’s blood boils, Sieun’s nails dig into his palms. It’s stupid. It’s so fucking stupid, and not just because the rain drowns out Suho’s steps so easily that being quiet makes no difference anyway. Really it’s because Sieun is not a scared fucking animal. He could’ve won that fight. He should’ve won that fight. He wasn’t scared. 

Sieun breathes out shakily. 

Okay, yes, he was scared. He was terrified. He was terrified because someone pulled a knife on him, because he was outnumbered and cornered and alone. Who cares? What matters is that he’s not scared now. Now he’s tired. Only tired. 

“Did you fall?”, Suho asks with too much worry in his voice. Sieun trembles. Hopefully it looks like it’s the rain’s fault. With just these three words Suho is giving Sieun an easy way out. He’s giving Sieun a chance to lie, to be driven home, to be his own problem. Just like he wants it. 

But Sieun looks up into Suho’s eyes, into the endless black of his pupils. But Sieun looks up into the face of justice. His chest constricts, his tongue’s in a knot. He can’t lie like this. He’s never had much respect for authority, believes in solely respecting those who have earned it, but somehow, all at once, Suho is the authority on morality and truth and everything that matters and Sieun cannot dare to deceive that. All of a sudden Sieun feels like he’s put to shame next to Suho’s nobility – he’s jealous and embarrassed. Now all that’s left to do is stand and stare and hope to be struck by lightning. 

The lightning never comes. 

Instead, there are tender fingertips on his cheek, grazing the scrape he got from sliding over the ground. His nose scrunches up, there’s a hiss stuck in his throat. His heart leaps pitifully in his chest. Suho’s gentle eyes squint at him in concern. 

“Do you have a, like, a thing for wound healing at home?”, he questions and Sieun welcomes the change of topic gratefully, tries to shake off the feeling of Suho’s skin on his. He makes an approving noise, and it’s quiet, almost unintelligible under the force of the rain. But it’s there and Suho hears it anyway, and Sieun is grateful for that too. 

“..Let’s go then.”

Suho turns around, almost hesitantly. His fingertips are gone now, and Sieun mourns them like he mourns each and every day coming to an end without him finding his purpose. Suho keeps looking over his shoulder to see if Sieun is following him. As if he doesn’t want to lose him. As if he doesn’t want to leave Sieun stranded in this stupid weather under this stupid tree somewhere in the middle of Seoul. 

Sieun tries his best to walk straight behind him, to not make it obvious that his hip must be bruised from how hard he fell, that his knees still sting from the sharp rocks he’d leaned onto. It’s difficult. He hopes he manages it anyway. 

Suho makes him wear the helmet again, gets too close. There’s so much space between them and still it’s not enough. Sieun tries not to flinch when Suho clasps the strap of the helmet shut. Their eyes meet and neither of them look away. Suho blinks and then it’s over. 

Getting onto Suho’s scooter is even worse than just walking is. Sieun bites onto his lip, tries his best to ignore the dull throbbing in his jaw that sparks up again, and holds his hip like an old man when he swings his leg over the seat. He almost expects Suho to make fun of him for it. Surprisingly the boy keeps his mouth shut. Or maybe it’s not surprising at all. Sieun wouldn’t know. He’s never had someone like Suho. He’s never wanted to. 

When he sits down, Suho turns around and pats his thigh, close to the knee, and smiles at him. Perhaps it’s supposed to look reassuring. There’s a sort of urgency in his eyes though, and that’s even more unnerving than the physical touch is.

“Let’s get out of here, huh?”, he proposes, not as confident as he’s supposed to be. He sounds... wary, almost. His head and hand twist around again so he can start up his scooter, and then its wheels hit the road and Sieun feels himself calm down anyway, feels his muscles relax. Suho can act weird all he wants. It doesn’t matter to Sieun.

Perhaps the rain has finally extinguished the fire burning within him. Perhaps there’s glowing embers where flickering flames used to be. He should toss them out completely, make sure to never let the anger into his heart again.  

He tells himself he’ll do it in the morning. Right now, he almost falls asleep on Suho’s scooter, on Suho’s back, and the next day feels weeks away. It’s an easy promise to make, and he almost doesn’t think he will break it.

In his sleepy haze, Sieun imagines that they’re somewhere else entirely, imagines eternal road trips on overgrown forest paths or dusty desert roads. Imagines clinging to Suho or throwing his arms in the air when the wind hits them just right. In his sleepy haze, Sieun begs his world to warp and bend around him, to change, to evolve so nothing matters anymore. He would trade his very life for it. 

He would personally extract the inks from his test papers – the red from his teacher’s pens and the blue from his own – so that they can merge together to make everlasting dark purple sunrises. The papers themselves could be shredded until they’re the grey-white sand under his feet. His math books could be bricks, his school uniform the clouds in the sky. Everything could be anything, just as long as it’s different. Just as long as Sieun gets to escape from here. 

His hands weakly clutch onto Suho’s disgustingly wet jacket, and that alone anchors him to reality. The city lights blur in a whirlwind of colours and his eyelids feel heavy, and that’d be scary and bad pretty much anytime else (because he’s vulnerable this way, because he's unprepared), but again he’s on Suho’s scooter and again all of his problems are ground into tiny bits beneath its spinning wheels. It’s dangerous and still Sieun lets himself go, carelessly leaving himself in Suho’s care. It balances out like that.

Maybe Sieun allows himself to go against his own wishes because Suho can’t see him like this. Maybe Sieun allows himself to be Suho’s problem because it’s night and because no passerby could recognize him either, because his head is turned toward Suho’s wide shoulders and his hair is hidden in the helmet. It’s difficult to remember why he wanted to pull this off alone in the first place when it feels so nice to rely on Suho like this. 

Sieun floats in bliss because he’s on a journey, because his mind slips away to somewhere lighter, someplace foreign but inviting nonetheless. He’s neither at the bus stop nor is he at home. He’s not seeking shelter under a tree, he’s not eating dirt, laying on the pavement. He’s simply here, free from wait times or the need to treat his wounds. He’s so far away from the ointment that he doesn’t yet have to get up and use it, but close enough that he knows it’ll be there for him when he arrives home. Time has stopped for him, and Sieun wallows in the feeling. He’s weirdly disconnected from his body anyhow – like he knows the painful throbbing of his jaw and the sharp stinging in his hip and knees, but he doesn’t really feel them. It’s like the rain earlier – the sensation is absent, blank, vague and empty, like if you’d want to reach for it you could never quite grasp it, and only the confusing fact of it realistically having to exist remains.

Too soon they arrive at Sieun’s apartment complex. Too soon he’s ripped away from this entrancing not-being, this refuge from life itself. The pain seeps back into his skin as his mind comes down from its fantasies and Sieun bares his teeth when he gets off the scooter. Thankfully Suho doesn’t see, is greeted by Sieun’s polished, neutral face when he turns around. 

Sieun hands the helmet back to Suho, watches him lock his scooter, accepts Suho’s insistence on accompanying him up the stairs. He’s simply too tired to argue.

Only as they’re climbing the stairs (Sieun’s knees protest every step of the way, his bones feel like pudding) Sieun realises that Suho hadn’t even asked for his address again. Suho remembered. Suho remembered from that one stupid night of the bus strike.

As much as he’s flattered, Sieun feels kind of hazy at the realisation – murky like a dirty pond to drown in. If he ever wants to slip away and disappear, Suho might still remember. Suho might be there to stop him. 

He can’t dwell on it for long. Suho urges him towards the door. Maybe he finally wants to leave after this. Maybe he just wants to get Sieun home safe and then dip, spending the rest of the night actually sleeping. Maybe he thinks Sieun is drunk with the way he’s stumbling to avoid putting weight on his bruises. 

Sieun fishes his key out of his pocket and unlocks the door to his apartment, only to find an awfully familiar, familiarly awful silence again, a silence that he’s so used to he thinks it drives him crazy sometimes.

In a weird way, it always reminds him of his grandfather, of how the man would talk about the anguished screams that fill hell every time he dragged Sieun to church. Sieun thinks hell must be silent. Not the kind of silence in your brain after a productive day, not the kind of quiet that leaves space for a bird’s song or the wind. Hell must be filled with the silence of an abandoned home. Of a house people exist, not live in. Hell must be like laying in your bed, in your room, in your apartment, begging to go home again. Even if you are already there. 

Suho steps inside the hallway, takes his shoes off with ease. They fling against the ground with two distinct thumps, pierce through the silence so clearly that Sieun almost believes Suho has read his mind. He follows inside, because Suho has made it almost bearable now.

He fills the apartment with sound, fills it with something other than the whirring of a washing machine or the beeping of a microwave. Sieun’s dad is gone so often it’s almost unnerving to share this place again. It’s even weirder that Suho seems to take up space naturally, that he navigates the kitchen like he lives here. 

He reminds Sieun of the ointment and in the bathroom Sieun grabs two towels while he’s in there anyway. One he gives to Suho – who dries his own dripping hair as he sets up a tea kettle – the other Sieun disinterestedly throws over his shoulders. Then he just stands in the middle of the kitchen, swaying occasionally from exhaustion so that the top of his leg brushes against the dining table. He isn’t really sure what he’s supposed to do next, so he just refrains from doing anything at all. 

Suho informs him he’s making tea to calm Sieun’s nerves a little. Sieun doesn’t bother to explain that that won’t be necessary, not when the water is boiling already. But yes, the adrenaline has worn off by now and what stays are all these dreadful sensations that Suho can’t do jack shit about anyway. Sieun guesses he should appreciate the sentiment regardless.

His clothes are awfully wet, clinging uncomfortably to his bruising skin, but he makes no effort to change out of them. Suho is still here, and Sieun wants him gone. He can change when he’s finally alone, he can unwind then. He’s being mean. As always. But it’s not his fault he needs his alone time after everything.

Suho places the cup of the tea on the table, right next to Sieun. The latter watches as the steam rises toward the ceiling light, an endless stream of hot air. It looks inviting. Sieun can’t remember the last time someone made him something to drink or eat on a shitshow of a day like today.

Suho looks down at him, looks through the strands of his hair that fall like curtains over his eyes. Sieun can’t read him. Sieun can’t seem to figure out what it is that has Suho’s face hard as stone, impenetrable. Is it pity? Is it worry? Is it disgust? Maybe it’s good he doesn’t know. 

“You’re drenched”, Suho says. Technically it’s nothing but an observation, but Sieun guesses Suho wants to know if Sieun plans on continuing to water the poor floor of his apartment. It’s not like he really wants to, but he also doesn’t have the energy to throw his soaked clothes into the bathtub until the washing machine is free. So he shrugs. As if that’s an answer. 

There’s a sigh and there’s the uncapping of the ointment, and then there's Suho coming too close again. Sieun thinks their hair could tangle together like this, wet strands sticking in any and all directions. Sieun thinks he strangely wants that. He doesn’t quite understand it (and that’s infuriating – the knowledge his emotions are getting in his way), but he staches the feeling away for later analysis. Right now, he’s preoccupied with watching Suho coat his fingers in a generous dose of the salve.

Said fingers come closer, ointment looking cold and wet and gross, but Sieun doesn’t move away. His eyes search for Suho’s, search for something to anchor himself with. His ribs hurt, but they aren’t bruised. His heart hurts, yet no one has stabbed into it. 

Suho smears the ointment on the scrape of Sieun’s cheek and immediately Sieun notices that it really is cold and wet and gross like he predicted. It burns too, a steady, constant thrumming underneath his skin. 

Suddenly Sieun can’t get himself to care anymore. All because Suho looks so focused, looks so concentrated on spreading it on Sieun’s wound. Sieun feels himself crack. Suho could’ve been long gone by now. Suho could be sleeping, could be replenishing the energy he uses to work, to build himself a future. Instead he’s here. With Sieun. With someone not worth saving.

Sieun knows there’s tears in his eyes before he feels them. 

He thinks about the aftermath of Taehoon choking him. He thinks about sitting over his chemistry homework while holding an ice pack to his throat. Alone, always alone. He thinks about the looks he received, the comments whispered behind his back. He thinks about Suho standing in the middle of the street to take him to a restaurant regardless. The invitation was so public Suho seemed almost proud of it. Sieun doesn’t know why anyone would show off eating with him when it’s quite literally the equivalent of painting a giant target on your back and patiently waiting for Yeongbin to catch you off guard. Sieun doesn’t know why Suho would make the effort.

“How did this even...”, Suho mumbles as he inspects the scrape, but cuts himself off before completing the question halfway through. His eyes meet Sieun’s. The air feels electrified between them, tense. Suho’s face twitches unexplainably before he backs up, wiping his fingers on a paper towel. “You should take off your jacket before you get sick.”

It’s meant as a distraction from Sieun’s lack of will to answer the initial question, but it has the opposite effect of what Suho wants. Sieun feels bruises blooming everywhere on his body, and even if his arms have sustained the least damage considering everything, they were still Sieun’s shield when he was kicked on the ground, and he can’t guarantee the damage on them will look accidental. He keeps quiet and watches Suho shrug.

“Whatever. You don’t have to.”

He sounds.. hurt? Matter of fact, he has sounded hurt for a while now. Sieun feels himself squint, blink the tears out of his eyes. What does Suho want?

The boy moves away, the distance suddenly frightening in this empty house. 

“I’ll make a tea for myself too. That’s cool with you, right?”

Sieun tries not to bite through his tongue, attempts a noncommittal hum. Suho can take that as he will. He chooses it’s a yes, so Sieun is left alone at the table, left alone with a burning cheek and a familiar, comforting weight in his ears as the sound of boiling water spills over the room again. It helps keep the silence at bay. It doesn’t help figuring out what has upset Suho.

Sieun watches Suho pour the liquid, watches the crease between his eyebrows. Sieun watches nimble hands work as well as they fight, watches lips pressed into a tight line.

Sieun decides he should make it easier for Suho. A little cooperation with his requests can’t be the end of the world, right?

He tugs at his sleeve, and the fabric clings to his skin disgustingly. With a little more strength put into it he pulls it off his arm, lets the sleeve fall to the floor with a wet smack. Suho makes his way back over to him, he can see that out of the corner of his eye. Sieun pulls on his other sleeve until he manages to get it off as well, the entire garment dropping down. With more effort than he’d like to admit he bends down to grab his jacket fully. He might as well bring it somewhere it can be soaking wet in peace. He doesn’t have the nerves to clean a puddle after all of this is over, and he doesn’t want to look at Suho right now, doesn’t want to know what his reaction to the bruises might be. 

Sieun grabs the jacket from the side, grabs it by half a sleeve, and when he finally picks it up something falls out of his pockets with a clang-y sort of noise because of the awkward angle. His key? His phone? He yanks the fabric aside to gather up whatever object fell out as well and is left staring apathetically at the knife he took from the street earlier. It looks cold – a bitter kind of bleak – under the ceiling light. 

An almost indignant sort of sound comes from the kitchen, so Sieun’s gaze wanders upwards just in time to see Suho’s features derail. What..?

“You..”, Suho begins, stops to rephrase whatever he wants to get across, “Did you fight someone with that?”

Sieun lets himself stare at Suho with furrowed brows. 

“Don’t tell me you...”, Suho cuts himself off. “Sieun..” 

Sieun squints at him, baffled. Does Suho think he jumped someone and that’s why he missed the bus? Does Suho think that that someone fought back and that’s where Sieun’s scrape comes from?

Suho sounds stern. Like Sieun’s father does when Sieun’s been eating instant ramen for entire weeks again. Except jumping someone and having an unhealthy diet is not the same thing, not at all, and it’s scary to have Suho look at you like this. It’s scary to watch the care drain out of his eyes, to watch his gaze harden into a glare. 

“That’s a fucking knife!”, he says, as if it wasn’t obvious. Sieun feels every muscle in his body go taut. “Do you know how easy it is to kill someone with that?”

“It’s not my knife”, Sieun replies, irritated, because it’s the first thought that whirls through his mind, because to him this knife was still a noticeable threat about an hour ago, because it was his enemy. Because it seems to make sense at the moment, and because he needs to appease Suho as fast as he can. He doesn’t know why that has become a need in the first place, but finding that out is not the priority here.

“I don’t care if it’s your knife or not, I want to know if you’ve fucking stabbed someone with it!” 

Suho grows louder now and Sieun bristles like a mongoose tail. He’s hated that, he’s hated that forever. He can’t deal with people raising their voices, doesn’t want to. He feels a worrying mixture of dread and exasperation pool in his gut. 

“I didn’t”, Sieun defends himself, “Someone tried to stab me. ” He doesn’t like explaining himself, wishes he had never indulged Suho. Wishes he had never even texted him in the first place.

“Oh, so you just took their knife afterwards?”, Suho asks with sarcasm dripping from his voice. He stares at Sieun and Sieun stares back stubbornly. He feels stupid, bites his teeth together to feel his jaw ache. It’s the only thing that tethers him to the ground.

“Are you being serious right now?”, Suho doubles down when no answer comes, and sounds disappointed out of all things. The dread-exasperation pooling in Sieun’s gut triples in size. He looks at Suho and finds an impenetrable wall of raised eyebrows and cold gazes glaring right back at him. It hits him. Slowly it hits him. The fact that Suho doesn’t believe him.

“It’s not mine!”, he repeats, hearing himself get louder, becoming the very thing he hates so much. He feels frantic when he looks at Suho, and his heart is practically running a marathon. He pleads with his mouth, with his eyes, with his posture. He pleads with his thoughts and his words. 

He shouldn’t. Something in him argues. He should shake this off easily. He should accept that someone thinks he’s an unfair fighter and an awful person now. Most people do already. Most people are right about it. So why does he tremble at the notion that Suho may hate him? Why does he wail like a child when his actions have consequences? When the truth about him comes to light? Once a cheater, always one. Why wouldn’t the same apply to people who fight dirty?

Sieun wishes he could tell Suho to fuck right off and prove his point. Sieun wishes he could take the knife and put on a barely convincing act to scare Suho off. Sieun wishes he could be alone again. He doesn’t have to explain himself when there’s no one to explain himself to. 

Sieun realises nothing is stopping him from doing that. He grabs Minsoo’s knife faster than his brain can handle, clutches it in his shaky fingers. He points it at Suho, staring him down as if that is the only thing that matters in this world. 

The knife is so much heavier in his hands than it was in Minsoo’s. 

Suho's eyes have widened and his stance is tense. He oozes concern and confusion.

Sieun’s palms are sweaty, and the weapon almost slips out of his fingers because of it. His knuckles go white with how hard he’s clutching it, determination overriding every thought in his mind. 

Suho only has to leave. Suho only has to see how fucked in the head Sieun actually is and then this is over. Then Sieun can melt into a puddle of self-pity. Alone. Like he wants to. Without judgement from anyone else. 

Horror spreads in Sieun’s heart when Suho’s expression shifts from concerned and confused to a look of understanding. Horror spears Sieun open when Suho cautiously steps toward him. This is the opposite of what he wanted. 

He sucks in breaths in shuddering bursts now, and his lip quivers. His head shakes as if it had a mind of its own, as if it’s denying Suho to get any closer. It doesn’t have much authority though.

“Hey”, Suho mumbles to get Sieun’s attention again. “It’s fine. Okay? It’s all fine.”

Nothing’s fine. Nothing’s even remotely fine in the slightest. How does Suho manage to one up Sieun in everything he does? How does Suho make Sieun freeze like this? With just a few words?

“Give me the knife, please”, Suho requests. So gentle. He holds his hand out. Sieun doesn’t move. Tears are welling up in his eyes again, because he hasn’t yet been able to fully banish them. He’s so tired. 

Sieun’s grip on the weapon loosens. As a matter of fact, everything about him loosens. He slumps together like a marionette with its strings cut, and.. Suho is right there to catch him. After he’s safely tucked the knife away he lets Sieun sag into him, helps him sink to the floor.

Minutes pass. It feels like hours. They both sit now, a polite distance between themselves. As if Sieun hadn’t just threatened to stab Suho. As if politeness ever mattered with him.

“I’m sorry..”, Sieun mutters into the silence. The part of him begging for loneliness screams in frustration, and still the apology eases Sieun’s heart, comforts him, as if uttering it was meant more for himself than for anyone else at all.

“I know”, Suho says, and that twists something gross and shameful into Sieun’s chest. He apologised to Suho before thanking him. He has hurt Suho before ever allowing himself a positive remark about all he’s done for this to work. Sieun closes his eyes, concentrates on breathing. It’s easier to just forget about it all. 

Sieun wants to ask how Suho knew he was putting on an act. Despite his humiliation he wants to know why he couldn’t drive Suho away. Thankfully, he doesn't even have to open his mouth to get to his answer. 

“You are trembling.”, Suho observes, shaking his head. “You seemed like you were afraid of hurting me even though you were the one pointing the knife.”

Sieun wants to sink into the floor. Pathetic. So Pathetic. He feels Suho’s gaze burn into his arms. Ah. Great. The next problem. 

“You said this isn't your knife.” Suho still sounds like he doesn’t quite believe him and Sieun digs his fingers into his palm. “The person who owned this knife.. Are they responsible for these bruises?”

Sieun simply nods. It’s not the truth. Explaining everyone involved and what specifically they did to him would take far too long though. He can’t get himself to feel bad about it.

“Who was it?” Suho sounds gentler now. It’s kind of odd though. He sounds like he’s wrapped a layer of softness around something else entirely, like he’s hiding an emotion that has sparked so deep in his heart that it scares him himself. 

Sieun doesn’t want to answer. But Sieun doesn't want to fight either. Sieun wants this to be over more than anything. He feels like there’s weights attached to his eyelids, tugging them down any second they can. 

“It’s Minsoo’s knife-”, he says, as if he hadn’t only learned that name two hours ago, “-but Yeongbin, Taehoon and Jeongchan were there too. And some other people.”

At that last sentence he thinks about the sober girl and her friend. He wonders if they’ve made it home safe. He wonders if their car crashed and miraculously only Yeongbin, Jeongchan and Taehoon died. He would like that. Maybe not. He isn’t sure. He feels conflicted. About the girl too. He mentally sends his thanks to her, though. Just because he can. And because she saved him from having to fish glass shards out of the back of his head. That’s something to appreciate. 

Sieun hears an annoyed scoff from Suho and is immediately snapped out of his thoughts.

“These bastards...”, Suho spits out, reacting to their names as if he was allergic. “Are you hurt anywhere else?”

Sieun thinks about listing all the little things. Sieun thinks about listing all the big things. Sieun opts for something else altogether.

“It’s fine.”

It’s deliberately not an answer. 

Of course Suho notices. Of course Suho lets him be anyway. It’s like a game, a play if you will. Everyone is in on the lie, you just have to roll with it. It’s like an exercise in acting, except it’s pretentious and unhealthy. In theory Sieun knows it’s no way to communicate. In practice it’s just easier to avoid conflict like this.

“I’ll beat them up.”, Suho decides, looking right through Sieun’s attempt at deception. “These fuckers are always ganging up on people. It’s so embarrassing.”

The something wrapped carefully inside of Suho’s softness is beginning to shine through – wine red anger – and it seeps into skin like a poison. Sieun is not exempt from it. There’s a bitter taste on his tongue. It’s that feeling again. The feeling of living through Suho, of being his stupid little pet to protect when things get rowdy. Sieun had made it on his own. Almost. Sieun had held his victory in his hands already. And he hadn’t needed Suho for that.

“You don’t even know how Minsoo looks.”, Sieun argues, and hopes it’s true.

“I’ll beat them all until they tell me who it is.”, Suho responds easily. Perhaps Sieun should be put off by the casual admission of violence. Instead, he listens intently for the anger slowly poking holes into Suho’s patience.

Sieun’s angry too. It should be his revenge, not Suho’s. It should be a fight between Yeongbin and him. No one else for once. No involvement from whoever. 

“You don’t need to.”, Sieun murmurs. “I almost won anyway.”

Maybe he says it to prove to Suho that he’s tougher than he looks. Maybe he says it because he can’t stand people forcing themselves into his business. Whatever it is, Suho regards him with a long, long stare. 

“They’ll come for you.”

Sieun resists the urge to roll his eyes, bites his tongue. He’s very aware of that. 

“There is no way I’m letting you face these assholes alone.”, Suho assures him.

Sieun wishes he would.

Suho raises his eyebrows as if he just had an important realisation, and Sieun impatiently waits for him to share whatever horrible thought has wormed itself into his brain now.

“There’s no way you're staying here alone for the class trip. They’ll fucking kill you. It’s better we stay together. Then we have back up in the form of each other. I can’t cancel it anyway, I already convinced my bosses. I doubt I’ll get a chance to go on a school trip again.” Suho shrugs. “But for real, I’d be feeling better if we go together.”

Every single second Suho talks more, Sieun feels himself growing hotter, feels his blood start boiling. He’s surprised there aren't bubbles underneath his skin, the heat waiting for release. The mention of a class trip he’s been avoiding for as long as the concept of it has existed plus Suho’s perceived entitlement to Sieun’s time leaves him on the verge of screaming his lungs out so he can finally be alone. 

“Have you ever considered the world doesn’t fucking revolve around you?”, Sieun says and even his voice sounds strained with the effort of holding himself back. “Have you ever considered I don’t want your stupid help? Your stupid protection?” He stands up now, aching legs cooperating like it’s nothing, making himself taller, more intimidating. “Have you ever considered I don’t fucking care if they kill me? I seriously couldn’t give less of a shit. I don’t care.” He exaggerates the words to really hammer his point home. “I don’t give a shit about any of this. I just want to be alone. Do you understand that? I don’t care about the class trip or Yeongbin or whoever the fuck wants me dead too. I don’t care, I don’t care, I. Don’t. Fucking. Care.” With each new word his volume is rising, right in sync with the hate for himself blooming in his heart. “I just wanted to prove I can fend for myself, and now I won’t even get that.” He’s talking too much. He knows. “Maybe you shouldn’t have fucking intervened in the first place. Maybe you should’ve just let Taehoon strangle me, maybe then I wouldn’t have become their fucking target.”

Finally he reaches his peak, the finale of his rant.

“Up until now you have made everything worse than it was before. Please. Just leave me alone. I’m begging you.”

It’s not a victory speech. There is no happy end. Sieun sounds broken halfway through the sentences already – wrecked and bone-tired. 

The silence after all of it is deafening. It’s the silence of an apartment people exist not live in. It’s the silence of hell. 

Suho says nothing. Perhaps that’s worse than any reply at all.

Sieun’s chest is heaving, Sieun’s eyes look like they’re about to pop out of their sockets. Sieun watches as Suho stands up, slowly. Sieun watches as Suho cautiously places Minsoo’s knife on the kitchen table. Sieun watches Suho tie his shoes. Sieun digs his fingernails into his palms when Suho turns around once more. In the hallway. Right on the doorway. 

His lips are pressed into a tight line, his eyes filled with indistinguishable emotion. For a moment it looks like he’s going to say something. The moment passes like the rest of them do. 

Sieun sees the tension in Suho’s fingers, fully expects him to slam the apartment door shut behind him. 

That never happens. The door ends up falling into its frame gently, light like a feather. It’s Suho’s way of showing what he wanted their goodbye to be instead of what Sieun allowed it to be. 

The boy trembles. 

Sieun stands in the middle of his living room with clenched fists and muscles pulled together so tight they may as well snap any second now. 

His eyes land on the abandoned tea cup on the table. His eyes land on the care Suho has poured into their interactions, on the responsibilities he has taken over from Sieun on late night rides on his scooter. His eyes land on the guilt Suho’s eased, on the days that he’s loosened up Sieun’s stiff routines and cramped schedules.

His eyes land on the cup of tea that represents more thought and effort put into an interaction than his mother might ever consider putting into any of their meetings at all.

Sieun can’t stop himself. Before he can even realise it he begins to cry, tears streaming down his face in a matter of seconds. He sobs quietly into the empty house, and wishes nothing more than to have Suho back.

Notes:

First of all, I'm sorry. Second of all, in my defense, this fight seemed inevitable :P

(4/4 exams done yayy)

Chapter 6: The friend I'm dreaming of is far away.

Notes:

Title is from Show Me How by Men I Trust

Sieun has never liked the aftermath of fights. Everyone’s quiet then, trying to look busy to avoid having to apologise. Maybe you dry your tears in the bathroom, maybe your father goes out to “fix the car”. Maybe your mother cleans up the wine that was spilled that had the fight break out in the first place. It’s kind of ironic. Watching someone fix the cause, but not the symptom. The pain lives on even after she washes the blood red stains out of the carpet, even after she wipes the wine off of the table. It has seeped into the wood already and her efforts are futile, but she does it anyway. Maybe her own mother taught her to. 

Sieun stands in the kitchen and lets his tears fall freely. The floor is wet already – his jacket has left a puddle of water where it laid – but even if it wasn’t Sieun doesn’t think he would’ve cared.

He sobs. Quietly. Shuddering with each breath he’s forced to take. 

Something in him wishes he could stand here the rest of the night, crying and hurting and letting all the pain ooze out of him. And he would have done it too, if his legs weren’t trembling, if his body still had any energy left. 

Before he can sink to the ground, before his muscles can give out, he sits down at the kitchen table. He’s reluctant about it, as if the floor would be a better place for scum like him. It probably is. 

A sigh shakes through him like an earthquake, and his eyes fall onto an old, old stain in the middle of the table. Suddenly he’s ten again and his parents are yelling about something he will only later understand, finally grasping that his parents fought over the little things because they didn’t want to address the big ones. Suddenly he’s nine again, eating his dinner while his parents loudly talk about problems only adults are supposed to have. They’ve made them his problems without even realising it. Suddenly he’s eight again – young and dumb and defenseless. His father used to say he’d protect him from all the bad things in the world. From the bullies, from the monsters. From the spiders Sieun used to fear so much. 

It should’ve been obvious that the world would catch up with them eventually. It should’ve been obvious that Sieun would get too old to deserve protection. 

It’s difficult to control the urge to take Minsoo’s knife and stab it directly into the wood of the table. Sieun could pretend it’s himself maybe, pretend to simply end it all. His father would kill him for ruining the table like his mother before him, but maybe that’s what makes the idea worth carrying out in the first place.

He eyes the tea Suho made him. It’s a little hard to see through the new stream of tears blurring his vision. He forces his eyelids shut to not have to see it at all. 

There’s lava in his veins, there’s poison on his tongue. There’s mold growing in his mouth and a painful stinging under his skin. Sieun feels sick. And he doesn’t understand why. He’s finally alone. Like he wanted. And he likes that part. His heart is pounding far less intensely in his chest, and his shaking has subsided a little. He’s finally crying, rinsing all the bad in him out with his tears. But still he can’t stop thinking about that last look Suho gave him, that incomprehensible gaze that Sieun would describe as sorrowful if he didn’t know any better.

Suho did as he was told. So easily. Did he want to leave? Sieun can’t blame him. He shouldn’t anyway, he was the one pushing Suho away in the first place. It does make him wonder, though – he can’t stop his curiosity. Would Suho have pushed back for anyone else? Would Suho have stayed if Sieun was Eunji? A pretty girl that actually talks to him? 

He digs his teeth into his bottom lip, tries to ignore the black hole opening up in his heart and swallowing him from the inside out, stretching him out – infinite pain. He resents Eunji for it. He knows he shouldn’t. But he does. He despises Eunji and he despises Suho and most of all he despises himself. He doesn’t understand. He doesn’t know why he’s breaking apart. He weeps, he cries, he snivels, until the silence has returned to his brain, consuming every measly attempt of a thought he has. His tears dry, slowly but surely, and his eyelids clump together. He’s more exhausted than ever before.

Eventually, when Sieun guesses his legs will cooperate with him again and he gets too cold from the soaked fabric stretching over his skin, he gets up, stumbles forward. He picks his jacket up from the floor, almost retreats his fingers at their dampness, but manages it anyway. The walk to the bathroom feels hours long, but ultimately his jacket lands in the bathtub, smacking wetly against the porcelain. Sieun stands still and breathes. There’s a throbbing in his brain, a headache spearing into every last inch of it, and he feels the tempting, beckoning urge to sit down again piercing through him. The enticing urge to sit down until the morning comes and to pretend all his problems will disappear when the sun goes up.

He peels himself out of the sopping wet layers of his school uniform until he’s only wearing his boxer shorts, and leaves his discarded clothes to dry in the bathtub too. The water residue feels weird on his skin and he rubs at it, rubs it off until the sensation is bearable again. 

Out of the corner of his eyes he sees himself in the mirror. Breathing becomes a chore. He turns to it, slowly. 

His body looks pathetic in the dim light, his knees mangled, and there are scratches of fingernails cutting his skin apart in streaks of fleshy pinks. There’s scrapes on his arms, and the one on his cheek glistens with the ointment Suho had applied. It smells strangely medicinal, but Sieun notices that far too late. It doesn’t matter anymore. There’s bruises from weeks ago, scars from years ago, his entire childhood is painted on his skin in fading colours. That’s how he knows it’s his body. That’s how he knows it’s supposed to be his. 

He finds the burn on his arm easily. It’s where he accidentally touched a hot stove as a kid. He knows it’s there, he knows it happened, and still he can’t believe he’s still the same. That he's still the wide-eyed five year-old he used to be, that that five year old has evolved to be him. It’s hard to visualise his past as anything but different versions of him, entirely different people. Sometimes Sieun thinks about going back in time just to give himself a hug. Sometimes Sieun looks into his past diaries, the lists of dates his parents fought on, and imagines returning to himself on those nights, distracting young Sieun, himself, from the pain. 

He doesn’t know if it would even help, but in the end it’s impossible to try out anyway. All he can do at this point is try to fix himself in the here and now. 

Sieun stares himself down in the mirror, stares at his boxy waist. He thinks about Eunji again, thinks about her healthy curves, and scowls at all the rough edges and sharp corners he sees when he looks at himself. It looks like someone puzzled him together out of broken rocks, while Eunji was formed by the current, by the tides and the ocean instead, smoothed down until she became a beautifully oval amber. Sieun questions if Suho likes that better. Sieun questions why he’s thinking about that to begin with. 

It shouldn’t matter to him. It shouldn’t matter what Suho thinks, what Suho prefers. Jealousy sits deep in Sieun’s gut, he can feel it take root. He envisions himself in Eunji’s maxi skirt, with her long legs and her big hips and her round face. He envisions himself in her place, just a girl working with Suho, bickering with him, being open and loud because there’s nothing stopping her, no mental block. 

Belatedly, Sieun realises the more he imagines it the more Suho falls out of the picture. Belatedly, he understands he..... likes that? Imagining a body like hers, a personality like hers, a life like hers.

Fear surges through him like the wind whips in your face at sea. Fear has his heart pathetically jump like it would standing on the steepest cliff. Fear sets him alight in a moment so blindingly clear that he shivers to be able to comprehend it all. 

He stares into the mirror. A terrified expression stares back. Eyes wide open, mouth ajar – its breathing erratic. 

Sieun stumbles out of the bathroom, never looking back. Only when its door is closed he can even attempt to will his racing heart to calm down again. He doesn’t give himself another moment, runs off into his room to raid his closet for something to wear, begging to never have to unpack the thoughts from earlier. Hastily, he throws on a sweater he’s been wearing on and off for weeks already and a pair of shorts that dig uncomfortably into his skin at his hip, especially with the bruises he already has there. Maybe it’s a punishment. Maybe they’re just the first pair he sees.

When he has to enter the bathroom again, later, as he tries to get towels, he doesn’t spare the mirror so much as a glance. He grabs them without even turning on the light and leaves just as quickly as he came. 

In the kitchen he sinks onto his knees (ignores the pain that erupts, of course) and piles towel over towel onto the puddle of rain water on the floor. They soak easily and he watches them do it as if it was the most interesting in the entire world. 

Sieun is himself, crying, blaming himself for the fight. Sieun is his father, shutting himself off to have some peace and quiet after everything. Sieun is his mother, trying to fix it, cleaning the mess that was left. Nothing ever changes. Not for Sieun. It seems that for every step forward he stumbles two backwards. It is inevitable. While the universe moves on – while stars explode and implode, while worlds die and new ones emerge from their ashes – Sieun is constant. He thought he had managed to break out from this immovable state. Temporarily, Sieun had been something, anything, had learned to move forward. Now he feels as if someone had dragged him to the sidelines again, as if everyone is on stage, performing, and only Sieun is chained to his seat in the audience, knowing he’d been up there before, knowing he used to have a say in this. 

For a brief moment he considers calling his mother. For a brief moment he thinks she would pick up, reassure him, tell him it’s okay to make mistakes. Tell him that he’s her son despite everything, take the guilt from his shoulders like Suho usually would. For a brief moment Sieun believes she would make time for him because only hearing his voice tells her he needs her right now.

Quickly Sieun scraps the thought. 

She wouldn’t pick up. She has work to do. 

And so he continues wiping away the chaos. It’s his responsibility as it was his mother’s before him, even if it’s like sticking a bandaid on a bullet hole. He wonders if his mother knew that too. Sometimes he asks himself how she did it. Pouring herself into fixing something that was doomed from the start. Often he understands why she left. In moments like these he is a child again though, a child who doesn’t comprehend it, never could. A child who stands on the battlefield his parents made the kitchen, and wishing they would both raise their white flags and apologise. Him and Suho are his parents now, fighting. Still, Sieun doesn’t know if he could say sorry again, doesn’t know if his shame would stop him. Maybe now it makes sense that his parents never really made up with each other. 

He leaves the towels on the floor so they can soak in the rest of the water, get up on his feet. He spots the knife and stain and tea cup, taunting him, right in the middle of the kitchen table. 

He drinks the tea to not waste it. It’s cold by now, tastes bitter with how long the tea bag was left in it. Sieun drinks it whole, in one go. He drinks it like it’ll be the last thing he ever drinks, ignores his lack of air. He almost chokes. If it really happened he would’ve deserved it. 

After he places the empty cup into the dishwasher he sees Suho’s on the counter. He hadn’t touched it, didn’t even take a sip. And even though it’s Sieun’s cup and Sieun’s tea bag and Sieun’s water Sieun thinks of it as Suho’s. Strangely, he thinks drinking from it would be wrong. He watches the tea splash into the sink, then puts Suho’s cup into the dishwasher as well. He sets it down as far as he can from his own, stares at the distance for a while. 

Whatever. 

He closes the dishwasher, collects the towels from the floor, finds the one he gave Suho on one of the chairs. He considers throwing it into the bathtub with the rest, but then he gets a little too close. It smells like Suho. It smells homey and calm. It smells like a tree – some sort of shampoo maybe? It smells like the earth. 

Sneakily Sieun throws it onto his bed on his way to put the other towels away. It’s embarrassing, but Sieun is tired and he won’t get this opportunity again. That realisation has his heart constrict, but there is nothing to be done about it. He might as well use the one chance he gets.

After hiding Minsoo’s knife under a pile of shirts in his closet he does the rest of his homework. It ends up sloppy and unsatisfying and he’s glad it was just one task. Only when he’s brushing his teeth he notices he hasn’t eaten anything yet. Within seconds he decides it’ll take too long to make anything at this point. His microwave is loud too, and the walls here aren’t exactly thick. He doesn’t want a complaint from his neighbours, late as it is.

Finally he falls into his bed. His eyes burn from crying, his legs from walking, his knees and his jaw from the fight. He knows tomorrow will be even worse and it's not something he is looking forward to.

The mental anguish has streamed out of him by now, and so he is empty and tired. He feels ultimately heavy and simultaneously not there at all. His mind gives him a nudge, an idea of sorts, and it has him groaning into his pillow – annoyed. He knows jerking off would make him feel a little less numb for a while, but he’s not really in the mood for it. He needs to get up too early to waste his time on this anyway, so he swats the thought away like a pesky fly. To distract himself even further he grabs his phone, plugs it into his charger while he’s at it. He stares at the time – it’s already well after midnight, about 2am to be exact. That has his brows furrowing and his eyes squeeze shut. Nevermind. No distractions. He needs to sleep.

Sieun lets his head roll to the other side of the bed, lets his phone drop onto the floor, trying anything to be comfortable enough to just pass out. Unfortunately for him an all too familiar towel greets him there, its scent too, filling his nostrils and brain with Suho.

Sieun lets a tiny burst of air be punched out of his lungs – something that is half groan, half sigh, something that sounds annoyed and upset alike. He doesn’t really want to think about Suho right now. The boy is like an open wound on Sieun’s skin. The injury is too fresh, too new to touch, hasn’t even grown a protective layer of scabs yet. Even though Sieun has always liked poking and prodding around when he got hurt it would be much more convenient to just sit this one out. He lays on the mattress like a corpse, contemplating his next step. The hands on his alarm clock click forward with unerring precision.

To Sieun’s credit, it’s awfully hard to break a habit. 

He inhales deeply, letting images of Suho’s handsome features overtake him. The pain that comes with it is almost delicious, like an awful stab in the heart that you know would hurt you more once you remove the knife. Sieun is only glad that he is already aware of his attraction to Suho. If he would have had this realisation now, after everything, it would have been like a punch in the face. He figures being kicked in the side is similar enough though, so it’s not like it makes a difference. He’s had a rough day.

Sieun lets his mind take him back to the warm afternoon Suho unexpectedly picked him out of the crowd. Sieun lets himself revisit watching Suho’s skin glow under the strong sun, lets himself remember holding onto Suho as they were driving through the streets. Sieun lets himself imagine Suho driving further than last time, right out of the city, driving as long as they have to to reach the countryside. They’d do a short break maybe, and Suho would drink from a water bottle while the afternoon light hits him just right. He’d be beautiful and satisfied, and Sieun would watch him, because in this self-indulgent fantasy he’d be allowed to. And maybe Suho would crack a joke and grin that stupid grin that makes Sieun’s heart flutter embarrassingly fast and maybe life would be perfect. Maybe this is all that Sieun wants from Suho.

Sieun focuses more closely on fantasy-Suho’s broad shoulders, on his strong arms. It’s easier like this, because Suho can’t follow him into his delusions, can’t judge him for them if he doesn’t know they even exist. Sieun chews on his bottom lip, tries not to think about how humiliating it would be if Suho ever found out. He goes a step further anyway – he’s never been one to back down after all.

He thinks of Suho putting his arm around his shoulders, thinks of Suho placing the helmet on his head, casually getting closer than he absolutely needs to. He thinks of reassuring glances, of simple touches (Suho’s hand on his knee today, God, he could’ve screamed). He thinks of Suho staring straight into a knife in his hands and getting him to calm down anyway.

He thinks of the leaps his heart makes when he’s too close to Suho, he thinks of the shaking and the investigative stares on his part. 

Maybe this is just how people feel about friends. Sieun’s never really had those, so he wouldn’t know. Something in him feels like he’s grasping at straws though. It seems excessive – his nerves, his confusion regarding Suho. The interest, the curiosity, the untameable yearning. 

Sieun sighs into his pillow, breathes into the towel. He doesn’t know what it's like. He doesn’t know if he ever will. He supposes he will simply have to accept that. 

When Sieun walks to school the next morning he has barely slept. (At least he’s had breakfast, he tells himself, even though his eyelids droop down any second they get and he fights down a yawn every few minutes). Every waking moment he thinks about Suho, because there is nothing else to think about. Because he should be focused on school but it’s impossible when his brain is addicted to reminding him of probably the worst fight of his life. Sieun wants an apology. Sieun wants Suho to understand that he was overwhelmed and in pain and his ego was bruised and that he’s angry sometimes. Too angry. And that Suho’s care was insulting. Because Sieun can care for himself. Because he’s always done that. 

Deep down Sieun knows he should apologise too. That he should apologise for being jealous and rude even if it acts as his protection. That he should apologise because he offered no real explanation, only rage. Maybe he’d get himself to do it if Suho said sorry first. That train of thought makes Sieun sound like his mother, though. He breathes in slowly, shuddering, as if it was the most difficult thing in the world. 

When Sieun enters the classroom Suho lays on his desks in the back already. Sieun takes his notes out and reads over them far more often than he actually needs to. They don’t have lunch together that day. 

Time stretches out like bubblegum, Sieun is tired and unhappy. They don’t have lunch together the next day either. Sieun studies, takes just a few bites from his dinner before he puts it away in a container in the fridge. He eats leftovers everyday and still they don’t seem to reduce any significant amount. He tries to keep his mind off of Suho, but it’s hard. 

He figures it’s good if everything turns back to how it used to be, though. Then he can concentrate on school. And on himself. Then they don’t need to waste their lives on each other. 

He just got done with his chemistry homework when his phone plings. He forces himself to put his notes away, to clean up his desk from any clutter before he even just grabs his phone. 

An unknown number. Huh. That’s new. Usually only Suho texts him.. Sieun doesn’t know if he should be disappointed, bitterly scraps the thought because that makes it easier. 

____________

??? • Messages • now

This is Sieun right?

____________

Oh? Sieun raises his eyebrows, confused on why someone would want to text him specifically. Good that he doesn’t want to have anything to do with anyone who’s interested in him anyway. He hopes whoever they are they will leave him alone if he ignores them long enough. But before he can put his phone away it plings twice more. Goddamnit.

____________

??? • Messages • now

This is Sieun right?

Here is Lee Eunji

From the restaurant you went to with Suho

____________

Oh. Sieun stares down at his glowing display as if had grown legs. This is.. unexpected. He’s intrigued though. Even if Eunji is partially the reason he can’t look into the mirror anymore, he’s too nosy to ignore her now. After he’s saved her contact to combat any future confusion he clicks on the chat that has since been filled with even more messages.

 

이 은지

/Sorry if this is weird, but Suho said you guys had a bit of a fight (I don’t know the details, don’t worry. Suho’s not a snitch)

/I got your number from him bc he just can’t say no to me 

/He did beg me to not chew you out tho lol but that’s not the point

/What I’m texting you for is to assure you he genuinely didn’t want to hurt you

/You don’t have to believe me, but he’s been much quieter. Like, he’s really thinking about what he’s done wrong. Whatever that is

/He said you told him to leave him alone, that’s why he’s not apologising. He’s sorry though. I can tell because all that he’s been doing is sulking, it’s actually really embarrassing for him

/I don’t expect you to forgive him at all bc I don’t even know what he did, but like I just wanna relay the message. 

 

Sieun feels strange, Sieun feels strange staring down at the texts. Suho is upset? Suho thinks about it as much as Sieun is? Sieun is not alone in his shame and guilt?

 

이 은지

/It’s only been two days and he’s already pissing me off with his drama, so if you want to take him off my hands feel absolutely free to do so

/Jk I hope you guys work it out. Best of luck and stuff. Genuinely

 

Holy shit, Sieun feels like an asshole. Well, yeah, he is one, but he feels like even more of an asshole than usual. Eunji is being nice. Actually, Eunji’s done nothing but be nice so far. In contrast, Sieun’s been selfish and jealous and mean. He grinds his teeth together – is glad that his jaw feels a little better by now, even if it has started to get discoloured. In the end he does something he always does. Throw his turned off phone on his bed to deal with it in the morning. Or whenever else. He hopes he never has to start it up again.

Sieun wakes up with a headache and a hunger that sits so deep in his stomach he thinks there must be a hole where his organs are supposed to be. At least it’s a Saturday so he doesn’t have school today.

He checks the fridge. The container with the leftovers stares challengingly back. Except it doesn’t have eyes, and therefore cannot stare in any particular way. Whatever. Sieun opens it, stares at the questionable mush of food. His nose wrinkles in disgust. He’s been eating this for way too long. He decides that even for his standards (read: next to none at all) this is a bit much. 

And so he checks pantries and cabinets and every shelf around the kitchen. If he doesn’t want to live off of expired popcorn, spices, or rotten fruit he really doesn’t have anything left to eat.

It’s weird. He used to have heaps and heaps of instant ramen. Well. That was before his father left. He squints. It’s been a while, hasn’t it? His dad had been home a few days after Sieun and Suho’s meeting at the restaurant, just to check in, but Sieun hadn’t even seen him around much then. Now that he’s training his team somewhere Sieun doesn’t care to remember the name of, that lack of interaction has obviously increased. Maybe he’s texted something Sieun should respond to? To be a good son, to be what his father expects.

Sieun drinks a glass of water to fix the worst of his hunger, then goes back to his room to get his phone. Funnily enough he’d been right. His father’s messages sit at the top of his display, just waiting to be answered. A reminder to take the trash out, the information that he will be gone a little longer still, some well wishes. Apparently Sieun’s teacher called about an exceptional grade, but Sieun can’t even remember taking the test. He responds with a few, short words that almost border on unacceptable, but just enough to count as a successful interaction.

When he exits the chat, even more messages greet him. They’re from Eunji. Is she becoming the new Suho, always texting him stuff? 

Sieun pauses, feels sour. 

He swallows the question down in an attempt to fix the fact he had thought to ask it in the first place. Really he isn’t quite sure if it works. He clicks on Eunji’s messages to distract himself, it’s like an involuntary response. 

 

이 은지

/Hey. It’s me again. Obviously. You can talk to me about this, just saying

/I won’t tell Suho. I’m just nosy

/And maybe I could help too, yk, if i knew what he did

 

Sieun’s eyebrows twist together. It’s really not Eunji’s business. It’s the exact thing he faults Suho for, always messing with someone else’s problems.

Usually he would have just left it alone. Not today.

Maybe he feels the need to send a reply because he’s still groggy from sleep. Maybe it’s because he has no one to talk to. It never used to be a problem. Now that he’s met Suho it’s harder to ignore his unfortunate need for socialisation though. Maybe he’s just making bad choices because he’s made horrible ones already and it won’t make a difference anymore. 

Sieun texts her something that might make her realise she’s doing exactly what Suho did – that that behaviour is far from welcome here.

 

이 은지

he got into business that wasn’t his\

 

Eunji’s response comes almost immediately. It isn’t surprising, and still Sieun feels a little weird about it. It’s like she hasn’t thought about what to say at all. 

 

이 은지

/Wah, scary

/Sounds like you’re part of the mafia ㅋㅋㅋ

/What kind of business?

 

Well. Apparently Eunji didn’t get the hint. 

Sieun leaves her on read because it was stupid to reply in the first place.

Back to the problem at hand. His stomach is revolting. Sieun sighs. Time to go grocery shopping then. He gets dressed in the first pieces of clothing he sees in his closet, grabs his keys, his wallet and the trash and then he’s off.

The trash bags aren’t even full yet. Somehow Sieun feels obligated to throw them out anyway. He’s being a good son, he figures. As good as he can be. Following requests even if they make no sense. He lets the lid of the garbage bin fall shut.

....Really it’s rather stupid.

It’s nice outside, he realises after a minute or so, the temperatures are mild and the streets fairly empty. Even his walk to the grocery store seems faster than usual. Maybe he can turn this day around after all. 

All goes well for the first few minutes after he’s arrived. The store is mostly empty because it’s still early in the morning and almost everyone is at or on their way to work, and Sieun appreciates it. Some pop song he vaguely recognizes is playing over the speakers. He grabs a basket to store his shopping in, then some cereal to vary his diet even just the slightest bit. Next follows milk he hopes he’ll actually use up for once, then some laundry detergent. 

He walks past the fresh fruit and vegetables, thinks about cooking something himself for once. He knows he doesn’t have the time for it. Still, he misses actually good food. Perhaps it’s more so that he misses the restaurant Suho works at. In that sense – perhaps he just misses Suho.

“Hey Sieun!”, someone calls out through the restaurant and Sieun squeezes his eyes shut. Good God is he tired of being recognized, of being talked to. It always ends in a mess he himself has to clean up. It always ends in making his life a little worse than it needs to be. 

He stares at the deliciously ripe pears before him as if they would save him from his fate. He hasn’t had pears in a while.

“Hey”, the person tries again, obviously standing next to Sieun by now. He lifts his gaze from the rather ludicrous prices. Right onto Eunji. Damn. Avoiding someone has never been this hard. 

“Funny coincidence huh? Us meeting here”, she says, after clearing her throat in the least casual way possible. To her credit it doesn't sound as awkward as it could've.

Sieun gives her his most serious, most unimpressed expression in return and hopes that that tells her just how funny he finds it.

“About Suho’s getting into business that isn’t his-”, Eunji begins, and Sieun is caught off guard by her persistence, her straight forwardness. At least she isn’t dancing around the topic? Still, Sieun asks himself if she really can’t spot the irony here. “-Was he gonna beat someone up for you?”

There’s an urgency in her voice, as if she desperately needs an answer. Sieun freezes. There’s no way Suho didn’t tell her, right? He levels her a look, regards her for a few, long seconds. She seems genuine, he supposes, but then again he’s never been good at reading people.

Eunji quiets her voice so that no one can overhear them. It’s understandable, given the contents of this conversation. 

“He’s done that for me before too, you know? I’d totally understand your reaction if it was that, because at first I thought he was fucking crazy too”

She turns her head further towards him, secretive. Sieun thinks she’s being too obvious. But then again they’re alone in their aisle, and no one here knows them anyway. Hopefully.

“I ended up learning to appreciate it though, after talking to him about it.”

Sieun almost winces. Yeah. Talking. It’d be good if he managed actually doing that for once. Sometimes he wishes everyone would just know what he wants and leave him alone because of it. It confuses him that Eunji’s grateful for it though. It confuses him that Eunji is seemingly put off by the violence but not the intrusion into her life. 

“Suho’s protective of his friends”, Eunji brabbles on, as if she’s convinced Sieun and Suho are friends in the first place. “You’ve probably noticed his whole being-as-fair-as-he-can-possibly-be-shtick already anyway”

Sieun stares down into his basket. Sure he’s noticed that. He even respects it. But Suho’s loyalty was never the problem. 

“Doesn’t it bother you?”, he asks, looking up again. Eunji meets his gaze, appears genuinely surprised, a little unprepared to hear Sieun speak. When Sieun remembers it’s the first time he has ever talked to her in person it makes sense. “Doesn’t it bother you that you could do it yourself but he just does it for you?”

That makes Eunji pause. She turns her entire body towards Sieun as if she needs to give him her full attention for what she says next. As if it’s that unbelievable. 

“Sieun.”, she says – baffled, almost exasperated – as if she isn’t quite sure she’s understanding him correctly, “Do you seriously think the world needs to be that way? With everyone only caring for themselves?”

Sieun’s face twitches.

“I cover for Suho when he’s late to work, I bring him food when he’s sick, I let him borrow my big sister’s tools for fixing his scooter when it doesn’t work like it should.”, Eunji lists off on her fingers, “‘In exchange’ he beats up assholes who bother me, takes the blame when I fuck up something in the kitchen or drives me places I need to be but have no one to drive me to”

A spike of jealousy tears Sieun apart. He’s not the first passenger on Suho’s scooter. It’s a ridiculous thought. He should be embarrassed that that is the only thing he got out of her words.

“We’re friends so we help each other out.”, she says pointedly.

Sieun grinds his teeth together. He wouldn’t know, he’s never had friends. But he can’t say that he wouldn’t know. God, he could never say that. He couldn’t take the pity that would follow, doesn’t want to. He has been fine on his own. He will be fine on his own.

“I’m not insulted by him doing stuff for me because it literally benefits me anyway. I know he does it for me because we care for each other.” Eunji hammers her point home. Sieun wants to beg her to stop. He’s got it, finally he’s got it, and it hurts him even more than before.

Suho wasn’t trying to insult him. Suho was only trying to help. 

Suho isn’t used to shouldering things entirely on his own. Sieun is. Suho lives in a world where one hand washes the other, where it is beneficial to be helpful, where you want to have that trait, because it will save your ass in the future. Sieun doesn’t. Sieun has fought tooth and nail to be where he is now, just like Suho, except that no one else was there to help, to be helped. 

What Sieun interpreted as just another asshole undermining his strength was a genuine attempt at support. 

He stares at Eunji with eyes so big they probably look like they’re about to fall out of their sockets. Eunji gives him a gaze sympathetic enough for him to believe she has seen right through him, through his silence. He isn’t sure anyone besides Suho has that ability though. And not even Suho understood him when he needed it most. (To be fair, Sieun didn’t understand Suho either.)

He can’t tear his gaze from Eunji. She’s the sole reason the puzzle pieces clicked together. She’s the sole reason he now knows what was wrong. 

Theoretically he should thank her. She deserves it, he knows she deserves it, even if he is still a little bitter from her inserting herself into his life when he hadn’t asked her to. She is only here to help after all. 

Instead he glues his mouth shut, only lets his eyes speak. Even in them there is no gratitude to be found though, because his face is stagnant, rigid, like a marble statue with only one emotion sculpted into it. Once again, Sieun wishes people could read his mind, understand his true intentions, understand he doesn’t always mean to be rude.

“Well, I’ll get going now I guess” Eunji shrugs, looks Sieun over. “I hope your wounds heal.” She doesn’t say if she means the mental or the physical ones. 

Sieun feels shaky. He’s being an ass, and still she is kind to him. Because she can. Because she doesn’t need to build up walls of cruelty to protect herself. She has Suho for that. 

Jealousy rises up in Sieun’s throat, threatens to spill out. He has a choice now. Seconds pass. Anxious, gruelling seconds that Sieun spends intensely thinking.

Finally he has decided, and swallows his jealousy right back down. 

When Eunji is almost out of earshot already he finally gets his shit together.

“Thank you”, he says, determined, and his heart beats hard and loud in his chest. 

There's tension in the air, and for a moment only a generic pop songs is to be heard in the entire store. For a moment, time seems to have stopped. For a moment, everything around them seems to anticipate Eunji's reaction.

Eventually, she turns around with a smile playing around her lips, can't stop it from breaking out into a grin. She winks at Sieun.

“Always glad to help”

Notes:

Quick thank you to everyone who commented on the last chapter! It was wonderful to read through all of your pain lmao I had fun torturing you guys <3 Hope this chapter made up for it though :]

Chapter 7: I'm not gonna go down with my hometown in a tornado. I'm gonna chase it.

Notes:

!!peep updated tags!!

hey you. 13k words chapter. pls appreciate thank👍

Title from I Know The End by Phoebe Bridgers

Sieun pushes his apology to Suho forward like Sisyphus his boulder – excuses pile in his head. Sometimes he promises himself to do it tomorrow, sometimes in a week, sometimes there’s just no time for apologies. Sometimes waking Suho up is the problem, sometimes his part time jobs are. Sometimes cram school is in the way, sometimes homework. There’s always something to cling to, something big, something small, something barely enough to count as an excuse.

Sieun crosses out day after day on his calendar. Day after day without any notes, any deadlines. Blank, empty space that feels like filler, like nothing, like cotton in his mouth. He doesn’t dare force his gaze forwards, doesn’t dare check if he’s scribbled down appointments for dates further down the line. He rarely remembers what is supposed to happen in a week from now and never goes looking for it either – only tests and homework stick in his mind, those things are burned into his brain like a brand.

He wants to say his future is hiding from him, that he’s standing still while the world moves around him, wants to argue that there’s nothing for him to see or to experience. His one goal – academic success – hangs high and mighty above him, taunting. If you hadn’t met Suho, it whispers in his ear, you wouldn’t be so distracted right now. It’s unfair. It’s unfair because Sieun still pours himself into his studies, still molds himself into the golden standard. It’s unfair because Suho hasn’t really done anything wrong, because all he tried to do so far was to be fair.

The whispers are satisfying a silent urge in Sieun though. They give him a chance to point his finger, to let the fault wash away from him, to push his apology out of the way. They give him a chance to accuse, to cast blame. On the world, on Suho, on time itself.

It angers him, all of it. Every wretched part of his being. Dark red fury seeps from his bleeding heart into his clothes, has him shaking as he stumbles through his life trying to find the unpause button. Earth turns and turns, spins around the sun and itself like it should, like it’s supposed to. Sieun tumbles backwards, sideways, upside down, trying to follow its course.

The earth is fulfilling its purpose, has been doing exactly what it’s meant to do for billions of years now, has witnessed death and despair and still it circles, twirls, as undeterring as a young dancer – always forward, as certain and as nonchalant as an old God.

Maybe that’s why Sieun can’t keep up.

Sieun has to come to terms with the fact he may never have what he wants – progress. Sieun has to get used to being motionless. Broken, he lays flat on his back, in the middle of his living room, and stares into the lights on the ceiling like he wants them to blind him. There must be a faint glow to him, a translucence, so that earth can move right through him. So that walls and streets and soil and magma, then soil and streets and walls again, will pass through him as everyone else’s journey continues, as the earth spins forward. He’ll be left in space, all alone, freezing to death as his ambitions collapse.

Maybe Sieun just has an abstract imagination. Maybe Sieun is losing his mind.

He still drags himself to school – it’s his only way of telling when one day ends and the next begins, it’s his only way to achieve his goal – but often times he does not remember how he ended up in the classroom, cannot recall if he walked or took the bus.

His arrival comes later and later and no one even notices, but he burns with shame anyway. His subconscious picks at him, pinches him, makes him uncomfortable with the thought of studying even less than he’d been doing already. Naturally, he tries to find a reason for it, tries to explain. Tries to find blame elsewhere, because no one likes to be at fault.

Perhaps it’s because he’s been walking as if he’s wading through mud, a swamp of his feelings. Thick and heavy, honey-like in texture, but retaining none of its sweetness. Perhaps it’s because his years of sleep deprivation have finally caught up with him, assaulting his brain with the hammer of exhaustion, drumming a torterous rhythm into his mind every hour of the night. Or perhaps it’s because Sieun knows Suho will be at his destination. A horribly reliable constant, a sleeping boy on the last few desks in the classroom.

All Suho’s been, all he could be, is replaced by what he is now – simply a body, simply a lump of cells of no importance to Sieun. They don't speak anymore. Their eyes don't meet.

And still it's too much to look at him, too much to bear. Sieun lies through his teeth when he says he doesn’t think about Suho anymore, doesn’t miss him. Sieun longs for, mourns, what he’s had with Suho, and still he begs the universe to rewind him to a time before that, to a time he was quiet enough to pass as a ghost.

Now, like this, their distance doesn’t go unnoticed.

Yeongbin chews Sieun’s ears off almost every day. About Suho, of course, and sometimes grades too. He’s... impressively persistent. But Sieun doesn’t even want to give him that much credit. It’s the kind of persitent a pesky mosquito is, persistent like a creepy guy who can’t take a no- Oh wait, he just compared Yeongbin to Yeongbin.

The only good that comes out of it is that these annoyances fuel the ember in Sieun’s gut, that they force emotion into his heart. Maybe he should be grateful. Yeongbin makes sure he isn't completely numb. Anger is something Sieun is far too familiar with though, he doesn’t need it to be manually injected into his blood stream.

He tried to avoid this already, has cut all threads tying him to Suho – at least outwardly – has surgically removed their bond, has clawed at the ground until there was a cliff between them, until they were distinctly separate again.

Yeongbin doesn't see that. No one sees that. Apparently everyone thinks that without Suho at his side, Sieun isn’t a complete person anymore.

It makes Sieun grind his teeth together, makes him shake. He wants to explain. Everything. He wants to tell Suho how they’d misinterpreted each other’s actions, how their experiences have shaped them, but- When Sieun looks at Suho he cannot breathe.

When Sieun looks at Suho he sees a half of himself holding onto Suho, standing behind him, taking his side. When Sieun looks at Suho he feels exactly as incomplete as Yeongbin describes him to be, feels like he’s punched in his gut, as if rusty nails twist into his heart.

It’s merely another excuse to postpone the apology.

His calendar fills, but the lines of pen crossing out passing days become less pronounced, far more messy. He forgets sometimes, has to check off days at a time.

Today is such a day. After he forces his breakfast down (it tastes bland, uninspired), after he grabs his homework and stuffs it into his bag, only then does he get his pen out to cross out yesterday and the day before yesterday – the slightest attempt at fixing his perception of time. His tired eyes move over the paper sluggishly but unstoppable. Before he knows it he stares at tomorrow. Before he knows it he stares his future in the face.

In splotchy black ink it reads “deadline for documents for class trip”.

Sieun’s heart stands still. No more hiding.

 

***

 

It’s tomorrow. The day after yesterday. The fifth of the month. Eight hours or so after the fourth. Sieun tries to categorise it, tries to remember time to not lose himself. It’s only a number technically, it’s only another rotation Earth has made and still it’s something monumental for him.

Sieun has a choice to make. He’s made one already, has decided he can’t just stand still and let this decision wash over him like warm water, turn him numb. But deciding to do something and actually doing it is very different, and as he sits in his brightly lit classroom, the sun burning in his eyes, he tries to gather himself to finally fulfill the promise he has made himself.

It’s his chance to break free, to bring movement into his world.

A few hours ago, yesterday probably, he texted his father that he’d go. To the class trip, that is. He faked his mother’s signature on the papers, because it’s an uncomfortable topic still, and teachers barely ask about her. Because he could pretend he gets along well with her too, to obediently please his father. Maybe also because he himself would like that – everything being fine.

Sieun is still conflicted though. Perhaps he should have actually gone to see his mother for the signature. Perhaps he could’ve contemplated his decision on the way and made a more educated guess on what the next best move is. Perhaps she could’ve helped him make his choice.

Internally, Sieun scoffs at himself. He knows her calendar is full, filled with deadlines and appointments that she actually bothers with, that she doesn’t ignore like her son does. He knows she doesn’t stand still like him. She walks in long strides, and sometimes it seems as if she’s walking faster than the earth. He knows she wouldn’t even have five minutes to spare. Maybe not meeting her was for the best.

Sieun thinks about it though, thinks about how it’d be to see her again. He wants to.. well, actually see her. No awkwardly staring at each other over the table. No talk of business, no “How’s school?”, no phone calls interrupting their time together. Sieun wants a mother that says more than “You’re doing good, right?” and “I’m sorry, but I really have to go.” like a broken record.

Sometimes he hears her in his sleep. Sometimes he wakes up to “Next time, okay? Next time I will stay.” echoing in his brain. Broken promises pile up like broken bones. Maybe if Sieun starts hitting hard enough his mother will have to clear her schedule for his trials in court.

He looks down at the documents on his desk, stares at the ink until it blurs into squiggles and vague shapes. He breathes in deeply, hopes it doesn’t make too much noise. It’s a silly thing to worry about – everyone is giddy and restless at the prospect of the upcoming trip, of the break from school. No one is paying attention to Sieun. Not right now. Just how he wants it.

Sieun grinds his teeth together, frowns when he realises that his jaw doesn’t hurt anymore. His cheek is getting better too. Even though he never cared for it. He would’ve needed Suho for that. He can’t touch the ointment without thinking of their fight and well, maybe that is a fitting punishment for his idiocy.

He turns his head until Suho ends up in his field of vision, sleeping still and peaceful, head on the desk instead of his stupid pink rabbit plushie. It looks even less comfortable than before. Sieun asks himself if that is a sort of punishment too, only personally adminstered instead of imposed by the universe.

It shouldn’t really matter. Sieun merely feels the need to know if they are both hurting the same way, the same amount. Despite everything, it matters to him.

Maybe that makes him a bad person.

Suho is sleeping though. That’s- That’s good. Sieun doesn't know why that gives him a sense of security. Sieun doesn’t know why he wants Suho to sleep on his plushie again. Sieun doesn’t know why it gives him the last push he needs to finally stand up.

He grabs his documents, walks up to his teacher and simply hands them to her, marvels at how unceremonious the whole thing seems. It feels like such a simple task, it feels like no one here understands the weight of Sieun handing something, anything in last minute. His teacher accepts them without a word, and Sieun is grateful.

He turns around again, empty handed and empty brained. His mind is blank, unsure of everything. As he walks back he makes eye contact with Yeongbin. Horrible, horrible Yeongbin. And all the memories of the fight resurface, the one Suho took no part in. Even if he was mentioned a million times. Sieun is still bitter about that. Sieun is still bitter about his loss.

He thinks about Minsoo’s knife and how ironic it would be to turn it against Yeongbin, or Minsoo, or any of their comrades.

Yeongbin can’t see the bloodlust in his eyes. He makes a face, silently dares Sieun to fight back against his taunting. Sieun sits back down as calmly as he can. His pencil almost crushes in his palm.

Life carries on, because it always does. Because there is no break, no way to keep up. Sieun lets himself be whirled with the waves of the universe because it's too hard to swim against the stream.

 

***

 

Sieun arrives too early. He doesn't remember a time when he didn't. The bus for the class trip isn’t there, and neither are teachers or students. There’s plenty of time to regret his decision. Sieun plants his feet to the ground and starts waiting. In his head he revises math.

When the parking lot starts to fill out, when he spots Jeongchan saying goodbye to his family he comes out of his trance. Of course there’s new things for him to ponder now.

Choosing a seat in a bus or a car is a child's worst nightmare. It's something you worry about in elementary school and kindergarten, it's something you dread when you have two best friends who you both love equally with your tiny, tiny heart. Sieun is too old to worry about that. When he was young enough he didn't have any friends to worry over anyway. So really, Sieun's never had to worry about that at all.

That fact makes it seem silly when friends rush together, when the unpopular kids hide in their corners. If you're not seen in the first place you can't be rejected as a possible seat partner. Sieun guesses he gets that logic.

But Sieun does not hide. Sieun is not afraid of rejection. The expression on his face surely shows how hard he had to convince himself to show up here in the first place.

The bus fills out in no time while Sieun patiently waits his turn. He was the first to arrive and still he is the last student to board the bus. It's all planned though. Because now that Yeongbin, Jeongchan and Taehoon have sat themselves in the back row, Sieun can easily avoid them.

He takes on a seat further at the front, a good length away from the kings of the classroom. When the teachers get in here he might sit a little close to them, but quiet as he is and with no one to talk to in the first place that should be no problem. Sieun's got no secrets to spill.

Well, he kind of does. The reason behind his parent's divorce, the fights he gets in. The funny feelings in his gut when he looks in the mirror, when he sees Suho. Is something a secret because no one is allowed to know it or just because people aren’t aware of it? Then maybe Sieun does have a lot of secrets to spill. With no one to spill them to they’re still safe though.

The teachers have begun counting students up and down, are asking who's missing, who’s not in the bus yet. Sieun knows.

“Jin is!“, someone yells from the back.

Jin is here though, he sits right behind Sieun. Sieun still knows who's missing. The name burns on his tongue like hot coals.

“No. Someone else. Does no one know?“ his biology teacher grunts, exasperated.

Sieun won't spit it out. Maybe it's a challenge to himself, to see how long he can take it, to see when his mouth will go numb. Maybe it’s because he doesn't want attention, doesn’t want people to talk about Suho and him, about the ups and downs in their communication. Maybe it's because he wants to keep Suho for himself, tucked away for only his own eyes and ears, maybe so Suho has no chance but to talk to Sieun and Sieun alone. Maybe so Sieun can apologise.

Suho bursts through the door of the bus, handle of his suitcase in hand. Sieun freezes. Seeing Suho alive, awake , seeing him move and breathe and live feels novel somehow. It seems like it’s been years since Sieun has seen him like this, it seems like a fever has gripped Sieun oh so suddenly. He grows hot, then cold, and he shakes, shivers, feels his fingers twitch.

Their teachers sigh (maybe relief, maybe annoyance), the driver gets up to put Suho's luggage away. None of that matters, none of that makes Sieun’s heart jump up pathetically like Suho looking through the rows, looking at the seats their teachers have already placed their backpacks in.

Sieun knows next to him is the only available seat like he knew Suho was the one missing. He tries not to squirm when Suho's gaze meets his.

A charged silence passes – only between them, anyhow, the rest of the bus is bustling with energy and conversation – and Sieun sees something in Suho's eyes that makes his stomach churn.

Hesitance.

Suho never used to be hesitant with him. Suho was open and loud and all up in Sieun's personal space. Suho was caring and a firm wall of confidence, standing in the way of bullies and the wind and whatever else would have bothered Sieun.

Like in the past, Suho seemingly confident – with a pep in his step – strides over to where Sieun threatens to fall into himself. Maybe it's just how he walks, how he moves through the world, or maybe he’s forgotten his hesitance entirely and the universe moves on without Sieun again.

Suho drops down into the seat without his usual grandeur though, without the attention he commands only by being awake most of the time. He sits down sheepishly, shamefully, and maybe to anyone else it would've simply seemed shy. But Suho doesn't do shy, Suho is about as extroverted as possible, and so Sieun revels in the possibility that they might both regret that night. As far as he can revel, shaken up as he is.

He looks out of the window and tries not to make it look pointed. He's here to apologise after all, to progress into someone, something better. He's here to make up for his mistakes.

Suho lets his seat take the weight of his body like he needs someone to hold it for him, sighing when his back hits the cloth that stretches over the foam underneath. He looks bone-tired, exhausted. He looks as if all his sleeping is just for show.

Their teachers begin a lecture that goes into one ear and out the other, and Sieun intently stares ahead, staring right into the tacky pattern on the backrest before him. It gives him something to focus on instead of the closeness to Suho, the way their arms almost touch. He cannot speak, he cannot think, not clearly at least. The guilt drives him insane, bores itself into his guts, where it sits heavy like a time bomb, only waiting to rip Sieun apart.

For the first half an hour he is motionless, only swaying when the bus driver takes a sharp turn every once in a while. He doesn’t dare turn his head, doesn’t dare catch a glimpse of Suho. In the end he does move, slow and reluctant. He pops in his earbuds to not accidentally hear Suho breathe. Everything reminds Sieun of him.

The trees lining the sides of the road disappear behind the bus on beat to the songs he plays and he wishes he could disappear with them.

The trees thin out over time, make space for wide reaching fields and eventually those switch places with the outskirts of a city, of the yellow sea. When they arrive Sieun’s legs desperately need a break, and he stumbles after Suho embarassingly when everyone starts to leave the bus. It makes him furious. Looking like a child next to Suho again.

As they step out Sieun is immediately greeted by the smell of the sea. He breathes in like it's the last breath he'll ever take, a pathetic little gasp for air that fills his lungs with not enough, never enough oxygen and the slightest smell of algae. He exhales shakily and hopes Suho doesn’t notice. He wants to be bitter to please that angry little fire inside of him, but it really is nice here. He can’t get himself to complain when gentle wind cools down his skin, when the air isn’t dusty and stale like back at his apartment.

That quickly changes when they all walk up to the hostel, pulling their suitcases and bags along. There’s several buildings, most with at least one more floor attached, a cafeteria among them. They’re not very pretty – as most hostels aren’t – but the state they’re in really doesn’t add anything good into the mix. The facade is cracked in places, old curtains peak out behind even older windows. The area’s partially fenced in too, sometimes with brick walls, sometimes with wood, and it gives everything an odd, messy touch. There’s trees scattered around the premise, trees likely the same age as the buildings, judging by just how rundown everything looks. Several paths lead away and to the hostel, only indicated by sand on an otherwise grassy ground.

Sieun dreads the room distribution already. Sharing his personal space with Yeongbin, or worse: Yeongbin and his ‘friends‘, is a fate worse than death.

It’s not hard to figure out why exactly those Sieun was worried about peacefully get to choose a room first though, parting the crowds to be the first in front of the teachers. No one wants to pick a fight with them, no one wants to be at their mercy.

Sieun is patient and so is Suho. While friend groups unite and friends declare themselves enemies they both lean onto the bus in silent but mutual agreement that it’s best to simply wait this out. They share space and time, and when it’s finally their turn they realise they’ve done nothing to stop sharing the same room.

Sieun accepts his fate. Suho right next to him bounces up and down in a way that seems.. almost excited? It’s odd. Sieun figures Suho only wants to shake his legs out though.

On the topic of Suho – Sieun’s mind paints pictures of seeing him every hour of the day now, of being tortured endlessly the longer he holds out on the apology. It paints pictures of seeing Suho at night and in the mornings and fresh out of the shower and- Sieun’s gut flips concerningly. Butterflies fly around the timebomb of guilt. Quickly he explains that away too. Their bus ride hasn’t been kind to him, he’ll probably need to throw up. He swallows his thoughts like how sometimes you’re forced to swallow your vomit, almost grimaces at their bitter taste.

The check-in goes about as well as it could. Sieun claims the lower mattress on the bunkbed further in the back of the room as his own by throwing his jacket on it as soon as he enters it. It’s hidden away in a nook in the corner, seems a little more peaceful than the rest of the area.

Suho and him aren’t alone for the week, and so nothing is stopping their two classmates also sleeping here to quickly rush in to take one entire bunkbed for themselves. Sieun doesn’t know if he is grateful for their presence or if he deeply regrets coming here even more now. He can’t turn back time, though, so he better get used to it soon.

He watches Suho throw his backpack on the bed above his own, watches Suho shoot him an apologetic look. Sieun’s expression stays neutral. He doesn’t know how to communicate that it’s fine. That he’s not mad. That Suho doesn’t have to be sorry.

It.. exhausts him. It exhausts him that he doesn’t know what to say, that everyone’s yelling, that he has to make decisions all of the time. The exhaustion from his sleeping habits must add to it too. He checks his phone. It’s barely past 12am. He almost sighs in resignation. Altough he really wants to, Sieun doesn’t allow himself to fall back into the mattress. He begins stretching the linen over it instead, begins to make the bed.

It doesn’t take long before everyone more or less excuses themselves to go scavenge for food or to find their friends. Or in Suho’s instance.. to dissapear to do whatever. Sieun busies himself with unpacking instead. It’s his way to unwind. If he’s busy with his suitcase he doesn’t have to study. It’s his own excuse. It’s not his first one these days.

He’s shoved almost all of his clothes for the week into the dresser he shares with Suho (realises he will now see more of how the boy dresses apart from the school uniform or the one for his part time jobs), when a loud knock at the door startles him out of his thoughts.

Raising an eyebrow, he turns to it. Almost expectantly. As if the door could tell him who is behind it.

More knocking, frantic. Irritated, Sieun walks up to it. They’ve got two keys in total, one for Suho and him and one for the others, and while the former is buried somewhere in the pockets of Sieun’s pants, the only reason for the frantic knocking he can imagine is that one of other guys has returned without their key, or worse: that they lost it.

He opens the door, still questioning which one of the two options it is, and in an instant he is whirled back inside. An arm is slung around him, pushes him backwards, presses insistently into his gut, and his eyes try to process the tornado of straight, black hair and puffed up sleeves in front of him. He wants to complain, wants to warn for the timebomb, but his mouth can barely open before the pressure is gone already and he stumbles backwards into the room. When he finally finds balance on his unsteady legs again, his eyes curiously take in the sight that presents itself in front of him.

It’s a girl that has invaded his personal as well as private space, all dyed tips of hair and skinny jeans. Speedily as before, she tugs a guy into the room by his collar, confidently ignoring the choked-off noises he makes in turn. The guy in question has black hair too, but it falls into his eyes as if he means to hide them – they don’t frame his face prettily as they do for the girl – while a pair of glasses sit atop his face as if they had been arbitrarily placed there. Backpack straps dig into his white cardigan, and he holds onto them as he is hurled into the room – like an anchor in the rugged sea.

When the girl closes the door behind herself she is fast but quiet, and that’s a skill Sieun finds impressive – faintly, in the back of his mind. He levels her a look anyway, because she’s essentially just broken in. It doesn’t matter. She doesn’t even gaze his way. Instead, she intently listens, her ear pressed against the door. The chest of the guy she brought in is raising and falling rapidly, his eyes have widened into those of a deer; fearful, giant. He keeps to the wall as if it was second nature to him, stands close to his friend and doesn’t dare meet Sieun’s stare. For him it’s intentional. Sieun can tell. It’s fairly obvious, with the way his eyes fly over his surroundings, then jerk back again whenever Sieun comes into their field of vision.

Sieun opens his mouth now, maybe to yawn, or maybe to ask what’s going on, wherever his mouth will take him, when the girl finally turns to him.

She.. She shushes him.

Her gaze sparks annoyance, as if it was obvious to stay quiet, a silent expectation, but it quickly turns into one of pleased acceptance when a perplexed Sieun so easily complies with her orders to snap his mouth shut again. The latter raises an unimpressed eyebrow at that, at himself, is irked somehow by the self-evidence she seems to regard his reaction with.

In turn, she rolls her eyes. “We’re practically on the run“, she proclaims, explains, and sounds almost proud of it, “Gotta be quiet.“

Sieun figures that that’s simple too. He’s quiet. A lot. But Sieun also knows it’s up to him if he wants to follow this simple request or not. He really wants to know what’s going on, what happened. And hey, he’s got enough leverage to ask for it. He has the power to make this situation way harder for the two intruders than it needs to be. Something about that entices him. Something about not living up to their expectations does.

Before he can decide to do one or the other another knock rudely interrupts their get-together. Cardigan guy stands still like a deer in headlights, looks even more like the animal now, but to his luck his companion knows how to deal with a stressful situation. Immediately she checks the still untouched closet of Sieun’s roommates. As expected, it’s empty. The girl drags her friend through the room once more and deposits him in the closet, haphazardly slotting him in there like a weird version of tetris. When her frantically moving eyes can’t find a second not-obvious hiding place, she simply starts sprinting to lock herself in the bathroom.

It all happens so fast that Sieun still isn’t sure if he even wants to help them or not, but then another knock comes, loud and insistent, commanding attention. Sieun has to try very hard not to pull a face at that. Instead of expecting help, it sounds expectant of immediate concern and consideration and that’s just as, if not even more than, annoying as the former.

He opens the door himself completely this time, isn’t whirled back inside the second his hand hits the handle. He’ll give his second visitors that.

Before he can even look up, he’s bombarded with questions.

“Did people knock here? Did you let anyone in?“

Sieun gives himself time to regard the two boys standing at his door. They’re dressed in shorts and baggy shirts, look sweaty and out of breath. It’s clear they’ve been chasing someone, something, and Sieun knows exactly who.

“Did you hear anyone run past? Two.. Two people?“

The boys come with their problems too. They shove them right into Sieun’s arms, expect him to hold and solve them while he’s nothing but a stranger in a door frame. He stares at them. They stare back, impatient.

“Why?“, Sieun asks suddenly, but quiet. He might as well try to figure this out now. “What’s going on?“

His second visitors groan, exasperated, as if they expected unquestioned compliance too. This time Sieun isn’t caught off guard. This time Sieun doesn’t follow silent orders.

“Did you fucking see them or not?“, one of them barks right into Sieun’s face and it takes a good amount of self control for him not to shut the door right into their faces in return.

It’s become a game, though, kind of. Sieun can see the appeal of it, the appeal of having power over the situation, of figuring out which responses elicit which reactions. Furthermore, Sieun is horribly curious how well he can play his part. He’s spend his entire life acting as the diligent student, the well-mannered child. These days, he’s been twisted, sure, twisted into something worse for wear, something that fits too tight, that hurts the longer he’s in it, but his acting career has been long and thorough nonetheless. Let’s see how well he can adapt.

“Two people knocked, yeah.“, he affirms casually and promptly hears a panicked thunk from the closet. It’s almost enough to wrangle a stupid, gloating smile from his lips. “I didn’t let them in.“

There’s a pause. On both sides. Hesitance and caution. Impatience to anger, fear to short-lived relief.

“What was that?“, one of the guys asks, with a force in his words impossible to miss. He pushes them out between gritted teeth, like he, too, is fighting with himself to stay calm.

The fucking tooth fairy, Sieun’s mind unhelpfully provides, what the fuck do you think that was?

“My roommate’s in the bathroom“, he lies easily, out loud, with surprising persuasion in his voice. It’s not unlikely, the only thing that makes it less believable is the fact the closet is in the opposite direction of the bathroom.

As if to underline Sieun’s words, the girl in the bathroom turns on the shower. Highest setting of water pressure. First the droplets come as a foreboding warning, then the stream of water beats down onto the ground like the booming of a stampede, galloping through Sieun’s ears, digging their hoofs into his eardrums. It’s loud, obnoxious, but Sieun commands her for it. She’s smart, all things considered, or reckless maybe. But she can pretend not to hear them now, doesn’t have to be quiet behind the locked door. How likely is it that Sieun has let a frantic stranger into his bathroom?

They work on the same side now, accidentally, and Sieun is not even mad about it. The girl is playing her part well too.

Sieun’s second visitors grind their teeth together, seemingly contemplating whether it’d be smarter to break down the doors or to move on to bother someone else.

“Sorry, dudes“, Sieun says, in a fake sort of bro-tone that doesn’t fit him at all. He’s still a little quiet, but maybe he stands a little taller too, maybe his unwavering expression, rigid and stubborn, has become a wall between him and the boys. He’s appealing to his privilege as a male presenting person, to his privilege to be respected partially, by others of his kind – a status of manliness he clearly rejects himself.

Somehow it works.

After another pause the guys back off a little, slowly convincing themselves of Sieun’s perceived honesty. Sieun regards them as if they are crazy for doubting him, even for a second, and the scrutinizing looks on their faces slowly melt away into something impatient again.

“Yeah.“, comes the defeated response, “Okay, man.“

One of them coughs covertly, restless and hasty. Sieun pities whoever will have to put up with them next.

“We gotta go then. Uh.. If you see those bastards again you better fuckin’ tell us, alright? Yeah.“

With that the door falls shut again, like the curtain to this theatre. The play is over. Sieun has made it, has finished his role without butchering his lines or fumbling on the facial expressions. Still, there’s no applause. Still, Sieun is left with a stranger in the closet, another in the shower, and the foreboding dread of something unexplainable. Of something lingering, consuming.

He can hear a knock on the door across, quietly locks his own. It does nothing to ease the sudden shake of his hands, the way his heart sprints across the entire world to come back to him out of breath and with sore muscles.

He wants an explanation. Now. But the shower is still running and Sieun doesn’t want to yell over it and risk alerting the boys who came looking for his newfound accomplices. He doesn’t want to yell at all, really, he just wants to sleep. Instead of doing either, he simply sits down on his bed and waits.

Eventually the shower stops. Eventually the girl comes out of hiding, opens the closet door to get her friend out. They make a joke about being in the closet (“Familiar in there, eh?“), all while Sieun watches on. It grips him with jealousy again, with unbearable guilt at destroying the tiniest – the first and only – beginning of a friendship he ever had. He watches the girl lightly punch the boy on the shoulder, watches him smile shyly, his trust in her eternal, absolute. He follows her like a dog. He’s nothing like Suho and still he follows her like a dog, and suddenly Sieun wants to scream at her to treasure him like he’s all she’ll ever have.

The girl turns to Sieun then, a satisfied smile playing around her lips. She can’t see through Sieun’s poker face, but Sieun begs for it anyway. Sieun begs her to understand, silently, wholly. Sieun begs her to not throw her friend away like Sieun did with Suho. Sieun hopes, for her sake, that she is good at apologies.

“Thanks dude. Guess we owe you one.“, she says, none the wiser, and Sieun curses her for not listening to something he never said in the first place. He curses her for her stupid friend reminding him of Suho, and he curses the world and Yeongbin for simply existing. He keeps his lips pressed into a tight line because he doesn’t know what will escape them if he doesn’t.

The favour irks him too. They might never see each other again. Plus Sieun simply.. doesn’t do favours. It’s never been part of his world, it’s never mattered much. He figures the girl doesn’t have to know. He figures the girl doesn’t have to know anything that concerns him. It’s best if he vanishes from her memory a few days from now, so he can fade into obscurity in peace.

“And I suppose you want to know what we did, too.“, she continues, and, well, Sieun can’t argue with that. He raises an eyebrow expectantly to convey his interest.

She grabs the backpack on the guy’s shoulders – almost tugs his cardigan off while she does it, dragging him back and forth – then produces a half full vodka bottle out of it.

Sieun inspects it, only mildly interested. Was this worth the chase? Was this worth his acting?

Her smile slips when she sees Sieun neutral expression.

“Look man, it’s not about the shit you steal, it’s about stealing itself, the thrill of it.“, she says. Like she really believes it.

When that seemingly doesn’t convince Sieun either, she frowns, disappointed.

“I could buy tons of these, but it’s just not the same.“ She leaves a pause, for effect maybe, and then something in her expression changes. Something minor, something in her eyes. She seems to consider something too foreign, too far away for Sieun to grasp. That in and of itself – not understanding – is a concept he does not want to accept for himself, only deep down knows he must.

“You can have some, later, if you want.“, she offers generously, wiggling the bottle in front of Sieun’s face as if to entice him. There’s that mysterious glint in her eyes again, the one that Sieun can’t quite comprehend. “There’s a party tonight. 10pm on the beach or something. Like, unofficially official. It’s not like the teachers have to know if you get my gist.“ She places the bottle back in the backpack, uses the distraction as a pause for her words to sink in again. Or maybe Sieun is only imagining it. Maybe she is waiting for him to fill the silence.

“You should come, you know.“, she adds thoughtfully when she realises Sieun is perfectly content not answering her. “Get drunk, loosen up a bit.“

When she faces him again she looks.. surprisingly serious.

“No offence, but you seem stuck up as fuck. Or you’re just shy. Whatever. Get out, don’t hole yourself up in your room the entire day. Go party, I know you need it.“

She points to her friend conspicuously, as if she’s sharing a secret with Sieun. “I’ve turned Beomseok here into a real party animal too.“ The boy obediently lets her speak for him while he fiddles with the sleeves of his cardigan. He doesn’t really look like he agrees, but Sieun doesn’t feel the need to press any further.

The girl tilts her head to the side, regards Sieun. “We’ll find each other one way or the other. Ask around for Youngyi if you can’t find us.“ With a comically serious expression she adds: “Be careful not to ask the guys from earlier though.“

The intruder, the girl, Youngyi – She smiles again. She smiles a smile that reaches even the mysterious glint in her eyes, makes it even more mysterious. She smiles a smile that is far more generous than her offer of vodka. For the first time in months Sieun’s sorry heart is moved by someone other than Suho, and it shakes him to his core.

Maybe that’s the reason he ends up coming. Maybe it’s the way he can’t meet Suho’s eyes too, or maybe he’s only trying to use the party as another distraction from studying. Maybe he misses the flowers of friendship slowly blooming around him, or maybe it’s something else entirely. It doesn’t really matter now that he’s here, walking along one of the paths leading away from the hostel. He’s an hour or so late, because it took him quite a while to decide if he really wants to go sneak out (If he’s honest, he finished revising some vocabulary for English class too), but as far as he’s concerned that’s the go-to for parties anyway. Not that he’s been to any. Studying had always taken top priority, and perhaps it should still do.

Sieun is on a journey again, on his way somewhere. It should be relaxing. It should be something it is currently not. Sieun spends his walk thinking, thinking hard, contemplating his new acquaintances. It’s weird to have them in the first place. It’s weird to have someone not hate him, someone other than family. Not to mention Sieun kind of feels like he owes Youngyi and Beomseok something. Which is stupid. They owe him. Not the other way around. But they’ve offered him.. surprising kindness, and that unfortunately counts for something in Sieun’s broken heart.

Youngyi reminds him of Suho too. In a way. Youngyi’s reckless, but loyal, loyal to Beomseok at least, looking out for her friend. And maybe it’s only for her own sake, her own benefit, maybe it’s because Beomseok was carrying the vodka, but Sieun has seen Youngyi act for others, has seen her hide Beomseok before herself, and he wishes he had even just a smidge of that strength.

Like Suho does. The infinitely kind Suho, who has been God knows where for hours now. That’s concerning Sieun too. Suho hasn’t peeked back into the room ever since the time they arrived and, well... perhaps Sieun wants to give him an opportunity to return, too. He asked to be left alone, and Suho so graciously complied in the absolute worst way. Maybe Sieun has to give Suho space to settle down, now that he’s stated his boundaries so.. not so clearly.

Sieun hopes he’s not too much of a nuisance. He figures that’s not for him to decide, though. A sigh rips out of his throat as if it had a mind of its own. He really needs to apologise.

The path stretches on for an annoying few curves and Sieun almost thinks he’s being played, that there is no party, and that’s why Youngyi had looked at him so mysteriously, but then he begins to feel more than hear the beat of a song he doesn’t recognize. The next corner he takes he finally sees the beach. There’s a crowd of about thirty to forty people there already, all scattered around a guy who holds a portable speaker above his head, and their hands are filled with what appear to be mostly soju bottles. Some have cups too, but they’re glass cups, evidently ‚borrowed‘ from the hostel.

The sea behind them looks blue in the night. Sieun stares at it, disappointed. He would love to see the yellow gradient that paints the water up close, the one he’d be able to observe in the daytime, but he figures he’ll still have enough time for that the rest of the week. It’s still pretty like this anyway, and the moon reflects nicely in the waves that gently roll across the sand.

The night is pleasant – a mild temperature that pairs nicely with the wind that periodically blows onto the shore – and he guesses he can appreciate that at least. It’s not particularly dark either, so Sieun doesn’t have to worry about breaking his legs because he tripped over a tree’s roots walking on these paths. It also means he can clearly see more people stumbling out of the forest to join the party. He forces his legs forward so he can follow them before he’s stuck standing still forever.

The music changes from something vaguely techno sounding to a decades old trot song that people immediately start bellowing the lyrics to. Sieun raises his eyebrows at the sudden change, but casually continues walking. He makes it past two girls freeloading cigarettes from a guy nursing... an entire bottle of gin, then narrowly avoids running into two strangers having a passionate discussion about their alcoholic fathers.

A visibly drunk person is sprinting away from their sober friends while screaming bloody murder, and Sieun saunters right up to the waves because it’s simply not his concern. He figures it’s easier to wait here for Beomseok and Youngyi than to try and fit into the crowd. It gives him time to check his reflection, too. Sadly it’s a disappointing sight. He looks as unhappy as always. Tired, because his eyebags seem to grow every month. His hair’s gotten long and even harder to take care of. He can’t remember the last time he got a professional to cut it, but at least that saves him college funds.

“Hey!!“, someone screeches, and rips Sieun right out of his thoughts. It gets louder, more insistent by the second. “Hey, you, guy who saved us! You!!“

That makes Sieun turn around. It only takes him a moment to find the source of the noise. It’s Youngyi, clinging onto Beomseok, stumbling forward with a notable lack of precision, tangling her fingers into Beomseok’s cardigan. Her scrawny friend is trying very hard to hold her up, is mumbling something that sounds vaguely like “Steady, please“, but Sieun doubts his wishes will be heard anytime soon.

When they arrive, when Youngyi can cling onto Sieun too, can smush his cheeks together and proclaim his cuteness, Beomseok apologizes after a curt cough.

“She’s..“ He clears his throat. “She’s had a bit too much to drink.“

Sieun saves himself the “Clearly“ that sits on his tongue already. It’s not what Beomseok needs right now, that much is obvious.

“You“, Youngyi repeats and jams her finger accusatorily into Sieun’s chest. “You never told us your name. What is it?“

Sieun answers defeatedly, and Youngyi squeals. “Good- great name. Shoutout to your mom for that one.“

Sieun raises his eyebrows, speechlessly opens and closes his mouth, and while Youngyi apparantly hasn’t noticed her misstep into uncomfortable territory, Beomseok definitely has. He makes a punched out sound of embarrassment and holds a little tighter onto his reeling friend.

“Sorry. Yeah. Not good. Uhm. Sorry.“, he practically murmurs, never quite speaking above a whisper, but Sieun waves it off. He’s too tired to be angry or hurt, and it’s loud and overwhelming out here. It takes him enough composure to be calm as it is. He doesn’t want to waste his efforts so early into the night.

They awkwardly stand around for a few second, so Sieun lets his gaze wander. He has nothing else to do anyway. There’s interesting hair styles to gawk at, there’s girls dressed in outfits so elaborate Sieun can barely decide where to look first, standing next to their boyfriends in baggy shorts and polo shirts. There’s stumbling, there’s staggering, and there’s dancing like there’s no tomorrow next to people only kind of swaying side to side.

And then there’s Suho.

Sieun’s gaze immediately freezes in place.

It’s Suho. It’s really Suho. It’s Suho. It’s Suho. It’s Suho it’s Suhoit’sSuhoitsSuhoitssuhoitssuhoitssuhoitssuhoits-

Sieun blinks harshly. Three, four, five times. More.

Suho is smiling.

It’s an accusation.

It’s not an accusation. It’s more so evidence. It’s evidence Sieun can present to the court of his emotions. It’s evidence that makes Sieun a direct witness, that makes his skin crawl and prickling jealousy rise up in his throat.

Suho is smiling.

He repeats it, over and over, can’t take his eyes away.

Suho is smiling. Suho has a soju bottle in his hand. Suho is smiling. Suho stands in a group of five. Suho is smiling. Suho is entertaining the strangers, the people Sieun has never seen, with an ease that Sieun has missed every day. Every day since their fight. Suho is smiling.

Sieun could cry. Suho's himself still, despite everything. Suho is whole, Suho is one, while Sieun has lost a part of himself, while Sieun is broken. It’s unfair. It’s nothing short of painfully, horribly unfair. Does this mean Eunji lied? Does this mean Suho was never broken? Has Sieun interpreted everything wrong? The personal punishment, the hesitance? What was that?

Sieun could punch himself in the face. What did he expect? What did he want from this? Seeing Suho as genuinely miserable as himself? Seeing him hurt, seeing him ache?

That was never the point of this. Sieun states that firmly, in his mind. Sieun writes that on the walls of his brain. That was never the point of this.

Sieun’s heart sinks right with the jealousy, drowning somewhere among the silent ocean in Sieun’s gut. He’s still the same too. He’s still just as jealous and awful and mean as he was before. He’s still an asshole undeserving of Suho’s attention no matter how much he yearns for it now that he’s lost it.

With uncertain finality Sieun decides he wishes they had never met. It was easier before Suho came. Easier not to care.

Only belatedly he realises both Youngyi and Beomseok have followed his halted gaze.

“Who’s that?“, Youngyi asks bluntly. “Friend? Enemy? Lover? Asshole? Acquaintance? ..Classmate?“

As if Sieun could decide. As if he could ever describe what Suho is to him. As if he could label it, this emotion bigger than himself. As if he could describe the first boy, the first person who had gently taken him in, who had fought for him, talked to him, challenged him and agreed with him alike. Who had become his everything, his engine, the one thing moving him forward. The one person who could stop time, who could make him imagine something better. Who could make him let himself imagine something better. Who took guilt off his shoulders and placed his arm around them instead. Who walked with Sieun when no one else would.

Sieun lets a non-committal hum rip out of his throat. He’s not capable of anything else.

Beomseok opens his mouth, then closes it again, decides it’s better not to ask. Youngyi mumbles an all-knowing “Yep, sure, all at once“ and that seems to settle it for her as well.

Not even five seconds later she pulls out the vodka bottle, a stack of plastic shot glasses still in their original packaging right with it. (Sieun figures they’re stolen too, but maybe he only takes note of it to distract himself.) Beomseok politely refuses the unspoken offer, but Sieun is not so fast.

“I always drink with new friends.“, Youngyi pointedly decides anyway, and (wo)manhandles the packaging until the plastic rips. “I promised we would share.“ She hands Sieun a shot glass, and with more curiosity than he’d like to admit he takes it. “Also you seem to need it the way you-“ She vaguely gestures over to Suho in a motion broad enough to almost make her fall onto her face. “-look at that guy.“

Sieun decides silence is, as it was, a virtue, while Beomseok quickly grabs the vodka out of Youngyi’s hands before she can empty out the entire bottle into the sand, and makes the very intelligent choice of pouring them only half a shot each. With the way Youngyi’s acting already, she definitely doesn’t need more than that.

“Full!“, Youngyi orders, though, and pouts like a child. Beomseok stares at her. At Sieun. At Youngyi again. He pours a little more – definitely not full yet, but closer to the outer edge – and this time Youngyi reluctantly permits it.

Sieun regards him.

Beomseok has really got no spine. Especially not when it comes to Youngyi. He’s a curious guy, and Sieun doesn’t know what to make of him half the time, but he.. he tries. He tries to be something. He tries to be good. That could count for something. That could count for something if Sieun decides to be kinder now, more forgiving. Maybe.. maybe he can start that journey. With Beomseok, essentially, with giving him a chance.

He gets ripped out of his thoughts when Youngyi rushes him to clink glasses with her. She downs her shot right after, so Sieun follows suit. It’s his first shot, it’s his first time drinking vodka, so of course it’s new, it’s a taste Sieun can’t immediately understand through the light burn where the liquid hit the back of his tongue and his throat, but it’s not entirely unwelcome. Warmth spreads through his body, follows the alcohol down through his digestive tract. He makes no comment, pulls no face, and Youngyi approves of that reaction gleefully.

Over the night Youngyi finds them more alcohol by blinking her eyes and saying enough “pretty please“s that, if written down, could fill entire books, while Beomseok organises water and force feeds it to Youngyi with the words “It’s straight vodka, just drink it“.

Sieun’s had a questionable mix of alcohol at this point – has decided that whiskey burns too harshly in his throat and that a solid coke and rum mix is a pleasant escape from some of the desinfectant disguised as alcohol you can scrounge around here – but he’s also obediently drinking the water Beomseok so kindly provides for him too. It’s a weird experience altogether, but there’s a drowning buzz in his head, and that makes it wonderfully easy to forget about Suho, and exams, and pleasing his parents.

There’s another song change, one of many, but this time it’s one Sieun definitely knows. Youngyi gasps excitedly, almost falls out of Beomseok’s continuous, gentle support, that’s how hard she wiggles around. The intro to BIGBANG’s Fantastic Baby booms over the sandy beach, the first few spoken lyrics as impactful as a tsunami, quickly changing faces from confusion to delighted recognition.

Easily Youngyi frees herself from Beomseok’s assistance, but instead of running away she grabs both Sieun’s and Beomseok’s hands to drag them right in the middle of the makeshift dance floor (Sand. On the ground. It’s not much of a dance floor, really.) She screams the lyrics as accurate as she can in her drunken state, throws her hands in the air as if she could reach the stars.

She’s already jumping around like crazy, but when the chorus hits, she explodes in movement. With a sudden strength and passion that Sieun thought impossible she drags her two companions around as if they were weighing nothing. Sieun can’t help but to follow her guiding hands, to be spun around, to turn, to twist and something stirs in his cold, dead heart.

It’s not the scream-singing around them, it’s not the song itself. It’s not the pretty beach or the pleasant night. As Sieun is forced to jump and to dance and to move, to hold onto two total strangers – who have chosen to include him for his act of kindness, or pity, or whatever it was – something clicks in his mind. Before he knows it it’s not Youngyi who twirls him around, it’s himself. Before he knows it his legs move on their own accord and he melts into the people around him, into the masses. He feels like the last piece placed down to complete the puzzle, and it’s a feeling that make him tingle all over, fills him with energy he never knew he had. Maybe it’s because he’s never been included like this. Maybe it’s because Beomseok is smiling, and Youngyi is too, and maybe it’s the freedom of being someplace new, somewhere people don’t know him and he can be whoever he wants.

If all else fails Sieun can just blame it on the alcohol.

Songs get louder and faster, and Sieun does too, goes from silence to mumbling lyrics, to singing with Youngyi not giving a fuck if every note sounds wrong. Sieun feels his thighs too much on every jump he makes, but he accepts that ecstatically as their little circle of three trample the sand underneath them into even tinier bits than before. There’s sand in Sieun’s shoes, on his clothes, and he kicks up more on an elaborate dance move that likely looks like utter shit from anyone else’s perspective. In the moment it’s impossible to care.

Sieun only distantly registers that the crowd around them is steadily growing, only tangentially realises people are closer now, that it’s harder not to step on feet and bump into backs or shoulders. Sometimes the aggressively fruity smell of a vape enters Sieun’s nostrils and has him wrinkle his nose, sometimes a fresh breeze has him breathe in so deeply he could swear he can feel the O₂ enter his blood stream.

He’s forgotten all about Suho, all about his life, and it’s easy to see exactly how dangerous this could become for him. First he finds it funny too, has the thought on backburner, and even jokes about in a semi quiet moment with Youngyi as Beomseok fetches another water bottle.

As the minutes pass, as the thought becomes clearer and clearer in Sieun’s fuzzy mind, the humour he could so recently find in it dwindles rapidly. He likes how loose he is only on a surface level, moves with seemingly endless energy but can already feel how sore his muscles are going to be tomorrow. He sees Suho’s face in the crowd and is embarassed by how he can’t even walk straight, is embarassed by his jealousy.

He goes on because he’s entranced by the experience, but his enjoyment is plummeting exactly as fast as it had arisen, and it’s getting harder and harder to get it back.

“Beomseok.“, Sieun manages to say between concerningly long inputs his brain has to process before he can even open his mouth, “How are you sober.“

He doesn’t say it like a question, but he means it as one, and somewhere in his spinning brain he almost believes that might make Beomseok not understand his inquiry. The latter chuckles awkwardly while scratching the back of his head. He looks over to Youngyi dancing like her life depends on it.

“Youngyi said she likes me better when I’m sober“

Sieun nods wisely, as if Beomseok has just revealed the secrets of the world to him, an overexaggerated movement that makes him realise how abhorrently heavy his head feels, and makes an approving noise. When the sudden weight won’t leave him though, he wrinkles his nose in disgust.

“I’ll just..“, he begins after a second or two, “I’ll sit down for a bit.“

He points into a random direction, somewhere close to the water. “There, yeah. Somewhere.“

Beomseok’s eyebrows twist in obvious concern.

“Do you need water?“

It insults Sieun, once again, that someone would think he couldn’t care for himself, and the alcohol really doesn’t help. He shakes his head, but quickly realises that that was not a very good idea, judging by how his vision spins even after he’s stopped doing it. He grimaces and holds his forehead with a cold hand.

Beomseok’s eyes widen.

“Vomit if you have to“, he prompts, almost hopeful.

Sieun nearly shakes his head again, but thankfully stops himself in the last second. “Yeah, no.. yeah. Prob’ly don’t have to.“

He starts walking. Beomseok stares after him, but ultimately leaves him be – already has his hands full with Youngyi – and Sieun appreciates it, even if he doesn’t look like it.

If Sieun had been more attentive on his way to the waves gently unrolling onto the shore, he might’ve realised just how close he was walking past a very familiar boy. If the music hadn’t been so loud Sieun might’ve been able to hear him whisper to his very familiar friends. If the water hadn’t glistened so prettily in the moonlight Sieun might’ve been afraid of it.

All that to say, Sieun hadn’t been attentive, the music hadn’t been quiet, and the water had been nothing short of entrancingly beautiful that night. All that to say, Sieun hears their voices before he sees their faces.

At first it’s merely a mumbling, a sound so similar to the rumble of the sea that Sieun can’t distinguish them from one another. At first his tired limbs gratefully slump together and he lets the exhaustion wash over him like he lets the waves wash over his fingers, lets them clean away the sticky cola rum he spilled over his hand when somebody bumped into him earlier.

Then there are distinct words he can pick out over the cotton in his ears, in his mind. Stuff like “tackle“ and “drown“ and finally “should teach him a lesson“, which Sieun is mostly just impressed by. He feels far away, floaty, and it’s a miracle his ears still work. He hums the tune of the song that’s playing, tries not to fall over and barely succeeds.

Then, suddenly, a clear signal through the static, as if spoken directly into the shell of his ear.

“I bet five bucks Sieun couldn’t take you in a fight underwater either.“

There’s a moment where Sieun’s heart stands still. There’s a moment where Sieun’s agonizingly slow and rotten brain processes exactly what he heard right now.

“Pah“, he hears someone respond, “Look at him. It’s far too easy. ‘Course Yeongbin will win.“

Finally it clicks, finally he understands, and with a boust of stone-cold sober fear Sieun tries to get up, tries to turn around, but there’s alcohol swirling mean and knowing in his gut and not even the adrenaline coursing through his veins can fix that. One of his feet land in the water, disgusting cold seeping through his shoe and his sock, and he has to bury his hands in the wet sand to not have his face follow the course of gravity.

Even as he straightens up he’s reeling, and his vision spins in blinding spots all around him again, an eager punishment for all his movement.

“Woah there“, he hears, as if from a mile away. “He’s gonna fall in on his own.“

Sieun feels helpless. Sieun feels so utterly helpless he almost swears to never touch a bottle of alcohol again. Not with Yeongbin around. Not with anyone.

Sieun begs his aching thighs to push him up, begs his shaking fingers to dig him a grave deep enough to die a dignified death.

Even as his vision steadies, even as he sees Jeongchan and Taehoon and Yeongbin standing clearly above him, standing high and mighty in front of their prey, ready to pounce, he’s still not ready to face them. It’s almost worse like this, a steady reminder of his impending doom.

He sees the bottle of soju in Yeongbin’s hands. He remembers, of course he remembers, the first time Yeongbin had held a bottle over his head, and that’s not what he’s doing right now, but it’s close, it’s there, the possibility. Memories rush through him, and his old feelings renew into something horrible, something stinging, something impossible to control. He feels as though at any moment glass shards will strike into his brain, into his guts, will paint the sand beneath him a red as dark as his anger.

He sees the hatred in Yeongbin’s eyes, sees the destruction in his fists. Sieun sees the nightmare Yeongbin wants to be and resents him for it with a rage that runs so deep he doesn’t know if he could live without it. Yeongbin doesn’t smile his usual car salesman smile. Yeongbin doesn’t try to sell a fantasy. Yeongbin tries to sell a war, tries to pitch his unwavering victory with only his gaze alone. Yeongbin is the general and Sieun is the foot soldier dying under his heel. Yeongbin is the hunter and Sieun is the fox sprinting over splintering wood until his paws are bloody. Yeongbin is the tsunami and Sieun is the idiot that has wandered the newly unveiled miles of beach that the retracting waves have uncovered.

In a moment of rebellion Sieun rejects his fate. In a moment where absolute loss of control turns Sieun’s fear into an untameable force of nature, Sieun finds his footing in the sand and stares into Yeongbin’s eyes with an anger so blinding it must compete with the sun.

For one second, for one second that is as long as an hour, for one second that is as endless as the depths of the ocean, for one second Yeongbin’s expression derails into one of fear too. For one singular second Yeongbin shows exactly how afraid he is of what Sieun is capable of. It gives Sieun enough strength to dig his heels into the ground. It gives him enough strength to sprint right towards Yeongbin. Sieun’s the foot soldier’s weapon digging into the general’s throat, Sieun’s the fox biting through its hunter’s bones, Sieun stands immovable as a mountain as the tsunami crashes through him. He’s a stumbling mess most of all, but he aimed right, and his entire body weight crashes into Yeongbin with a force, with momentum so gigantic it shakes through him too.

This time, Sieun doesn’t let himself proclaim his win early. This time Sieun punches and kicks and tries to evade the retaliation, but he’s drunk, he’s drunk still and his feet don’t hold him like they’re supposed to.

Yeongbin tackles him right into the hungry waves.

They don’t roll out onto the shore like soft fabric earlier. The moon doesn’t reflect in glittering elegance in their just a few minutes ago still peacefully silken surface.

Jaws were hidden in their layers – jaws that rip open suddenly, dark blue yaps snapping shut, saliva dripping from their flews, flying onto Sieun’s back and face. They’re a mirror still, but a mirror out of a nightmare, reflecting horrifying grimaces right into their beholder’s eyes. The water swirls and shakes with anticipation almost, and the waves crashing against the fighter’s naked skin laugh, mouth at it and lick the salt right off, pretend to have the ferocity of their much bigger siblings in the oceans. In this moment of mindless terror Sieun believes that maybe they don’t have to pretend.

Sieun breathes. Sieun breathes through his mouth and nose and mouth and nose again, but he barely feels the air arrive at his lungs, barely reaps what he sows with his efforts. There’s a knot in his throat, and it sits right in the way of the air. He tries to swallow it down, he hits and claws and digs his heels into Yeongbin’s sides, and he gasps and begs and prays to Gods he doesn’t really believe in anymore.

Yeongbin plunges him beneath the waves and Sieun freezes. Everything around him is cold and unforgiving. He presses his eyes shut, grinds his teeth together, enters this prison of water while losing his senses, and it has his heart stand still. He feels weightless, nowhere and simultaneously everywhere at once. He can’t tell where up and where down is, starts thrashing in wild fright, can barely tell if his kicks even land. They must be weak and painless, slowed by the water, and that is a terrifying thought.

He turns and twists and feels Yeongbin’s hands on him sometimes, burning brands through his clothes, scarring him forever. His air runs thin almost immediately, makes his chest coil up tight and makes the panic spread. In all the chaos, in all the whirling and twisting, finally one of Sieun’s feet hit the ground. Heavenly relief soars through him as gets to stand, as he gets to emerge from his horror. Hectic, delirious, Sieun swallows mouthfuls of air, gasps like a fish on land, rips his eyes open to see where he is, to stare his nightmare into its ugly face.

Yeongbin stands taller above the waves than Sieun does, is closer to the shore too. It doesn’t look good. Sieun feels the water clash against his hips already. With vigour, with playful mischief. There’s an innocence beneath its tightened jaws, beneath its bites and scratches. It doesn’t know it’s killing him, or maybe it just doesn’t know what death is. Sieun doesn’t think it matters.

It doesn’t help that the water in Sieun’s clothes drags him down with slippery fingers, makes itself heavy – an exhausting burden to bear.

His lip quivers. He knows Jeongchan will mock him for it.

He’s never been more afraid of dying, and still. And still he thinks about what they’ll do when they’re done with him. It’s easier to deal with the aftermath than the moment, Sieun knows that now more than ever, and he begs, penitent, that he will have an aftermath to deal with it. He begs there will be consequences he will have to suffer through. He begs for survival with raw knuckles and tears in his eyes.

There is no one to answer his prayers. There is only the sea. It promises nothing in its infinite rumbling, nothing Sieun can understand. He lets the cold death sway him. He lets it puppeteer him to dance. No one can win against it, he decides, no one should have to try. If he loses against the sea it was inevitable, if it decides him to be the victim. There is nothing to be done.

Sieun is human. How could he dare to believe he could fight a God older than the Earth itself if he was made to? How could he dare to believe he would win against the pressure of the depths, the wind and the water?

But that’s the thing with humans. Sieun has hope written in his blood. Sieun has resilience carved into his spirit. Sieun raises his head, raises his chin high. Stares defiantly into Yeongbin’s glistening wet face. He will try. He will be forced to fight a God and he will try to win. He has to.

And lord is he afraid of it. And oh, how he shakes.

Yeongbin takes a step forward in the unruly waves. Sieun regards him. Is Yeongbin prepared to kill, to be killed? Does Yeongbin understand that they both are prey to the sea, that he is not the apex predator here?

They’re slow, the water a constant cushion to their movement. It’s dangerous. Sieun’s in deeper water than Yeongbin is, and he knows his arms will soon be restricted by it too. He tries to walk around his enemy, tries to get closer to the shore. His head is spinning, his throat is dry. His heart punches an SOS into his ribs, beats a galloping rhythm into his chest.

Sieun slips on a stone hidden beneath the murky water, slips on the algae growing on it. It should be nothing but a minor setback. It should mean nothing in this fight.

Yeongbin uses Sieun’s tiny slip up to rush toward him faster than anyone could’ve ever expected, grabs him by the arm and hurls him into the sea with a hatred that Sieun feels in his bones. He gasps, swallows water, almost chokes on it. His eyes burn as the sea takes his vision like its experienced in thievery. Before he can surface again, a solid hand grips by him the collar and forces him down.

In the dark all that Sieun can make out is the air bubbles leaving his mouth, the light from the moon shining pitifully onto their oval shapes. Sieun’s hands try to catch them, but to no avail. The bubbles evade his fingers, run through them like sand. They escape to the surface like Sieun can’t, and he wishes he was among them, stares up at them with his burning eyes and his hope dying in his throat.

He kicks up sand once again, but not in a dance. He kicks up sand in his desperation, and he needs it to shoot out of the water and hit Yeongbin right in his stupid face, needs it to blind him forever. He kicks up sand because it’s the only thing he can think to do, and wants and craves and yearns with a force stronger than a meteor hitting earth to have apologised to Suho weeks ago.

There’s a pressure in his ribcage. It spreads like the warmth of alcohol, this time in all directions though, right to Sieun’s heart. It has his chest coil together again, tighter than the first time, and his heart beats fast in its paranoia, in its horrid claustrophobia as it’s encased solidly by Sieun’s weakening body.

He trashes and yells, but it only makes more water stream into his lungs.

He thinks about Suho. He can’t help himself. He thinks about Suho’s loyalty, about his scooter, about his arms. He thinks about Suho’s kindness, about his stupid pink rabbit pillow. He thinks about how Suho (the intimidating classmate Suho) covers for Eunji when she fucks up in the kitchen. He thinks about how Suho (the violent fighter Suho) showed him gentleness when no one else did. He thinks about how Suho (the pinnacle of justice Suho) took him in his arms, him with his knife, and held him, even after he’d threatened murder.

Yeongbin’s hand is warm and heavy and horrible on Sieun’s cooling skin. Yeongbin’s hand feels as though it grips through Sieun’s shoulder blades, through his tendons, right to his bone. Sieun stems his feet into the ground and tries to push upwards, tries to breathe, but his thighs are shaking and wailing in uncomfortable pain.

It’s such a small detail, it’s such a meaningless ache. It should be nothing for Sieun to haul himself upwards, but it’s everything and it’s too much and he simply doesn’t have the strength left.

Suho would be able to, he thinks faintly. Suho would make it.

He thinks about all the ways he could have apologised. He thinks about what Suho would say. If Sieun died here. Would he be mad? At Sieun or at Yeongbin? At the both of them maybe? Would he seek revenge? Sieun thinks about Suho holding his corpse and there’s a selfish warmth that spreads through him at it.

He’s beginning to go lightheaded, to feel himself rip apart.

Sieun thinks about Eunji and about her kindness, about her genuine wish to help. He hopes she will be there for Suho if this ends here. He hopes she will live a good life. Sieun thinks about Youngyi and Beomseok too, about their insistent sharing. He thinks about how quickly they offered vodka, water and friendship. For their sake he hopes they’ll forget about him just as fast.

His vision begins to white out, he begins to splutter and choke once more as even more of his air leaves for freedom. It looks so peaceful from down here, so steady, so quiet. Sieun can’t see the water’s jaws anymore, can only feel them, but somehow that makes it easier.

He thinks of his parents. He thinks about if his father would have to pause training to come to his funeral. He thinks about if his mother could find time for him in death, at least. He asks himself if they’d regret having him. If they’d regret bringing him into this world only for him to leave it right away. He asks himself if they would blame each other, if they’d stop fighting at all.

He thinks about the wine stain on the table. He thinks about all his anger. He thinks about his life.

All he did was study. All he did was waste away.

What lies will they tell at his funeral? Will they say he was loyal like Suho? Will they say he was kind like Eunji? Will they say he was open like Youngyi or that he tried to be good like Beomseok? Will they say he was a delight to be around? Will they say that he’ll be missed?

Sieun is tired.

Sieun can’t see anymore, doesn’t know if his eyes are open or closed. His mind swims far away, his limbs have disconnected from his body, feel cold and distant. There’s a burn in his lungs, a horrible burn, and it tears him apart from the inside, cuts every thread holding him together. It feels otherworldly and giant, and so incomprehensible that all Sieun can beg for is death.

The water washes out his resentment – like someone would wash the gunk out of an open wound – the water washes away his rage. There is a silence in his mind that doesn’t feel like hell must. There is a silence in his mind that feels like a peaceful sunday morning, where Sieun is five years old and nothing bad has happened to him yet. He steals cherries from a bowl on the pristine kitchen table and pops them in his mouth without thinking about any possible aftermath.

Sieun thought he couldn’t live without his anger. Maybe he can die without it. He twitches, down in the cold, dark sea, and he decides that he respects its choice to take him. After all, it was inevitable from the start.

Before Sieun can sink into unconsciousness he hears a suffocating yell from the shore. A yell that tells a story of agonizing pain, of fury and of sadness. Sieun asks something of the sea, there in that moment. Sieun asks that whoever is crying, screaming into the night as if death has come over them, he asks that this person will be able to leave their anger behind as well.

Notes:

lil bit of a cliffhanger <3

[hello y'all. so. i graduated. cool. i also went a little overboard with this chapter. don't ask me who or what possessed me because i could not tell you😭

lil disclaimers: my knowledge of hostels is very europe-centric and ive never been to korea so if you find any "inaccuracies" in this, chalk it up to writing being fictional sometimes, thanks
also drink responsibly yada yada. don't destroy your liver at 17. or anytime really

also big BIG thank you to everyone who stuck around even after my break for writers block-ish related reasons <3333 thanksies love y'all]

Chapter 8: So I declare a holiday, fall asleep and drift away.

Notes:

Title is from Sulk by Radiohead

Disbelief – A twist of the eyebrows, the wave of a hand.

Realisation – A heart standing still, a soul freezing over in sudden, blinding terror.

Unspeakable dread – Shaking, crying, falling apart. A call for revenge coming from deep inside, a call for murder, for a hurricane to come and whip civilization away. The horrors of helplessness, of a fear that binds hands and hearts, that holds hostages, that leaves its victims desperately begging for freedom.

Suho feels as if somebody has locked him out of his body, as if his brain has been wiped clean of any thought he’s ever had. His soul is breaking, screaming, and he barely registers himself carelessly dropping the bottle of soju he had held onto just a second ago. His hands ball into fists in a threat that goes cruelly unnoticed. As if it meant nothing. His fingers tremble with nothing to dig into except his calloused palms, with nothing to direct their anger to except himself.

He’s watching from above, sees himself crumbling, standing vulnerable, useless. Soju stains his shoes. He feels as if a hole had opened beneath him, as if he was sinking into the earth in a shameful display of mistrust of reality – he cannot believe his eyes. 

Suho hopes he’ll wake up. Choked up, sobbing, if he has to. Suho hopes he’ll wake up sweating and panting and with his heart hammering into his chest. He hopes that this is merely a nightmare. That someone will pinch him, punch him, poke him until he gasps awake with his chest feeling tight and his lashes clumped together from tears.

Someone does poke him then. Someone pokes him with an urgency, with the same kind of urgency that has the blood freeze in Suho’s veins.

“Do something. Please, just- Just do something. Anything.” 

It sounds strangled, desperate. As if it's a fight to get the words out.

Suho doesn’t have to look to know it’s the boy with the hair growing over his eyes, with the glasses sitting on his face asymmetrically because he keeps pushing them up. Because he fidgets with them, with his hands, in his panic. It’s the boy with the girl hanging off him, it’s the boy he saw dancing with Sieun. It’s the boy who ran toward Suho only a minute ago, completely out of his mind, who pointed to Yeongbin in the unruly sea and had begged “Sieun’s in there with him- He knows you so I- I thought you could help him, I-” between ragged breaths.

The boy does poke him then, but Suho doesn’t wake. 

Suho isn’t dreaming. 

It’s a realisation that hits him like a freight train, that hits him so hard, so fast, that he almost expects there to be recoil, almost expects to stumble backwards. As quick as a snap of his fingers everything has just become painfully tangible, concrete, there, and not even the gentle buzz of the alcohol can cushion the real world hitting him like a swarm of bullets. 

Suho isn’t dreaming and Sieun is drowning and- And Suho’s soul falls back from the heavens, falls down with a speed it feels like it’s been hauled at him instead, and it enters his body again, enters his mind.

His bindings snap, his hands untie, and he starts sprinting, starts rushing through the unforgiving sand that swallows his steps greedily, that swallows his energy. It goes flying in all directions, to the side, to the back, and Suho feels it hitting his skin like tiny gunfire, like needles pricking into any weak spot they can find.

He runs like his life depends on it, and maybe it does, maybe Sieun is his life in a way he can’t fully comprehend. It doesn’t matter, it doesn’t matter who’s life is at stake though, because it’s death in exactly the same way, and because Suho shudders at the smell of it, shudders at the thought.

He runs and runs until there’s sand that’s been bested by the water underneath his feet, until there’s the water itself. Soaking through his shoes like his soju, soaking through his socks, soaking through his heart. It’s cold, and perhaps it’s only the shock still sitting deep in Suho’s bones, but he shivers in his flowy shirt, shivers in the wind. 

The waves greet him like an old friend when he bolts in. They nip at him playfully, clash against his skin in a hug that.. starts to feel oppressive and mean within seconds. They don’t let him go, they slow Suho’s steps even more than the sand does. His love for the sea suddenly seems far away, seems decades old, and as he fights against the masses of water he questions how they’ve never tried to kill him before. 

Suho feels as if the entire universe has turned against him, as if something huge and paradoxical has lowered a heavy hand onto his shoulder to stop him from trying. To stop him from saving the only boy who has ever mattered to him this much. 

Suho shrugs it off aggressively, decides he doesn’t care. Doesn’t care about fate, about following a path already set up for him. The shore burns like fire in his retinas, the shore feels like drowning with your eyes open. The sea feels like a traitor, feels like someone Suho would usually force to play the defendant’s part in the courtroom of his brain. Suho pushes through anyway. For Sieun, his mind reminds him, it’s all for Sieun.

His worry powers him, his fear. It gives him strength where it used to halt him, it strains his muscles, it makes him run and shudder and beg.

He doesn’t believe in destiny, doesn’t care about fate. Still he hopes they have mercy on him if they do exist. On Sieun too, on them both. He hopes they will be kind and compassionate, though he doesn’t imagine them to be. He hopes they will forgive him for his ignorance, he hopes they’ll have pity on Sieun.

Suho feels the water push him out as if he were a thorn, as if he were disease – evil – as if it was trying to rid itself from him with waves politely pressing him away in their infinite might. He doesn’t care for its politeness, he doesn’t care for his disease. He wouldn’t care if he was contagious. He’s prepared to infest every ocean on this wretched planet if only he can save Sieun in turn, if only he can save him from the horrors of this life he’s made to lead.

There’s something horrifyingly eternal in the way Sieun fights for survival. Not just now, but always, ever since Suho has known him. Suho has often played with his life (in a cocky sort of way, knowing he’d probably make it out alive), but Sieun doesn’t seek this out, didn’t used to seek this out at least. Sieun has become target, victim, and victor of everythings he’s been forced to endure. 

Victor not because he collected any spoils of war. Victor because he lives. Because he’s still standing, after everything. Because he’s the bravest boy that Suho has ever met.

Suho is struck by an all too familiar awe, by the enormous amounts of respect he has for Sieun. His intelligence is unmatched, and so is his violence. Suho could pretend to be asleep all he wanted, all this time, but he saw the blue, the green, the black blooming on Yeongbin’s, Jeongchan’s and Taehoon’s vile bodies. Suho noticed the latter’s break from school, the bandage sneakily wrapped around his shoulder peeking out of his shirt. Suho noticed the snarky comments interspersed with enough hurt to guess what Sieun had done that day he’d pulled a knife on Suho. 

Suho wants to hate Sieun for it. Not for the fight with Yeongbin, but the whole knife pulling thing. Suho wants to bury the memory under layers of wrath and resentment. But Suho remembers the misery in Sieun’s eyes, the way he trembled – his whole body a bundle of fear of himself, of utter desperation – and he knows he couldn’t go that far. Couldn’t ever.

Sieun had never promised to be good. Sieun had never promised anything. Sieun had never promised to be what Suho wanted. 

Suho had made his decisions on his own. Suho had walked into Sieun’s life and decided he was much too interesting to leave behind. Soft and weak and cruel and violent. 

Despite Sieun’s paradoxes Suho preens when Sieun looks at him, when he’s given the attention of a boy who is so unquestionably tough, who gives words so sparingly it’s an honour to receive them. It’s addictive, the urge to live up to what Sieun wants, to be what he needs. It’s difficult, too, and when Suho remembers their fight, his mistake, he wants to curl up to shield himself from the all consuming regret that lives in his brain.

Sieun is the bravest boy Suho’s ever met and Suho has hurt him in only the horribly short months he’s known him. Hurt him so much that they don’t even talk anymore, that their eyes don’t meet.

There’s a struggle underneath the waves, there’s a struggle that Suho is witness to as Yeongbin’s arm muscles flex while they hold a straining body down. Suho sees a fight of life and death be something so casual, so calm above the raging sea. It kills him. It kills him and there’s a yell wretched out of his lungs, there’s a mind-numbing agony that fuels it. It flows out of him in ebbing waves, it leaves him shaking, and still it’s everywhere, and still he hasn’t gotten rid of it. He screams as a warning, as a war cry, as the only way to focus his emotions on one specific point and get them away from himself.

He screams because Sieun can’t. Because there’s water in his lungs, because he is dying. 

Yeongbin turns, hand still holding someone in the sea, still burying Sieun in this unruly grave, and Suho feels an axe split his heart in two as Yeongbin’s satisfied smile comes into view. It has faltered a little, is interspersed with shock, or surprise maybe, but it is there nonetheless. It’s there in its horrifying truth and Suho thinks he might choke on it. How can anyone choose to be this heartless? Not for survival like Sieun is, but just because?

He doesn’t know how he wins against the waves. He doesn’t know how he powers through. With a force he has never exerted before Suho’s fist connects with Yeongbin’s jaw, and he feels the impact through his knuckles, feels the impact reverberate through his entire body, right to his heart, feels a sense of undeserved revenge tear him apart. Sieun should be doing this. Sieun should be ripping Yeongbin to pieces. Sieun’s knuckles should be tainted with Yeongbin’s blood if he so chooses.

Suho would do it for him. Suho would beat them all to pulp if Sieun would ask. But Sieun wouldn’t ask. Sieun wants to do this himself and Suho understands, he fucking understands, but he doesn’t know how he can convince Sieun of that fact after beating Yeongbin again and again, after everything.

Suho has already lost too much of Sieun because he hadn’t considered his help was unappreciated, but now he’s at risk of losing Sieun altogether and that’s a possibility he could never accept.

Suho takes Sieun’s revenge and makes it his own, selfishly beating another boy’s enemy. Suho disobeys Sieun’s request to leave him alone, fights with waves, prays to be forgiven.

Suho does anything he can to save Sieun. 

His stomach churns forebodingly as Yeongbin’s face contorts into a grimace of pain. His fists act on their own, hail down on Yeongbin again. He doesn’t know if that’s okay. He hopes Sieun will yell at him for it. He hopes Sieun will break his nose for it, he hopes Sieun will still be capable of all of that after this is over. 

He’ll take a furious Sieun over a dead one any day.

Yeongbin falls into himself as Suho dives into the turbulent sea with perhaps too much impatience, with too much fear making his movements hasty, unseeing. He gets a hold of Sieun’s clothes with trembling fingers and he pulls and pulls with all his strength as he begs for it not to be too late. 

 

***

 

Sieun gasps in a watery breath. Sieun chokes and flails. For an extraordinarily long moment he cannot feel anything apart from the fire burning through his lungs fiercely, from the headache spearing his mind open in so many places it feels like it’s everywhere.

Is he dead? Is this what hell is like? He can’t hear, can’t see, feels an ache split his body apart.

His sense of touch comes back to him syrupy slow, seconds ticking past in their eternal patience. Or maybe they aren’t seconds at all. Maybe they are milliseconds, nanoseconds, the speed light travels at. Or maybe Sieun has turned grey before it's even done. Time eludes him, eludes his racing thoughts.

Sieun feels wind whip into his freezing skin. Sieun feels the world spin around him. Sieun feels himself be held.

He can’t move, can’t speak, and there must be water leaking out of his lungs, his brain, his ears. Someone whispers. “It’s okay, it’s fine, you’re fine.“ and even though it’s not the truth, Sieun is strangely inclined to believe them.

With the whisper every other sound returns to Sieun, and suddenly everything is too loud, too much. The rush of the waves, the screams and the music. Is this what hell is like? Sieun thought it’d be quieter, warmer. He’s freezing, he realises faintly. He’s freezing and it’s too loud and- no, this can’t be hell. Not the one he knows.

Someone clings onto him with strong arms, someone doesn’t dare to let him go, presses him up to their body (their painfully real, living, breathing body) that almost burns through the water’s cold embrace. Sieun shakes. Sieun lets it happen. Sieun gasps and he splutters and distantly he hears the pain in the voice of whoever is speaking to him. Distantly, he hears familiarity through the cotton in his ears. Distantly, bated, he feels his heart skip a beat. His mind feels funny, fuzzy, and his eyes are tired and itchy even underneath the safety of his eyelids.

The pain is impossible to shake off, doesn’t care for Sieun’s trembling. It’s as if the sea is clutching at him in an attempt to fulfil his destiny even now, as if the water in his lungs wants to follow the water in his clothes dripping back into the masses, but can’t, stuck in Sieun’s organs like Sieun was stuck under the merciless waves. His chest feels tight, like there’s a knot holding him together, tied too hard, too stiff, too firm. When he coughs weakly it only tightens. He feels droplets of water running down his face, feels the paths they leave as if his skin is rotting underneath its awful touch.

He’s dragged ashore even with the water’s slippery fingers grabbing at him, and he’s lowered onto his hands and knees, kept up only by his saviour’s further help. On their own his sickly arms are incapable of holding him up. There’s something building up in his throat, in his muddled up guts, rising up with concerning confidence, and then he’s throwing up, throwing up water and alcohol maybe, and a few crumbs of his dinner. 

“Good.”, the familiar voice says, “Vomiting is good. You got this. You’re doing great.”

It sounds like they’re trying to convince themselves of their words more than anything else and that’s far from reassuring, but Sieun really is in no place to question the empty encouragements whispered into his ears. They feel pleasant, comfortable, and Sieun has left his cynicism at death’s door before returning to the land of the living anyway. Maybe death will send it back one day, maybe the postman will hand Sieun a tiny little letter filled with hate and contempt just tomorrow, but that’s the future, and now is now, and so it’s infinitely easy for Sieun to enjoy for once, to let himself be praised. 

His saviour is rubbing his back too, rubbing gentle little symbols into Sieun’s skin. As if it could protect him. In his hazy mind Sieun desperately wants to believe it can. 

He’s got one foot in his normal life, but the other is stepping right over the threshold to insanity, to losing himself forever. Only these little actions can reel him in, can keep him tethered. 

Sieun throws up until his throat burns with his lungs, Sieun throws up until it feels like there’s nothing left in his stomach to even throw up anymore. The voice continues, with relieved persuasion, as if talking Sieun into believing he’s alive and fine will also somehow make everything else alright. They hold him up still, press their warm body into Sieun’s deathly cold. 

“Is everything okay?”, someone new says with hopeful anxiety tinging their words, “Is he okay?”

The questions spark Sieun’s curiosity, have him perking up trying to ignore the stench of his vomit. Sieun wants to know the answer perhaps even more than the person who had asked for it. It’s because whatever reply follows now is not meant for him. It’s not meant to comfort, to console, to convince, it’s meant to reflect reality. Sieun wants to know the truth.

He presses his eyes shut and shivers. He doesn’t think he’s capable of much else.

“He will be.“, the familiar voice assures, but it feels like it’s exclusively addressing Sieun all the same. In a daring attempt at fixing, well, everything that has happened. In a promise that is made without any guarantee. 

Sieun slumps together, breathes out shakily. The ache in his bones has his energy leak out of him in a steady stream, and it’s getting increasingly difficult to pay attention to anything at all. 

“Sieun, you have to stay awake. Only a little longer. Okay?”

Sieun realises just how much he wants to sleep now that something else is asked of him. It’s tempting to let go, to lay down in the darkness and rest. For a few seconds. Maybe forever. 

“Sieun.”, the voice whispers helplessly, like it’s begging for a miracle. Like it’s begging for its words to drill through Sieun’s skin and bones, through his muscles, through everything from every direction and directly into his brain. It’s nothing like a prayer, it’s nothing like calling out to a higher power. It’s focused onto Sieun (weak and frail and human Sieun), focused on the way his chest shudders upwards with every gasp and cough punched out of his lungs. Focused on the proof that Sieun isn’t above death, that he is nothing, no one to set his hope to. 

Someone is on their knees for Sieun, someone pleads with Sieun as if he had any influence over this world. Someone regards Sieun with a reverence that is almost terrifying. It's nothing like a prayer and still Sieun feels like a God. 

“Please..”

Who is he to deny his saviour anything?

He stirs, he shakes, he twists his eyebrows together even though it only worsens his headache. He moves in all the ways he can, in all the ways he can prove he’s awake, alive, nothing to worry about. Maybe he wants to prove their efforts of saving him weren’t useless. Maybe he wants to prove he’s fine, now. That they don’t have to bother anymore.

“Thank you.”, his saviour says, like one would say Thank God, and Sieun feels electricity zap through his veins.

There’s vomit on his lips, there’s sand in his hair, there’s a sting in every breath he takes. 

There is an encouraging hand on his shoulder that makes it all okay. 

“He’s gonna freeze in those clothes.”, the hopefully anxious voice says nervously, and unfortunately Sieun has to agree. It might’ve been a mild night an hour ago, but the wind picking up paired with how soaked he is has long elicited goosebumps on his bruised skin. 

“Give me your cardigan”, the familiar voice orders, and Sieun hears a confused noise followed by hesitant rustling above himself. Then, directed at Sieun again: “I’ll take your shirt off now to get you into something dry, alright?”

Sieun definitely doesn’t want that. He feels vulnerable enough as it is, and the thought of someone uncovering all the little wounds, scars and discolorations that taint his body is genuinely terrifying. He’s revealed too much of himself today already, has been openly jealous and loud and defenseless and he doesn’t need to make this even worse. 

“We’ll be quick.”, he is assured, “No one will see.”

You will see, he thinks, you’re someone.

“I won’t look.” 

It’s as if Sieun’s saviour knows how to say all the right things, it’s as if he has studied Sieun for years now, knows every little quirk that makes Sieun Sieun. Or perhaps Sieun is just that predictable.

It’s hard to think, hard to get the gears in his head to start turning again. They’re frozen in place by an ice that robs Sieun of all his warmth, makes it difficult to turn down the offer of getting into something dry.

He nods defeatedly, two jerks of his head that almost go unnoticed with all the convulsing his body is doing, with every breath that is wrung out of his shuddering self. 

His pliant form is made to sit on his knees, his arms dropping to his sides as if they were detached from him. His eyes press shut even tighter than before. If he can’t see them, they can’t see him either. It’s silly. It’s wrong. He wants to believe it for his own sanity. 

His arms are lifted up above his head, and his drenched shirt sticks to his skin as it's pulled over his head. His hair hangs onto it, falls right down over his eyes when it's fully removed, the wet strands tickling him, pricking into him. His skin must be quite the sight, he thinks bitterly, but before the thought can fester he’s been slipped into the cardigan already, the buttons done. He wears the itchy wool like armor. It’s enough protection to let him blink his eyes open cautiously, enough to look past the way his eyelashes clump together.

The first thing he sees is Beomseok. Beomseok clutching at himself, at his shirt, Beomseok chewing on his lip. Evidently, he was the cardigan donor. “What about you?”, he asks, turned away from Sieun, and reveals himself to be the owner of the hopefully anxious voice. Youngyi is nowhere to be seen. 

“You were in the water too, you-”, Beomseok continues but is promptly cut off. 

“I’m fine.”, Sieun’s saviour says, and Sieun twists his painfully twinging neck to really see them.

Oh.

The gears in Sieun’s head are unfreezing, turning, and something big, something gigantic clicks into place – as if the realisation had always meant to be there. 

Oh. It’s Suho. 

Sopping wet Suho, hair sticking up in all directions. 

The familiarity he’d only vaguely felt before now spreads through Sieun’s body, a warmth, a sudden relief that feels heavenly in his burning chest. It alleviates the ache in every inch of his body, just a little, and it makes his fingers tremble from something other than the cold. 

His mouth is glued together by vomit and sea water and exhaustion, but Sieun knows that once he gets it working again, once it opens up, that he will be able to apologise. It soothes him, calms him, gives him something to look forward to. He silently thanks whoever wants to take credit for granting him this second chance.

After feeling the life bleed out of his body, after thinking everything was over already Sieun can’t wait to blurt out the words, to have Suho hear him out. Even if he doesn’t accept the apology, even if it’s the last time they’ll ever speak. 

Suho turns, meets his gaze. Within seconds Sieun is floating on dopamine, on the last reserves of adrenaline his body can muster up. It’s exhilarating, it’s violent, it’s thrilling in a way only survival is. Sieun feels explosive, bigger than himself, bigger than the world.  

The moment is destroyed by a deeply annoying, annoyingly deep voice cutting through the air like a knife.

“What the fuck was that, Ahn Suho?”, Taehoon out of people requests to know. It's an order. What made him think he ever had the authority?

Sieun defeatedly lets his eyes fall shut. He doesn’t want to see this unfold, doesn’t want to hear it. He doesn’t want to be here, doesn’t want to be reminded of fights long lost, long won, of the drowning. He doesn’t want Suho to be a part of this, not in the same way Suho does. 

Sieun wants a break, and Sieun wants respect, and Sieun wants to bash in Taehoon’s face with a sledgehammer. 

“Worry about your bastard friend first.”, Suho scoffs, “He’s probably still drowning somewhere back there.”

Something in Suho’s tone reminds Sieun of the fateful day of their fight. Suho has wrapped one emotion in another again, Suho is hiding something in the layers of the words forming on his tongue. 

There’s.. a tinge of nervousness to it. Peeking out between all the threats and the anger. 

Suho is looking at Sieun as if there is a chance Sieun will bite his head off any second now, but Sieun is far too exhausted to unpack what that could possibly mean.

“He got out.”, Taehoon says through gritted teeth. Sieun watches Yeongbin slap Jeongchan’s helpfully outstretched hand away in the distance. “No thanks to you.”

Suho looks up at Taehoon, at the firm expression on his face. 

“Frankly, I don't think you have any reason to complain.”, he replies murderously calm. “You don’t need me to tell you that you guys started it. Whatever this even is. Months ago.” He’s cautious about his words, Sieun can tell. 

Mentally Sieun is preparing for some great speech to come, for Suho to make some grand promise of protecting Sieun, of not letting anyone get to him. Sieun is dreading it already, swallows down his apology with the bitter resentment of being at a standstill, of realising once again why he doesn’t really talk. Whatever he says, it’s never respected anyway. He prepares for the worst, because that’s what he’s encountered so far, every day. Because he’ll consider what could happen (option one is bad, option two is worse) and then it’s option three every time – utter fucking disaster. 

He’s tired of it. He’s tired of the speeches, of the protection. He wants to disintegrate. He thinks that would be a wonderful fate.

But then Suho does the unthinkable, the unexpected, the impossible.

“You’re scared of him.”, he says. Certain. Like he believes it. 

Sieun knits his eyebrows together in exactly the same second Taehoon does.

“Who?”

“Sieun.” Suho states it as if it was a fact. Sieun perks up internally at the mention of his name, straightens up. “You’re terrified. All of you.”

Taehoon laughs an awkward laugh, vaguely gesticulates to the pathetic looking lump wrapped in Beomseok’s cardigan on the ground. “Yeah, right. ‘Cause that freak’s something to be afraid of.”

He’s.. he’s got a point. But it doesn’t look like he fully believes in his words. His hands tug on his shirt, he doesn’t meet their eyes. He’s uncomfortable, nervous. Sieun is.. equal parts intrigued and astonished by Suho’s deduction skills.

“I’ve seen your bandaged shoulder”, Suho says, nodding along with his own words. “And the bruises.” He makes an impressed sort of expression and Sieun swells with ridiculous satisfaction. They were some of his best works, the injuries he inflicted back then, but he doubts that’s something to be actually proud of.  

“I’ve seen what Sieun’s capable of. And you lot have done a whole bunch more than just see it.” 

Somehow, Suho looks assertive even when he’s crouching, talks boldly because he knows he can. Sieun feels a fluttery feeling in his stomach at being praised so highly, so beautifully. At having his violence acknowledged and not swept under the rug. At being a threat, at being a package deal. 

He is so much more than his academic success and Suho knows. Suho is making sure everyone else knows too. 

“You’ve experienced it first hand. You’ve felt it. So fucking let him be.”, Suho orders. He has the authority. 

“Because-”, he adds at the last second, and this is the moment where the world stands still. This is the moment that could make or break all the effort Suho has poured into his speech. This is the moment of roaring success or crashing failure and Suho has to think about his words. He doesn’t do that often, mostly blurts out what’s swarming around in his head as is, but he’s got a friendship to salvage here. He’s got a life on his hands. 

“Because Sieun could rip you apart.” 

Sieun exhales with relief, lets a breath go he didn’t even know he was holding in. Suho continues anyway, won’t be stopped.

“And you’re so very aware of that. That’s why you only fight him in groups. That’s why you wait until he’s fucking drunk to make your move.”

There’s a pause and it’s icy almost, the way Taehoon’s and Suho’s glares meet with stubborn determination. 

“You’re fucking terrified of him and I’d call it pathetic if it wasn’t absolutely warranted.” He narrows his eyes. “You know you can’t beat him on your own. You know what he can do to you.”

“Leave-” Suho looks dead serious.

“-Him-” Suho gets quieter, but there’s an unmistakably dangerous undertone to his voice.

“-Alone.” Suho drags the word on, pulls it apart with his tongue, with his teeth. It’s a threat. It doesn’t grant room for discussion. 

He’s repeating what Sieun said to him all this time ago. He’s repeating what forced Sieun and him apart as if he hopes that it will force Taehoon away too. He is protecting Sieun in the only way that matters.

For a long moment Taehoon doesn’t speak. Then he scoffs, irritated, and turns his back on them again, stomping through the sand.

He leaves like Suho commanded him to. He leaves and Sieun wants to hug Suho until his ribs crack. He would do it too. He would do it if he wasn't already exerting himself to the point of complete exhaustion by simply staying awake. 

He would do it and he will do it. He will do it like he will apologise, like he will thank Suho for his change, for this glorious evolution. 

A seed was planted in Sieun's shaking body, but it's not one of doubt. A seed was planted in Sieun's shaking body and miraculously it's one of happiness. 

Sieun can't wait to let it sprout. 

It's a feeling he's missed with his entire heart, with his entire being. It's a feeling he didn't know he could ever feel again, and he promises himself to guard it, to keep it safe.

 

***

 

Very soon they decide it's time to go home. 

Beomseok suggests calling emergency services but Sieun vehemently denies needing them. He knows he has to rest though. The party mood has vanished into thin air (near death experiences will do that more often than not) and Yeongbin and Co. have begun sending murderous glares their way. Staying is not something any of them are considering doing. 

Beomseok is tasked with fetching Youngyi, because there's no way she'd make it home on her own. To no one's surprise it's a struggle to get her off the dance floor. (It’s still just sand.)

She doesn't seem to grasp the severity of the situation, of what even happened. She doesn't seem to grasp much of anything at the moment. Sieun is too tired to be annoyed, too hyper aware of every little part of himself, of the burning in his lungs and throat. Youngyi needs a good nap and a break from the vodka bottle she still so triumphantly holds up. Sieun does too. He can’t wait to sober up completely. The throwing up helped, but he’s a little dizzy regardless. Maybe the whole drowning thing is at fault for that, though. Sieun wouldn’t know. 

When they're finally ready to leave they paint a chaotic mess of a picture. 

Sieun (in drenched pants and shoes, with a slightly less wet cardigan snugly wrapped around his shoulders) is held up by both a soaking wet Suho and a very jumpy Beomseok, who drag him through the sand up into the forest as best as they can, while a sulking Youngyi is tailing after them (slightly shimmying to the music blasting behind them despite the pout on her face).

Sieun looks back to the beach through tired eyes that barely slit open. The moonlight shimmers gorgeously on the water. It’s calm again, quiet waves pressing forward with deceptive innocence. It's as beautiful as it was before the killing, before the attempt on his life.

He nods his head. It’s a movement small enough to not alert anyone around him, but he thinks the sea must recognize its intent anyway. He thanks it silently, isn’t sure if he did lose his mind after all. He figures it can’t harm to be polite when facing a God, when facing a force of nature this gigantic. 

He looks up to Suho, up to his head held high, up to him staring ahead with that concentrated resolve in his eyes. Sieun needs to thank Suho too. More than the sea. More than any God that’s ever existed. Suho, who was not simply a witness or the blameless weapon forced to execute like the water. Suho, who decided against neutrality. Suho, who broke his silent promise just to save Sieun. 

The Gods keep to themselves and Suho keeps to Sieun and maybe that’s the way it was always supposed to be. 

It’s easy to slip back into comradery. Sieun doesn’t know how he’s ever lived without it. Sieun doesn’t forget Suho’s claim on his life, on his protection, and he hasn’t learned forgiveness yet, but he thinks he can try to. Hell, he thinks that he wants to. To have Suho around again. To feel a little lighter, to feel the guilt lift off his shoulders again. 

Suho has learned something too. Suho has treated Sieun better than he thinks he’s ever been treated before. Suho has listened to Sieun, has changed for him. Sieun feels his gut twist and flutter. If Suho can learn something this monumental, so can he.

Thunder growls in the distance, quiet but menacing, and it sounds like an irregular heartbeat, as if the world is alive, breathing and moving and spinning forward in its eternal dance. 

For the first time in weeks Sieun feels himself making baby steps in the same direction. 

When Sieun is hauled up the stairs to his room his knees buckle as his feet struggle to lift up to each next step. By the end he’s crawling upward as Beomseok and Suho are slowly but surely growing tired, and his hands barely avoid splinters as he holds himself up to the best of his ability. He’s on all fours trying to get up, and there's a shame in that, of course, but it feels strangely distant right now. His mind is swimming still, some piece of Sieun lost out at sea, drifting with the currents. 

Sieun doesn't know if he can even miss that piece – he doesn't know what exactly he's lost after all – but he feels an empty sort of longing cling to him with bony fingers. He’s left a part of himself behind, has forgotten what it is, and he might never ever remember it again. It’s.. it’s a feeling he’ll have to get used to.

Beomseok and Youngyi bid them goodbye as soon as they’ve got Sieun in front of his room’s door (and as soon as Suho promised to keep Beomseok’s cardigan safe). Youngyi looks exhausted, irritable, drunk. She mutters something Sieun doesn't quite catch, but he doesn't expect it to be particularly nice. Beomseok takes her arm and mutters something equally quiet. It’s safe to say his goodbye is likely much more polite. 

They leave slowly, cautiously getting down the stairs (Or well, Beomseok is. Youngyi is fighting to get down as fast as she can, fighting with her friend.)

“You’ve got the key?”, Suho asks, and Sieun nearly has a heart attack right then.

A panicked yet painfully slow grasp into his pocket confirms he still has it though, and another burst of relief eases his fragile nerves. He feels horribly on edge despite the small steps in a better direction, and his stomach churns, always expecting something awful around the next corner. Happiness doesn’t last. Not for him.

Suho quickly takes the key out of Sieun’s trembling hands and maybe Sieun would’ve had to bite back a complaint at that on any other kind of day. It’s hard to get his mouth open now though, when Suho had been so perfect in his defense, when Sieun’s bones feel heavy and his limbs won’t quite operate like they’re supposed to.

Sieun has the chance to watch Suho as he turns to the door to open it. He’s still soaked, and Sieun is torn between pitying him for how much he must be freezing and thanking whatever higher power is responsible for leaving him the sight of Suho’s broad shoulders so beautifully on display as the wet fabric of his shirt stretches over it. 

It’s a silly thought, and it’s quickly buried under the pain coursing through Sieun’s body. Sieun wishes there was a reality in which he could freely look at Suho. Without punishment, without the ache in his heart, under his skin.

They find their place deserted, and figure their roommates are likely at the party. Thunder cracks through the night as if to remind them of how quickly that can change, but all Sieun can think about is how infinitely grateful he is for their current absence. He’s a complete mess, can’t explain himself, can’t open his mouth – Suho seems just as restless, concerningly upset. There’s a crease on his forehead that ages his features, that makes him look so much older than he actually is.

They look how they feel, they look like survival. They look overwhelmed and tired. We would make quite the pair together, Sieun thinks so dryly it really isn’t amusing at all. 

Sieun orders his body to function, because there’s no way in hell he’ll force even more responsibility on Suho’s shoulders. Not to mention if he faints again Suho might actually call emergency services. Sieun can’t have that. His father doesn’t know about this life. His father shouldn’t ever know. 

He feels weak, small, feels his skin tighten around his bones. His lungs ache, his throat feels full, hard to breathe through. He knows the warning signs.

“Are you okay?”, Suho asks. 

Sieun throws up in response. 

Well then, he thinks, sounds crushed even in his own head. The stench of vomit and algae is back, the pressure in his gut. It’s as disgusting as ever, and he’d sigh in defeat if his mouth wasn’t so preoccupied right now. 

Suho makes a noise that sounds vaguely disappointed, and Sieun feels the urge to throw up again. Not from his stomach this time, but from his brain. Oh, how he detests himself. This wasn’t the plan, this wasn’t what he wanted. (When does he ever get what he wants?) It wasn’t his plan to give Suho more work. It wasn’t his plan to be a nuisance. He’s a failure in so many ways he can’t even keep count anymore. 

There’s sand between his fingers and it hurts when he moves them. Beomseok’s cardigan is still so horribly itchy. Vaguely, he remembers not to get it dirty. Vaguely, he remembers Suho’s promise of giving it back to Beomseok in one piece.

He sets his mind to accomplishing at least this goal. His eyes slip shut and he hopes it’s not too late already.

The clean up is long and tedious. For Suho, anyhow. 

He props Sieun up in the bathroom with a bucket for emergencies and a bottle of water for drinking and then quickly scoops up the vomit from the floor while trying not to gag. Sieun stares at the water bottle as if it had personally wronged him. His stomach feels closed up, his throat does too. He feels infinitely full and doesn’t know how the water could ever fit into his stomach. Even if he’s just emptied its contents onto the floor. 

Suho gets a towel and slips into something dry in the other room after he's wiped away the last of Sieun’s dinner, all the while Sieun is staying motionless and quiet and hypothesising how the water might sneak into his airways again, how it might infiltrate his lungs. His lungs that burn, his lungs that cry from all the abuse they've endured. In the back of his mind he knows exactly how irrational this fear is. In the front of his mind he is trying very hard not to succumb to the panic threatening to tear him apart.

“You should get out of those clothes”, Suho remarks when he enters the bathroom again. His hair is still wet, falls prettily into his face, but the shirt and shorts he’s sporting now aren’t. They hang loosely off of his body, seem to be loungewear. He looks cozy and comfortable, apart from the concern twisted into his expression, and Sieun feels his heart beat faster.

He tries to scowl in response, but realistically his face could be doing anything at all and he’d be none the wiser. 

“I’ve got your pyjamas”, Suho says, holding up all too familiar clothes, “Or whatever was on your bed. They’re dry. They’re better than-” He makes some vague hand movements towards the puddle of water Sieun’s get up has left under him. “-that.”

His eyes fall onto the water bottle. 

“Have you had anything to drink at all?”

Sieun wills his face into diplomatic neutrality but he’s got no guarantee for the success of that particular endeavour. Suho sighs, looks guilty. As if he’s battling with himself, as if his silent promise and the right thing to do fight in increasingly violent ways in his brain. He tries one last time.

“Can you do it yourself? You know, get into your pyjamas?”

Sieun.. Sieun can work with that. Sieun can prove that, at least. 

He weakly raises his arms, trembling fingers struggling to open the buttons on the cardigan, shaking hands incapable of complying with the faint orders his mind sends them. He tries harder, he puts all his willpower to it, and still it’s maddeningly difficult. He tries and tries until his arms give out. 

Maybe he can’t work with that after all.

He falls into himself, breathes unevenly, and a half sigh half grumble escapes his cold, chapped lips. It could mean anything from well that sucks to God Has Forsaken Me, but Suho simply shushes him quietly as if that didn't even matter. 

“Let me do it.”, he says as if he hadn’t fully thought about his words and they just tumbled out of his mouth. There’s a plea in his voice, a fear of rejection. Sieun doesn’t know if his trust reaches far enough to accept Suho’s help. Sieun doesn’t know if he’s finally sunk low enough to be cared for. “I don’t have to look.”, Suho adds, and Sieun hazily notes that won’t switched to don’t have to. Does Suho want to look? 

Sieun feels dizzy, and this time it’s definitely not from the almost drowning or the alcohol. He lets his eyes find Suho’s, he lets himself meet Suho’s frightened expression, his intense gaze. 

Suho is not leaving him alone anymore. Suho is begging for a restart, for returning to what they used to be. Suho is using Sieun’s most vulnerable moment to salvage their friend- acquaintanceship. Whatever they were. Sieun doesn’t know why he can’t admit to it now. Sieun doesn’t know how to feel. 

Sieun does know how he wants to feel. Sieun knows that he wants to be offended, that he wants to feel used. Sieun knows that he wants to believe in a ridiculous conspiracy, wants to believe that Suho asked Yeongbin to beat him up so that Suho could save him. Sieun knows he’d rather believe that every single person is plotting against him, that the entire world is in on it, than accept that Suho had missed him. 

“I’m sorry.”, Suho says, and Sieun wants to explode. How dare Suho apologise before him? How dare he be so undeniably kind? It has to be an act, right? Sieun breathes shallowly as he stares holes into Suho’s face. There’s no way it isn’t. There’s no way he-

Sieun remembers Eunji. 

Do you seriously think the world needs to be that way? With everyone only caring for themselves?

Shut up! Shut up! Shut up! Shut up!

Sieun wants to scream. 

She’s right, he knows. 

She’s so awfully right it makes him want to rip his hair out. 

Sieun’s throat still won’t indulge him, Sieun’s bones feel like jelly. 

Suho stares at him like a kicked puppy, stares like the guilt consumes him whole. He didn’t want to hurt Sieun. He doesn’t want to hurt Sieun now. Sieun repeats those sentences in his mind until he believes them, until they take root in his brain. 

He nods. A nod small enough to not count as an admission of weakness. A nod to bridge the gap between Suho and Sieun, a nod as the appetizer to a long overdue apology. 

“I- You-” Suho looks confused. “You’ll.. You’ll let me do it?”

The light in the bathroom is disgustingly bright, Sieun is in pain and very tired of having to repeat himself. He nods again, a bit more forceful this time. It almost makes him think he’s in control. 

Suho crouches down, seems to not quite believe Sieun agreed to this, and starts unbuttoning the cardigan, always looking up and down and back up again as if he’s checking for any sign of discomfort on Sieun’s face. He’s much better at this than Sieun was, but his fingers shake like Sieun’s did, and the fabric slips out of his hands every once in a while when he starts going too fast.

They know what this looks like. Suho’s neck and ears are red and Sieun pointedly stares at a non-existent spot on the ceiling, trails the corners of the room and the spider nets that decorate them. Sieun would bet a great sum of money that Suho is praying their roommates won’t come back any time soon just like he is.

When the cardigan falls open Sieun wants nothing more than to turn invisible. To Suho’s credit he really does try to keep his eyes averted, except for a few short flicks of his gaze over the expanse of Sieun’s stomach and chest. Sieun holds his breath, feels his heart skip a beat, scans Suho’s face for any sign of disgust. 

When he sees nothing of the sort he looks down at himself instead. To.. to do what exactly? It’s an awful idea, staring at himself in this state, but he does so regardless. He’s frail and vulnerable and his nerves are wearing thin. Maybe he needs to know if he’s still himself, if he still inhabits the body he's used to. 

Some of his wounds have healed, faded, but none of them have left him completely. There’s long streaks and scrapes, there’s the memory of bruises that left him reeling interwoven with his very being. There’s scars, there’s burns, there’s spots where it looks like someone has spilled all their pink, beige, brown watercolours over Sieun’s skin. Goosebumps give it texture, goosebumps and scar tissue. 

Yeah, that’s his body alright. 

Sieun’s lucky he doesn’t have enough energy to wince at the sight he makes. 

Sieun’s lucky he doesn’t see the mix of worry and love in Suho’s eyes as they’re raking over his exposed skin, otherwise he would’ve probably combusted right on the spot.

Suho continues carefully peeling Sieun out of Beomseok’s cardigan, unveils more beaten skin with a care that should be repulsive (but somehow it isn’t), that is all that Sieun never thought he deserved.

He doesn’t know how to deal with the feeling, doesn’t know how to categorize the fireworks going off in his chest.

Sieun is vulnerable and cold beneath Suho’s gentle gaze. He keeps his hands to himself unless strictly necessary, works as meticulously as he does quietly, but Sieun still isn’t satisfied. Sieun wishes Suho would dig his fingers into his skin and rip him apart. Sieun wishes Suho would beat his bruised body until it was mush. It’s the only touch Sieun has ever gotten used to, ever understood, and he craves it like a drug in his deluded depravity. 

He wants Suho to be something real, something palpable, he wants there to be pain beneath the kindness, he wants there to be something. Anyone who has ever claimed to love him has hidden reluctance, has hidden indifference and apathy behind their words. 

Sieun can’t take it anymore.

Sieun wants to be cared for in such a boundless, cosmic way that he can feel it, that he can feel how much it hurts. 

Anyone Sieun has ever loved has pushed a stake through his heart. 

How will Sieun know it’s love if it isn’t painful? If it doesn’t rob him of his sanity? If it doesn’t willingly torture him?

Sieun wants so badly for Suho to love him. In any possible way, it doesn’t matter which.

Sieun wants so desperately to mean something to someone. 

“You should drink something”, Suho says while folding the cardigan to lay aside, and Sieun nearly sobs. The water bottle at his lips feels like a knife to the throat. 

I’m going to drown, he thinks. His heart beats a terrified rhythm into his ribcage. I’m going to drown. Suho doesn’t realise. Sieun bites his teeth together, presses his lips into a thin line. He’s going to drown me and he doesn’t even know it.

And that’s the horror of it all. Sieun could take the torment if Suho would mean it. Sieun could take the pain, he’s done it for years. But he’s scared now, scared of being hurt without the intention to. Scared of being unlovable. The fear is pulsating deep beneath his upmost layer of skin. He wouldn’t be afraid if Suho would mean to hurt him, that he wouldn’t mind. Because then it’d be love, then he’d be cared for. 

Like this, he is at Suho’s horrid, violent mercy, while his gentle hands pass poison to his mouth. 

He wants Suho to know. He needs Suho to know.

“Shh..”, Suho shushes Sieun even though he hasn’t made a sound, “I know.”

You don’t, Sieun yells in his thoughts. Don’t claim to know when you don’t, when you-

“I’m right here with you.”, Suho says, “You won’t drown, I won’t let it happen.”

Stupid Suho, stupid saviour, stupid reassurance.

“Just a few sips, alright? Nothing more.”

Hesitantly, Sieun’s lips open. Hesitantly, his mouth accepts the water. Suho is careful, cautious, makes sure Sieun has time to swallow before he raises the bottle to his lips again. Tears prickle in Sieun’s eyes, he shudders, quivers, shakes like a leaf.

What did he do to deserve this? What did he deserve such a kind boy at his side?

He accepts the water like he accepted Suho’s help at the beach. He accepts it because of reverence, because of the Godliness he claimed for himself in a moment of utter hopelessness, in a moment of sinful conceit. 

Maybe he finds holiness in his survival because he doesn’t quite believe he’s even alive, doesn’t quite understand how he could’ve been pulled out of death’s hands like this. Maybe he needs it to be Godly, magical, because he doesn’t have luck to fall back onto, because he wasn’t smart about his attacks this time, because his survival seems coincidental, unreal. 

No God has ever cared for him like Suho did. No God could rightfully promise logic or their own existence, never mind defense or protection. All Gods could ever ask for is faith. 

Sieun doesn't believe. Doesn't quite believe he's survived, doesn't quite believe what he felt beneath the waves. 

Sieun believes in Suho. Knows of his existence, knows of his forgiveness, knows of everything he's done for Sieun. 

In this moment Suho is Sieun's God, but more than that, better, infinitely more important, Suho is a friend, an enemy, a lover, an asshole, an acquaintance and a classmate like Youngyi so drunkenly put it a little over an hour ago. Suho is everything, Suho is human, and that makes him a better God than any of those that Sieun has known before. 

Sieun writhes in the blasphemy, wallows in the thought of humans putting themselves above the very being who has supposedly created them. Sieun laughs at himself, at his delusions, at the questions swarming through his head. 

Suho stares incredulously at Sieun’s shaking body, at the laughter tearing through him, rocking his shoulders like a boat in the stormy ocean.

Sieun laughs at his jealousy, at God (if They do exist), at the absurdity of his life. 

“Are you okay?”, Suho asks again, and Sieun laughs because he knows he isn’t. 

He feels as if he’s gone fully crazy and perhaps it’s the sleep deprivation or the drowning that has done irreparable damage to his brain. Perhaps it's the events of the past few hours or perhaps he's simply always been like this. 

Whatever it is, whatever is at fault Sieun feels his muscles loosen, feels guilt and regret ease off his shoulders. Feels floaty, feels light, feels strangely distant. Feels giddy while shedding his seriousness, feels like a new person entirely. 

Suho puts a hand to Sieun’s forehead, tries to check for a fever, but it’s Suho who feels scorching hot on Sieun’s clammy, freezing skin. He’s burning, he feels like the sun, encased in infinite heat.

Sieun laughs at that too.

“Fuck.” All colour seems to drain out of Suho’s face. “We need to get you into something warm.”

Sieun doesn’t see the appeal of hurrying anymore.

As quickly as he can Suho forces Sieun into the oversized shirt he likes to sleep in, then takes to getting Sieun out of his drenched pants. He practically rips Sieun’s shoes off his feet, socks following, and then finally his trousers. He’s far less meticulous now, awkwardly shimmies Sieun out of the garment, careful to touch him as little as possible. As Sieun watches him he feels something hot coil in his gut anyway.

When Suho’s done he looks at Sieun being practically swallowed by his shirt, looks at his bare legs, at the scars and the bruises and the scrapes on his knees. 

“Okay, you definitely need to do the next part yourself.”

The tips of Suho’s ears are red again, and Sieun knows there’s embarrassment he wants to (should?) feel, but it’s just out of reach. He grabs, he grasps, but he can’t trap it beneath his fingers. He can barely see.

Suho hands Sieun his pyjama pants. 

“Please.”

He gets up (his knees make a concerning cracking noise), and leaves Sieun to himself. 

Sieun who feels hazy, dizzy, exhausted. His sleep schedule is getting to him, after all this time, he tells himself. He almost falls asleep right then, back pressed to the cold tiles of the bathroom, but Suho’s “please” has a weird kind of power, and it makes it easier for Sieun to rid himself of his boxer shorts and slip on his pyjamas pants. It takes him a while, every little tug and drag holding out for an eternity, every little push and pull forcing Sieun to muster up all of his strength, but it's worth it in the end. Immediately he feels warmer, immediately it banishes the layer of ice that had made goosebumps erupt on his skin merely a minute ago.

“You done?”, Suho asks through the door right on time with Sieun finishing his task. The latter grunts as an answer. He still doesn’t feel capable of speaking, thinks that maybe words he doesn’t mean to say will escape his lips if he’d try.

Suho hums, and it’s a boring sound, really. Short and simple. It should be that, at least. It’s also a hum that begins in Suho’s throat but reverberates around in Sieun’s mind. It’s not a growl, it’s more so a purring if anything at all. It’s so far from the violence Sieun thinks he deserves he almost begins to cry. 

It’s pathetic, it’s insane, and Sieun thinks if anyone is ever soft, kind or tender with him again he will fall apart. It’s ridiculous, it’s confusing, the thoughts and feelings bubbling up in Sieun’s gut, swirling through his brain, rushing through his veins. 

“You need some sleep”, Suho says, and for once Sieun agrees with him. 

Suho wraps a blanket he’s brought around Sieun's shoulders and Sieun tries not to shake out of his body at the care in Suho’s gaze. Oh, he’s falling alright. If he's falling apart or falling in love he really doesn’t know.

Suho helps him up, helps him walk to his bed. He brings the water bottle that Sieun still doesn’t fully trust and sets it down next to him, and he sits down on a barely holding up, wooden chair in the corner where he can see Sieun. 

Sieun doesn’t have the time to be embarrassed by it. His body feels infinitely heavy, sinks further and further into the mattress as if there were weights attached to it, and his eyelids fall shut almost the second his head hits the pillow. 

Faintly, he hears the first raindrops hit the window. Sleep comes to him as quickly as death did.

Notes:

oh sieun's goin thru it huh?

i started writing this all like "hmm last chapter was rlly long so i can probably get away with a shorter chapter" and now here we are, boom, almost 10k words again. guess that excuses the long wait lmao

Chapter 9: We've got no future, we've got no past.

Notes:

Chapter title from West End Girls by Pet Shop Boys

Blinding fear, all surrounding pressure. Being small in the infinite depths of an ocean never explored before. 

Vast, expansive emptiness. The promise of more, the reality of nothing at all. No up or down, no left or right. No light, no dark, but something else. Something indescribable. 

It’s cold, as if a blanket of death has wrapped around your shoulders, around your legs, around your mouth.

You realise you have a mouth. You realise you can’t breathe. The spell has been broken and like an overflowing dam, water tears through your defenses like it would through cracked glass. Fractures, ruptures, death. The taste of loneliness on your tongue. 

You’re falling. 

You’re falling through the water as if it could move through you, as if you had no body at all. No lungs to collapse, no heart to beat erratically inside of you. And still they’re there, beneath your skin, failing. If an up ever even existed (it hasn’t) it is steadily ripped from your hands, becoming a distant concept if anything at all. 

Motionless, helpless, dying. 

Lonely, quiet. An urge to fight, but no enemies left.

No enemies, only yourself. No enemies, only yourself. Only yourself to blame.

Only your dying self, only the silence of disappointment, the silence of an empty house no one calls home, the silence of your personal hell. Only you.

You cannot apologise. For being angry. For being mean. For being selfish. 

You cannot apologise to anyone that matters. 

You can apologise to yourself, but you couldn’t accept that apology even if you wanted to. You can apologise to the water but it doesn't care for human sin. You can apologise to your friends but they won't hear you. 

They won't hear you. 

Only you, here, only you, and you can’t hear anything either. No rumbling, no whalesong, no bubbles or waves or distant storms.

It's so quiet that it can only be hell, your version of it. 

Your eyes burn, your mouth is held open in a silent scream. 

Water claws itself into your lungs as it were, water presses into you like a ten ton truck from every direction. 

Your death won't matter. 

No one will see, no one will be moved, no one will remember. 

There's only you. 

No apologies. 

It’s too late. 

 

***

 

When Sieun wakes up it's not a pretty sight. He gasps awake, jerks upright, breathes and chokes as if he'd just been strangled, as if he had just been submerged in the sea, in an ocean. In the waves, in the waves he remembers, the waves from last night, in the-

When Sieun wakes up he coughs and cries and forgets where he is altogether. When Sieun wakes up he feels nothing but panic coursing through his veins, a cocktail of stress hormones, of fear and of utter hopelessness. 

Sieun stares forward, wide-eyed and panting, Sieun stares at the wall. He doesn't quite see it. He doesn't quite see much of anything. There’s spots dancing in front of his eyes, his vision is blurry. He shivers, he heaves, he gawks ahead as if it could make him feel any less trapped in his own skin.

His heart is beating into his rib cage like hooves into the ground, like a stampede, like- it doesn’t matter. Fast, so fast, he can’t conceptualize it.

He feels warm, hot, unbelievably heated. He’s shaking, he’s shaking, his pain is tearing him apart, he’s-

He’s breathing. Slower now, slowly. He’s breathing less in gasps and more in pants, evening out, getting longer. He’s breathing. He’s breathing until his chest doesn’t rise and fall like a ship in a storm anymore, until his lungs feel less like collapsing and more like a working organ again.

He hears shuffling from next to himself, he gulps, swallows saliva that pooled in his mouth and almost gags at the feeling. Cautiously, he turns his head.

His roommates, the two that aren’t Suho, stare at him as if he’d just been possessed by a demon. 

They don’t ask if he’s okay. One whispers something in the other guy’s ear, then they nod to each other, pointedly looking away. Sieun stares at them with glassy eyes for just a moment longer, then tries to keep breathing, for one.

When he’s got that down as best as he can considering the circumstances he.. almost falls back into bed. He’s so exhausted it borders on painful, with a throbbing headache muddling his thoughts.

Oh, the headache. How didn’t he feel it earlier, how- His throat is raw too, his throat and his brain and his- God, everything hurts.

He.. he needs to get up. He needs to.. What does he need? The pain in his brain makes it difficult to think. He looks at the water bottle, feels disgusted in a way where he can’t exactly pinpoint where it's coming from. When he unscrews the bottle cap and gets it close to his face he understands why. The acidic stench of vomit greets him hungrily and he needs to bite back the urge to throw up. 

Oh.

Oh god.

Memories of yesterday rush into his mind, memories he’d almost buried under the lasting panic of his dream. Him, vomiting, on the floor, Suho being there, Suho making him drink. 

Something stirs in him, something vibrant. Suho had.. Suho had been so kind again, so nice. Suho had.. Suho. Apologies left unsaid bounce around in Sieun’s mind. Where is Suho now?

Sieun rolls himself out of bed (difficult, feels like he’s swaying in the wind, feels gross and impossible), looks up at Suho’s mattress. Suho’s not there. Fuck. Another look around the room confirms he’s not anywhere around at all. God, Sieun feels terrible.

He stumbles into the bathroom and washes his face because first things come first and because he feels dirty and disgusting and weirdly wrinkled, like an old coat kept in a trunk in the attic. He bites his teeth together and begs no water will come anywhere close to his nostrils, then dries his face with a towel when he’s done.

He skips rinsing his mouth with water even though it feels extremely gross too, and grunts into his own hands with exhaustion. His hands grab at the sink, his arms hold him up, and he never thought he’d be grateful for such a thing but.. The vague memory of yesterday, of his loose muscles without any strength left, make him appreciate being able to hold his body up that much more.

His face in the mirror is a concerning sight, but that’s really nothing new. Sieun’s eyelids barely open, and his lips look pale and dry and torn open. His undereyes are dark, his hair still falls over his eyes.

He considers succumbing to the urge to cut his hair by himself, just taking some scissors and chopping and cutting away all the pain every too long strand, but he doesn’t have the time, and there’s more pressing matters to tend to. Like Suho. Where’s Suho? 

Sieun opens his mouth, bites his teeth together. Can he talk again? He catches a glimpse of the half opened bathroom door and his roommates still standing outside and decides he really doesn’t want to try. 

A strained breath leaves his aching lungs. They’re better than yesterday, he thinks, but not good either. He can feel every breath he takes. He rubs his temples and ruffles his hair into place until it looks presentable enough for his ever lowering standards.

Sieun sees his wet clothes drying over the pole for the shower curtain. He doesn’t even want to remember how he got his pyjamas on.

One more wince, one more grimace at the sour taste in his mouth and he leaves the bathroom to get some fresh clothes. Out of the corner of his eye he sees one of his roommates nudging the other. They turn to Sieun. 

“You’re lucky you weren’t at the party yesterday.”, the taller one says in a jokey sort of tone. Sieun doesn’t feel the need to correct him. Good to know he’s still as invisible as he used to be. “The rain was horrible, it was stormin’ like nothing I’ve seen before. We came home soaked like crazy.”

Sieun did too, he remembers that bit, albeit faintly. He remembers feeling like a God too. A God who likely looked like a wet cat. Sieun bites back a grimace. The memories can stay far away if they’re all as embarrassing as that one.

“What happened here while we were away? Were the teachers there, asking around?”

Sieun shrugs disinterestedly, staring with tired eyes into the expressive ones of his roommate. The latter falters a little at Sieun’s reaction. 

“Is that a no?”

Sieun fights to keep down a sigh. He shrugs again. 

His roommates let it go, sharing questioning gazes between themselves. Sieun can’t get himself to care.

He stares at Suho’s bed, at the blanket and the pillow lying neatly atop a smooth mattress cover. He looks down at the chair still standing across from his bed. Did Suho..? He doesn’t seem to be the kind of guy to make his bed in the morning – though, well, he usually sleeps on tables anyway. There’s not much bed to make, per se.

For the first time today Sieun gets to exercise his vocal cords properly. 

“Where’s..” Sieun points to Suho’s bed. “Where’s he?” It’s all he can get out, and it’s strained already, strained and quiet and a touch too rough. He sounds like he screamed for three days straight before opening his mouth again.

He tries to keep this weird, unhappy feeling that’s sloshing around in his gut out of his gaze when he looks back toward his roommates. 

“We came back to him sleeping on the chair.” One of them laughs awkwardly in a way that tells Sieun they found it funny but aren't sure if Sieun would. “But when I woke up like.. 20 minutes ago he was gone already. It’s not even really breakfast time yet.”

He looks at the clock again. 

“Okay, actually, it pretty much is by now. We’ll get going then too, good luck finding him or whatever? I want something good for breakfast – can’t be late.”

Sieun stares after his roommates as they promptly leave the room. He stands around for a while, shoulders slumped and breathing ragged. His lungs feel like they are expanding, like they are breaking through his ribs. As if he’s growing out of himself. 

Did Suho watch him as he slept? Did Suho fall asleep due to exhaustion? Sieun squeezes his eyes together, tries to remember, but there’s only bits and pieces floating through his mind – disconnected from one another, not even loose strings tying them together. 

Flashes of sand (kicking it up, laying in it, between his hands, on his tongue), flashes of drowning (indescribable pain, all-consuming fear, an empty sort of Godliness, utter despair), flashes of the long way home. Hands on his shoulders, around his arms. Bones like jelly, reassuring words pressed out into gorgeous summer nights. Apologies thought but kept hidden behind gritted teeth.

Sieun doesn’t know if he believes his mind, the one conjuring up all these images, these memories. He holds a cold hand up to his burning forehead. 

Suho brought him home, Suho made him drink. What else? What else was there?

Sieun wants to remember, begs to remember, but he’s tired and in pain and really, he’d quite like sleeping through the next few centuries.

He knows he can’t. 

He knows he can’t and so he breathes out slowly instead, and gathers up the first pair of black jeans he sees, paired with a shirt that has been a touch too big on him for years now. His father had told him he’d grow into it to cover up the fact he simply didn’t bother to ask what size his son wore. Whatever. Sieun had tried to make peace with that a long time ago and it was about time he fucking let it go.

T-shirt reeking of daddy issues and random jeans it is, then. What an outfit. 

Sieun gets dressed in the bathroom, avoiding the mirror, avoiding himself. Even just seeing his arms makes him wince. His proportions are all wrong, every inch of skin. His legs too thin, his shoulders too wide, he doesn’t even have to look to know. 

He’s fine with it sometimes, on good days, but his morning’s been pretty fucking horrible already and knowing his luck it was obvious there’d just be more pain to come. He can’t even find a name for it, for this kind of ache.

He used to call it insecurities, used to shrug at himself and tell himself he’d grow into his body as he got older. Sometimes he’d think he finally succeeded. Sometimes he’d claw at his skin wishing he’d never been born at all. 

He brushes his teeth and gags when the tooth paste pools in his mouth. He spits it out faster than he can think and stares weakly into the sink. There’s tears in his eyes, and his very own heartbeat in his ears and he puts the toothbrush away quietly, as if that would make it any less of a defeat. 

He grabs at his clothes from yesterday to put them away to distract himself, but they’re still wet. He leaves them hanging for later, wishing he could’ve been done with this, wishing to leave it behind. Beomseok’s cardigan hangs dry and thankfully unstained right next to everything else. 

At least that. Sieun tiredly makes his bed.

When he finally exits the room he feels weirdly unfinished. And so he locks the door like he locks his thoughts away so he can have a small, desperate second of peace. And so he walks an unfamiliar path to the cafeteria because quite frankly there’s nothing else to do. His stomach feels raw and tight still, like he’ll throw up if he’ll eat anything at all, but if Suho is anywhere at all it’s probably there, isn’t it? Sieun needs to apologise as soon as he can. Before he’s dying again. Before it’s too late. The thought has taken root in his brain, especially after last night, especially after the nightmare, and he can’t even be embarrassed by it, shaken up as he is.

The voice of guilt berating him for not studying is surprisingly quiet in the back of his mind.

Sieun makes the effort to walk around the tiniest puddles, Sieun tries his best not to look behind himself in paranoia. He’s bustling with restless energy on the inside, while his lethargic flesh barely moves more than it has to.

His mind elsewhere, he walks behind a building, not in front of it, but maybe that was the plan in the first place. Maybe he feels like it shields him from onlookers, maybe he feels like it's safer to take this route. 

He sees the cafeteria maybe fifty metres in the distance, and a boy leaning on the back of the building just a little closer.

As Sieun walks toward him he can see the guy a little better. He’s tall, skinny, and between his nimble fingers hangs a lit cigarette but it's more filter than anything else at this point. Sunglasses sit on the top of his head, his horribly bleached hair. His clothes are.. trendy, as far as trends Sieun’s seen online go. A slightly cropped shirt and baggy jeans hang off him, and Sieun looks him up and down just because he can. A thin, blond eyebrow raises in return. The stare Sieun receives back can’t be called anything but smug.

“Like what you see?”, the guy asks. In English. When Sieun gives him no response he just introduces himself in Korean instead. There's an accent, but Sieun can't quite place where from. 

It's stupid. It's dangerous. 

Sieun can't imagine what would happen if Yeongbin finds him here, behind the cafeteria, with a boy that's.. flirting? Sieun's never been flirted with, not that he knows of, and his colloquial English leaves much to be desired. Still, Sieun isn’t completely ignorant to gazes and intonations, and raises of eyebrows.

What would happen, eh? Sieun doesn’t have to think very hard about that. He doesn’t have to risk getting any more attention than he already does. 

He almost walks along, but there’s something nagging at him. Sieun isn't stupid, he knows what he likes. He knows his gaze isn't fixed on the skin peeking out underneath this guy's crop top because he's homophobic, he wouldn't dare to entertain the notion. Sieun has always simply not cared what other people do with their lives, as long as it doesn't affect him that is, so there has to be another reason he's staring. He's staring the same way he likes to stare at Suho's arms he supposes. But what way is that? 

He doesn't want to have them, not really, he's never cared much about avid displays of masculinity on himself. They look amazing on Suho, but that's about it. There's the possibility he's just… attracted to them, he figures, and in his mind, Sieun grimaces as he ponders the thought.

“Sieun!”, he hears suddenly, and it rips him right out of his thoughts. A thrilled exclamation that is probably meant for a much nicer Sieun. For a Sieun that’s kind and fun to spend time with. For a Sieun that’s worth greeting this way. 

“Hey, Sieun, over here!”

Sieun’s eyes leave the boy in front of him to... find Youngyi excitedly waving while Beomseok smiles a sheepish, lopsided smile next to her. His glasses sit on his face as if he’s never quite figured out how to wear them, and as if he’s realised that himself he quickly fixes them without ever losing the silly expression on his face.

Sieun looks back to the guy, then turns away and walks over to his acquaintances. He feels an intrigued gaze burn holes into his back. Well, too late now.

The words from his nightmare burn hotter in his mind than any gaze ever could. 

He comes to a stop before Beomseok and Youngyi, and the latter wiggles her eyebrows knowingly.

“And who was that you were just talking to?”, she asks.

Sieun shrugs, because while the guy introduced himself he’s really nothing more than a stranger with a name slapped onto his face in Sieun’s mind. Sieun doubts he’ll ever see him again.

“Got all the boys wrapped around your finger. Lucky you.”, Youngyi teases and smirks at the face Sieun pulls at the comment. Sieun doesn’t find it quite as funny. Having boys interested in him has never been his goal, like, ever, because, well, he doesn’t like them anyway, right?

“I’m not-”, he begins, “I’m not gay?” It sounds less offended and more confused, though. Like Sieun doesn’t quite believe it himself. His voice is thankfully less rough than it was earlier, so he doesn’t sound as completely unsure as he could’ve.

Youngyi grins. 

“You just don’t know it yet.”, she says wisely, as if she has somehow gained knowledge of the future, and Sieun wants to ask what in the world that is supposed to mean anyway, but Youngyi doesn’t give him time to explain.

“You’re okay, though?”, she cuts through his thoughts, “I can’t remember much of yesterday but Beomseok filled me in on some of the most important details.”

Sieun grunts at that, a sound that is as much affirmation as it is dismissal of any concern thrown his way, but Youngyi seems to accept it. Sieun’s still standing after all, and he could look worse. 

“Let’s grab breakfast then, shall we?”, Youngyi asks, and without waiting for a reply she turns on her heel and walks along. While Beomseok dutifully rushes to walk at her side, Sieun only hesitantly falls into a trot behind them.

“Where’s Suho, by the way?”, Youngyi speaks up again.

“And my cardigan?”, Beomseok adds quietly, but concerned nonetheless. Sieun can’t tell if the concern is aimed at Suho, the garment, or both.

“Cardigan’s safe in the room.”, Sieun gets out in one whole breath and it takes him way too much effort for comfort. He’s picked the easier question to answer first, and even that was difficult. They walk in silence for a few agonizing seconds until they get to the door of the cafeteria. 

“I don’t know where Suho is.”, Sieun adds with finality. He doesn’t know what makes him talk so much, usually he’s much more reserved, but Beomseok and Youngyi have already seen him at his worst anyway so he doesn’t have much to hide. Flashes of dancing and of singing (yelling) and of throwing up what felt like his organs spark up in Sieun’s mind. 

He tries not to fall to the ground in embarrassment. Being weird and quiet is one thing. Being weird and loud is something he should’ve never even touched with a ten foot pole. 

The cafeteria is filled with chatter and people, but it’s still early enough for a few empty tables and seats here and there. The group makes its way over to the line of people in front of the food. Beomseok hands Youngyi a tray and then Sieun too, and the latter is reminded once again of being nice, of Suho in a way. Everyone is so naturally kind it makes Sieun want to rip his hair out. He feels like he’s never learned the most important skill in the world and thinking about it this much only makes him notice it more and more everywhere he goes.

“He was really good. Yesterday, I mean.”, Beomseok says, while scooping food into a bowl on his tray. “Really impressive.”

“Who?”, Youngyi asks, as she’s sneaking a piece of something Sieun can’t recognize quickly enough to name it into her mouth. 

“Suho.”, Beomseok replies and Youngyi nods immediately, chewing. Sieun thinks back to the few, disconnected memories he has. He remembers being cared for in vague bursts, in tiny little snapshots of the night, but he doesn’t see Beomseok or Youngyi in those, can’t remember them being around after their return to their room.

“I’m so glad I asked him for help.”, Beomseok mumbles, as if to himself. “I don’t think I could’ve gotten in the water.”

Threads grow from Sieun’s flashes of memories, threads start connecting one thought with another. He narrows his eyes as he’s considering the picture that’s being painted in his mind. From outside it probably looks like he’s very suspicious of the orange juice dispenser in front of him.

Youngyi raises her eyebrows and gives Beomseok a look. “Especially not while you had me on your hands.”

Beomseok chuckles in the way that tells Sieun immediately he was inconvenienced but would never admit to it. 

“It’s fine. Everything ended up being okay, didn't it?” Beomseok shrugs. “Suho should consider becoming a lifeguard, though.”

The puzzle pieces click together in Sieun’s broken brain. 

Yeongbin. The drowning. Suho. Suho the saviour, Suho the warm body holding Sieun in his arms as he dragged him ashore. Suho the God, Suho the human, Suho the everything that matters. Suho defending him from Taehoon with words, not with violence. Most importantly, with the right words, with the proof of change.

Sieun shakes with the urge to sigh a breathless ‘Oh.’, Sieun shakes with the realisation that more than an apology is due. More than anything he needs to thank Suho. More than anything he needs to talk to him at all. 

Before he can get lost in this painful thought, a disappointed huff out of Youngyi’s mouth brings him back to reality. 

“Your tray’s empty.”, she tells Sieun, as if he didn’t know that himself. Sieun makes a vaguely acknowledging sound, still knee deep in guilt and regret and self-inflicted suffering.

She rolls her eyes and hands Sieun a banana out of a pile of semi fresh fruit in the middle of the cafeteria’s breakfast options. “At least this.”

Sieun stares at the fruit while his stomach makes a noise of protest.

“Otherwise I’m force feeding you rice until you explode.”, she threatens, “Take the goddamn banana, Sieun.” 

Reluctantly Sieun accepts it. He questions why they won’t just let him starve. A satisfied expression sits on Youngyi’s face though, and even Beomseok gives Sieun a shy smile from the side, and so.. Sieun figures maybe taking the banana was worth it after all.

It’s weird. He didn’t think he could care about them. Not this easily, not in this way. He didn’t think they could care for him either. But, admittedly, all of this could just be them taking pity on him. Sieun curses his brain, Sieun curses himself for never allowing himself to be someone worth talking to. He rolls the thought around in his mind while he waits for them to finish piling food on their trays. 

When everyone is done they go searching for a table. Almost immediately Sieun beelines for one in the back. 

When Youngyi and Beomseok give him questioning gazes (but follow him nonetheless) Sieun almost blurts out a pathetic ‘Suho likes it better this way’, but can catch himself right at the last moment. They don’t need to sit with him anyway, if they don’t like it. 

Apparently they’re quite open to it though, and quickly tray after tray hits the table. While Youngyi and Beomseok slip easily into their seats opposite from one another (Youngyi immediately leans forward to examine what Beomseok has put on his tray), Sieun awkwardly lets himself drop into the chair next to Beomseok. His back is bent, but he’s not lounging in any way. Sieun is rigid and stiff and uncomfortable, as he always is. He stares at the singular banana in front of him and tries not to throw up at the thought of forcing it into his mouth.

A pointed look from Youngyi and he starts peeling it anyway. Like a surgeon, as precisely as he can. He takes his time, is very obviously stalling. 

He watches Youngyi pour an entire cup of coffee down her throat, then bat her eyelashes so Beomseok will get up to bring her another one (The boy doesn’t even complain – just stands up and does it. Youngyi has barely even time to ask for it, it’s like he knows what is expected of him already and gladly complies with it.)

Sieun’s face twitches. He surprises himself by opening his mouth, and surprises himself even more when he starts actually speaking.

“Can’t be healthy.”, he says, and Youngyi looks up at him, tilting her head. Sieun awkwardly clears his throat. He didn’t really mean to sound judgy, but he’s spent such a long time not interacting with people that it’s very difficult to do small talk without falling into rudeness. It’s hard to gauge what is acceptable and what isn’t. “All this coffee.”, he explains and regrets ever having spoken up at all.

Thankfully, Youngyi laughs easily. “No, I suppose not.” She makes a point to look down at Sieun’s uneaten banana and then back up again, meeting his eyes. “That doesn’t either, though.”

Sieun forces an unhappy noise out of his gritted teeth, then stuffs the first bite of banana into his mouth to get it over with. Chewing makes his jaw hurt in the weirdest way, but whilst it’s difficult it’s not impossible. He swallows, and Youngyi gives him a blinding smile.

“Oh!”, she suddenly says, “Did you hear?”

Sieun isn’t quite in the mood to explain that he can’t answer that question without additional context, but Youngyi seems to understand that herself quite quickly, immediately rambling on.

“Apparently, they found the trash from the party on the beach. Some people got quite the reprimand from their teachers.” Her eyes are wide as she speaks in a dramatic sort of tone, seemingly very excited to spread the news. “We heard it through the walls!”

Sieun almost twists his eyebrows together. We? Youngyi and Beomseok in one room? He kind of figured there were rules against that kind of thing – at least he’d heard from other co-ed schools that rooms on class trips were separated by gender. He supposes his acquaintances’ school takes that more lightly though. Youngyi continues speaking before he can ask, not that he even wants to. 

“I’ve heard they’ll be more attentive now, with checking rooms at night n’ stuff” She leans forward conspiratorially, and whispers as if sharing an important secret. “And the janitor is on it too, I think.”

Sieun nods upwards slowly, almost dismissively in its speed. He didn’t really plan on partying again, any time soon, really. He doesn’t need to heed her warning. For a second Youngyi seems disappointed he isn’t entertaining her, but then Beomseok returns with her coffee and she lets herself be distracted quite easily. She doesn’t seem to dwell on things very much and Sieun is grateful for it. He takes another bite of his banana and this time it’s a little easier to swallow.

“Uhm.”, Beomseok begins sometime later, and Sieun realises he is starting to get quite irritated with the constant talking. He bites back the rude remark that sits on his tongue for kindness’ sake. Or whatever else that matters. “I just had the thought – Why don’t you just call Suho?”

Sieun breathes in uncomfortably, as if his lungs don’t have space for air anymore. Yeah. ‘Just.’ Right. Because it’s that easy. Because it’s not like Sieun would have to see the last few messages they exchanged before seizing to talk, because it’s not like Sieun would have to find the courage to speak, to ask for a boy he had discarded just a few weeks ago. To a boy he’d pulled a knife on and then yelled at to leave him alone forever. 

He shakes his head in a small, jerky movement and hopes Beomseok will leave it at that. 

He does. 

They find other things to talk about. Like Beomseok’s cardigan, for example. Youngyi and Beomseok will come and get it right after breakfast, because there’s still time until the class trip’s program starts for Sieun, and because Beomseok seems very attached to it too.

On the way out of the cafeteria they bring their dirty dishes and trays away. As Sieun throws away his banana peel he sneaks an apple off the pile. Not for himself, God forbid, his stomach is already doing backflips again (and not in the good way), but for... Suho. 

Sieun hasn’t seen him here yet, and this was the one place he thought he’d find him. What if Suho won’t come because he wants to avoid Sieun? What if Suho won’t get breakfast at all? Suho’s been hungry all the time that Sieun has known him. Hungry for food, hungry for friendship, hungry for experiencing thrill as well as boredom, hungry for everything life has to offer him. 

Sieun.... doesn’t want Suho to go hungry. Sieun wants to offer Suho something. A held out hand, in a way. A peace offering. And yes, maybe Sieun is worried too. And yes, maybe Sieun wants to rip out his insides and call Suho and text him and get some sort of life sign back, preferably.

He walks back to his room with his acquaintances, right past the place the bleach blond boy had leaned against the wall earlier and Sieun keeps his eyes fixed strictly onto the ground, trying to avoid the puddles in ways that don’t make him look crazy. 

“Would you have.. considered that guy from earlier?”, Youngyi asks, striding ahead with her arms swinging. She walks past all that is left of him – two cigarette buds trampled into the dirt.

Sieun scoffs. “Why would I?”, he adds in a mumble, as if it was such an outlandish inquiry.

Youngyi turns around and rolls her eyes, walking backwards in front of both Beomseok and Sieun. 

“Because he was hot and obviously into you? Hello? What kinda question is that?”

She turns back around and skips over the muddy ground. It’s the joy of a day after a night of rain, it’s the freedom that comes with it, the smells and the air and the freshness of it all. Sieun is jealous of her from his rigid place beside Beomseok, of the way she leads her life. Jealousy doesn’t sting as much as it used to, but it’s there. Somewhere next to his heart. 

He scowls, but it’s only half-hearted. He doesn’t bring up the whole not actually being gay thing again, because Youngyi didn’t believe him the first time and he highly doubts she’s going to let herself be swayed when he tries it for a second time. Not to mention he isn’t even truly convinced himself. 

“I don’t like myself enough for a relationship anyway.”, he says instead, settling on an entirely different argument. “I’ve read you should love yourself before you love anyone else. Or something.”

Youngyi laughs. 

“Boring!”, she exclaims in a sing-song sort of tone. “Be crazy, destroy yourself, your partner, everything. That’s the fun of it, isn’t it? Being allowed a little insanity. They let you do that in relationships, you know?” She looks over her shoulder, spins around to walk backwards again. “It’s funny how normalised it is. They make excuses in the name of love, all of them.”

Sieun doesn’t ask who ‘they’ are. He doubts Youngyi has anyone specific in mind. 

“They’ll say ‘He hits you because he loves you’ and you’ll say ‘He hits me because I’m a girl and he’s a man and that’s just the way this world works’ and they won’t believe you. They never believe you.”

She gives Sieun a bitter smile. Maybe she does have someone specific in mind. Sieun feels queasy. He doesn’t know if it’s from eating or from her words.

“But you’re a guy, Sieun, that’s the beauty of it.”, Youngyi says and Sieun winces for an unknown reason. “I can be crazy because I’m a girl and that’s just what girls do, but you can be crazy because half the earth’s population is just gonna excuse anything you do anyway.”

Sieun’s steps falter, Sieun chews on his lip. Beomseok walks beside him as if he’s used to this, as if he knows the pain. 

Youngyi skips forward like she’s not sorry for her words at all and, really, Sieun doesn’t think she should be sorry anyway. Still, he’s trapped in discomfort, in the memory of words that reveal a past that he hadn’t even considered for Youngyi. 

The rest of the walk back is practically silent.

Sieun unlocks the door for the three of them and finds the room blissfully empty. He leads Beomseok into the bathroom where the boy happily reunites with his cardigan. (After inspecting it for any vomit stains, that is.)

“Just a little sandy.”, Sieun says quietly, “Sorry.” 

He tries to avoid the mirror like usual, he shuffles in awkward directions to keep away from it. Youngyi gives him a knowing look that almost makes him more uncomfortable than his reflection.

When they exit the bathroom Sieun almost thinks his acquaintances will simply leave now, leave him to himself to search for Suho, or to wait for whatever his teachers have planned for today. Suho would probably show up by then anyway. 

Quickly, Youngyi finds a way to tangle him into a conversation, though. She plops down onto his bed, rudely rendering all the (barely anything) effort Sieun had poured into making his bed that morning useless. 

“You sure you’re a guy?”, she asks bluntly.

Sieun opens his mouth to reply in a resounding ‘ Yes, duh, obviously, what else would I be?’ but his mind doesn’t comply with him. Is he? Is he, really? Is he sure of it? Can he even be anything else? Is that an option he has?

Youngyi brings out an entirely unfair but very empathetic smile. 

“You were talking about not liking yourself earlier – Yes, we’re doing therapy now – what’d you have in mind specifically?” 

Sieun stares at her incredulously. Beomseok sits down on Suho’s chair, as if he’s already expecting this to take a while. Sieun stands very still, very confused in between them. He meets Youngyi’s eyes. Youngyi doesn’t budge. She’s.. She’s serious.

He keeps on staring at her, wet eyes looking sad and tired like usual. He keeps on staring and she keeps on staring and really it’s one of the most absurd experiences Sieun has had in his life.

“Come on.”, she coaxes, “What’s said in this room stays in this room.”

When Sieun still doesn’t answer, she resorts to much more aggressive measures.

“So, let me guess. You can’t look into the mirror because your body just looks wrong , you feel weirdly jealous of girls sometimes and when you start to think more about this whole gender thing you immediately shut it down because the possible realisations you might have scare you.”

Sieun’s eyes widen in the slightest, most miniscule way, which is already an extreme expression in his case, but to take it further his mouth falls open just a centimetre or two as well. He’s.. floored. He’s.. He’s.. speechless, really. How could she know? How could she ever know?

“Right on the money, eh?”, Youngyi tries with a smile. “Hey, I know how hard it is, okay?”

Sieun keeps on staring. Does she? Does anyone? Could anyone? Could anyone understand?

“Why do you think I’m the only girl at an all boys school?”

Youngyi shares a room with Beomseok. They go to an all boys school, not a co-ed one. Oh. Oh, how did he not realise?

Sieun gapes more than stares now, and this time not even his lack of social interaction can excuse it. It’s fucking rude. 

No noise dares to escape his mouth for a bad, long, very much eternal feeling moment. When his brain is finally capable of thought again it decides to hurl over a couple of very, very pressing matters and shove them to the side.

“So that’s, uh-”, Sieun stammers, “That’s why you and Beomseok share a room. Because your teachers don’t want anyone pregnant, right? And it works this way. Yeah, I’m- Yeah. Makes sense.”

Youngyi raises her eyebrows, as if to ask ‘ This is what you’re choosing to have a realisation over right now?’, then gives Beomseok a questioning look. When he nods hesitantly, she shakes her head toward Sieun again.

“No.”, she starts, and confuses Sieun a great deal in the process. “I mean yes, rooms are usually separate because of this, but funnily enough Beomseok happens to be trans too. We were stuffed into the same room because of it. No one fuckin’ likes us. He transferred from an all girls school, though. I didn’t get so lucky, but it’s my last year anyway.”

Oh. Oh, that’s why Beomseok knew the pain of girlhood already. Oh God.

Sieun feels increasingly stupid, increasingly overwhelmed and increasingly in need to ask some very burning questions.

“The..”, he starts, quiet as a mouse, “The insecurities, it’s.. It’s not just insecurities then? I want to be a girl? Is that it?”

Youngyi falls back onto the bed and stares at the mattress above her like Sieun did when he woke up, though he barely realised it. It’s an unpleasant comparison. Sieun doesn’t want to remember. He swallows the memory down like bitter medicine.

“I can’t tell you what to feel, Sieun.”, Youngyi explains, as if it’s so obvious. Maybe it should be. “Sounds like dysphoria though, if my descriptions seemed accurate to you.” She faces him, earnestly, and it’s an interesting contrast to her usually so playful demeanour. “Don’t limit yourself, experiment a little. You don’t need to be a girl. Or a boy. Or nothing at all. There’s more to life than black and white and one singular shade of grey. You’ve got the whole fuckin’ rainbow to explore.” She smiles to herself. “Very obvious metaphor, but you get it.”

Sieun stares at his feet, thoughts rushing through his mind at 300 miles per hour. Memories replaying, fear and terror and blinding understanding. 

“It’s about joy, you know?”, Youngyi says with a smile that proves to Sieun once again that she enjoys helping. That she’s a good person. That she’s so much better than Sieun has ever cared to be. “Beomseok loves his fucking cardigans, they make him feel like a guy. I like my bangs and hair dye. They don’t make us boys, or girls, but they make us feel comfortable in the way we present ourselves. You don’t have to label it or anything, you just need to feel good is my point.”

Beomseok smiles at her as if she was the piece of a star that fell on earth, and Sieun is gripped with a similar – though not the same kind of – awe that Beomseok regards her with.

“I know it’s sexy to be miserable-”, Youngyi adds with a cheeky smile, “-but we all want a little happiness for ourselves, don’t we?”

Sieun stands and stares and nods, eventually. God. Goddamn. 

“I think you might want a little time to think.”, Youngyi says with a smirk. “Sorry for forcing the realisation, but it was a pain to be a witness to your cluelessness.” 

She jumps up from Sieun’s bed, sticks her tongue out.

“Bye, then!”

She grabs Beomseok by the arm and they’re out of the door before Sieun can even reply. Not that he ever would’ve.

Mindlessly he sets the apple he grabbed for Suho down on the latter’s bed, and sits down on his own. 

He remembers Eunji and his jealousy, and Youngyi too – obviously, that memory is fresh from half an hour ago. He revisits memory after memory, he turns page after page in the diary of his brain. Time eludes him, time spills over his hands when he tries to catch it. He spends so long sitting and staring and thinking that when the door to the room opens Sieun jumps in honest surprise, heart thumping fast and loud in his chest.

His eyes spring upwards and meet- Suho's. 

Suho. 

Sieun's mouth opens, closes, Sieun's mind is overrun with rampant thoughts once more. 

"Oh. There you are.", Suho says. 

Does he sound disappointed? Sad? Annoyed? All three at once?

Sieun can't tell, Sieun can't tell and it kills him not to know, it stabs a stake through his heart. He’s terrified. He’s terrified like he’s terrified of the sea now. He feels like he’s been plunged into ice cold water. 

Suho stands in the doorway, Suho doesn't move. 

He chews on his lip, eyes wide and expectant. 

Sieun opens his mouth the second Suho does, but Suho is faster anyway.

“Do you remember last night?”, he asks. Does he sound hopeful or does he want to make small talk? Suho can speak more easily than Sieun ever could – because Suho has broken his silent promise already, has entered himself into Sieun life again. To save you, just to save you, Sieun’s mind protests, it was the right thing to do, that’s all. It doesn’t mean he cares.

Sieun’s lip quivers, and he breathes in shakily, swallows the lump in his throat, breathes out in hectic bursts. 

“Some of it.”, he settles on, and miraculously it’s the full truth this time. It’s the first thing he has said to Suho after all this time, but it’s so ordinary, so bland that Sieun almost regrets having spoken the words at all. Maybe he should’ve found something interesting to say, something marvellous, something meaningful.

“Oh.”, Suho says. “Oh, yeah. Figures.” He shuffles on his feet, still barely in the room. “Sleep okay?”

Sieun is about to do one of his typical shrugs that answer absolutely nothing, when Suho interrupts himself.

“Actually, sorry, no. I need to shut up, yeah. I need to- I need to stop asking questions and leave you alone. I really do, I just- I’m sorry though, genuinely. I wish I- I wish I’d known you didn’t want me to protect you. I would’ve done everything differently, you know?” Suho wrings his hands nervously, seems to have made a decision as he steps fully into the room. “I would've- I talked to Eunji, okay? And she said she thinks you didn’t know I was trying to help, and she- she said you didn’t seem to have a lot of experience with friendships – which was mean, I’ll admit, but, well, I-” Suho groans at himself, at his rambling. “Sieun”, he says, starts over, starts again. There’s a plea in his eyes that Sieun can’t ignore. 

“Sieun. I don’t want to leave you alone. I mean, I will, if you ask me to again. But-” Suho looks urgent, desperate, tries to find Sieun’s eyes with agony in his own. “But I want to make this better. I think I.. I think I like..” Suho looks miserable, swallows, starts over a second time, voice steadying itself slowly but surely.

“You are one of the most interesting people I’ve ever met.”, he begins anew, and Sieun feels tears well up in his eyes. “I’ve thought that ever since you tackled Jeongchan away after the whole choking business. And yes, we’ve hurt each other, and yes, we didn’t really know how to work any of this out, but I think we could try again. I want to try again, at least. I-” Suho sighs. “I’m not good with words, but I missed you. ”

His voice breaks. His voice breaks on those last three words and Sieun’s heart breaks with them. With the honesty, with the pain. 

Sieun has been drained of the doubts living in his brain, of the second-guessing with all the happenings in just the last day or so. Sieun has been left a raw shell of emotion, as vulnerable as he could ever be. He believes Suho. He believes Suho and it’s the most wonderful feeling in the world.

His vision is blurry, hazy, his heartbeat erratic. 

“I am so sorry.”, he says, because he should’ve done that weeks ago already. He doesn’t know how loud or how quiet he’s being, he doesn’t know if there’s a rasp to his voice or if it's smooth as butter. He doesn’t know anything at all, is gone mentally, barely manages to speak. I’m sorry, Suho, I’m so, so sorry, I thought I’d never even get to say it.

“I didn’t understand your way of helping and I was angry.”, he adds helplessly, tears finally spilling from his eyes. Can an explanation fix this? Does Suho even want to hear it? I was so angry and it was so dumb and I’m so sorry. I understand now, please believe me. I understand. 

Sieun stares at Suho, quivering lip and all. Sieun stares at Suho and can only hope he can fix the damage he has done. 

I was so scared. When I was drowning I thought I’d never get to apologize. I thought I was dead and I thought you’d be mad at me. I thought I might never see you again. 

“I missed you too.” Sieun’s voice must be breaking, must be infinitely small. “Thank you.”

Thank you for saving me. Thank you for the food and for picking me up and bringing me home – twice – and thank you for not giving up on me. Thank you for all the things we don’t talk about.

“Thank you for everything.”

The silence that follows their respective speeches is laced with anticipation this time. No more pain, it promises. Sieun doesn’t know if they can stick to it, but he thinks he wants to try. 

Suho looks at him as if he’s done the impossible. 

“I- Uhm. Thanks.”, he says, and it’s such a stupid response Sieun wants to laugh until his tears dry on his face. “I- I kind of expected you to hate me, actually. I didn’t- I didn’t think-” Sieun tilts his head with furrowed brows and Suho immediately waves his hands into the air dismissively. “No, no, God, I’m glad we did this. I’m glad we talked it out, I- I’m really fucking happy right now, actually.”

He practically beams and a fresh stream of tears runs down Sieun’s face. Fuck, Suho’s beautiful. Fuck, Suho’s beautiful with his thousand apologies and his stupid responses and his rambling, too. 

“Do you.. Do you want a hug?”, Suho asks, simply because Sieun is crying. Not because Sieun is touch starved or because he is lonely or because he really wants to be close to Suho in any way he’s allowed. In the end the reason doesn’t make much of a difference though. 

When they fall into each other’s arms for the first time there is no angel choir or fireworks, there is just flesh meeting flesh and guilt meeting guilt, and one heavy shoulder sinking into another. 

Sieun doesn’t think he’s ever known what melting felt like, not even in the hottest summers. Now he knows, now he’s felt it. He sinks into Suho, sinks right into firm skin, sinks into a shirt that smells too much like Suho not to make butterflies go wild in Sieun’s stomach. 

Suho’s strong arms hesitantly, carefully wrap around him, and Sieun begins crying again. Suho must feel it. Suho must feel his shirt turning wet, must hear it too, but he doesn’t say anything about it, just brings Sieun closer.

Sieun shakes and sobs quietly and hugs Suho as tight as he can. He promised to break Suho’s ribs after all. In drunken stupor, but it was a promise nonetheless. A promise to himself. A promise he will keep. 

Sieun doesn’t think he’s ever felt so light, and he’s afraid if he’ll let Suho go he’ll never have this feeling again. He feels his pain peel off him in layers, feels weeks of blame vanish in thin air. It’s the closest he’s come to happiness after Suho’s defense of him, after their meet-up at the restaurant. With intrigue, Sieun realises his happiest moments in months have been shared exclusively with Suho. 

Sieun hangs onto Suho as if someone had threatened to take him away from him and Suho chokes dutifully under his lovingly violent embrace.

“Sieun, I- Sieun, you’re squeezing the life out of me-”, he coughs out with an amused sort of pain in his tone, playing over the emotions they are both about to drown in. With relief flooding his mind like this, his voice is tinged in comforting sweetness, and Sieun has never heard anything more beautiful. 

Sieun snivels and cries and hides the beginnings of a smile in Suho’s chest. His face has never been less cooperative with him. He lets up a few seconds later so that Suho can breathe again.

“Thanks.”, Suho says with a happy glint in his eyes and a very dumb grin on his face. “Thank you for the apology too. Can I-” He sounds more serious now. “Can we talk about something though?”

“Sorry I vomited on the floor and you had to clean it up.”, Sieun cuts him off quickly, quietly and effectively. Then confesses earnestly: “Also I don’t remember how I got into my pyjamas and I’m not quite sure I want to know.”

Suho laughs with the ease of someone who just shook off months’ worth of pain and guilt, and squeezes Sieun kindly. “You did yourself. After a bit of help. I didn’t see anything.”

Sieun breathes out a sigh of relief. This had been a genuine cause for concern.

“But seriously, Sieun-”, Suho says, and breaks their hug so he can make eye contact – Sieun misses it immediately, “What happened yesterday- We’re gonna- You’re gonna get your revenge, alright? You alone. But we’ve just seen how fucking dangerous these bastards can be when you face them alone and drunk. Right?”

Sieun presses his lips together in a tight line. He knows Suho is right. He doesn't want to think about it though. The relief of apologizing, of thanking Suho, has taken a back seat to the memories of yesterday night. Of the fear and the anger and the pain, most of all. Sieun stares intently into Suho’s eyes and Suho has a hard time staring back.

“Let me help. Please. I won’t be in the fight, I’ll keep my mouth shut and everything. Just- let me be there, okay? Let me- let me give you some fighting advice before, or something. I know you’re smart, but they outnumber you.”, Suho begs, begs for Sieun to understand.

Sieun knows it’s a compromise. Sieun knows that that’s good. Sieun knows that Suho is trying and that this all hinges on Sieun trying too. 

Sieun nods because he wants to indulge Suho, most of all. Sieun doesn’t know how, but he’s grown tired of fighting on his own side. Sieun’s grown tired of yearning, of loneliness. He doesn’t want much but he.. He wants Suho. And Youngyi and Beomseok and Eunji too, if she even still likes him, after everything. He doesn’t think he’s ever really allowed himself to want anything and now that he has the chance, he’s elated at it.

Suho breaks into a downright goofy grin and ruffles Sieun’s too long, too messy hair. “Thanks. I’m glad.”

Sieun scowls at him but he knows Suho won’t take it to heart. 

Something in Sieun tells him that’s not necessarily all that Suho wanted to say though. Something in Sieun stays hidden that he doesn’t say out loud either. 

They’re back right where they were, obscuring the truth and dancing around one another curiously. Only this time they’ve broken down one layer of guilt and regret already. Maybe the next one will be easier. 

Before Sieun and Suho leave to do their class trip’s designated biology program Suho finds the apple on his bed. Sheepishly he shows Sieun a banana he brought for Sieun in case he hadn’t had breakfast. Sieun takes Suho’s banana and Suho takes Sieun’s apple and it feels quite nice to share, all things considered. Even if Sieun completely refuses to talk about it. That he was kind. That it did come easy to him, after all.

As they walk outside to meet their teacher and the rest of the class for whatever educational program they’ve been signed up for, Sieun intently listens to every single stupid rant Suho goes on, even though he pretends not to be interested in the slightest. Suho smiles wider now, wider than Sieun had seen him smile at the party, and it makes his heart jump wildly around in his rib cage.

Not even their teacher yelling at them about the trash at the beach can spoil his mood now. 

Notes:

im so sorry if this didn't make sense i wrote like 90% of this in one sitting and drove myself a little crazy in the process lol. also i have no beta reader so we ball. at least it didn't take me an entire month this time. but also also: sieun new friendships+happiness arc??????? what we thinkin!!!!

Chapter 10: There's crystal across the sand, and the waves, they take my hand.

Notes:

Chapter title from Kathleen by Townes Van Zandt

Suho brims with, bubbles, overflows with a tingling, nervous happiness. His skin itches where Sieun choked him, squeezed him, pushed into him until it felt like his eyes were going to pop out of his skull. The spot on his shirt where Sieun’s tears had soaked through have dried by now, but their memory burns through the fabric like a cigarette would. 

Receiving genuine, attentive interest from Sieun is like befriending a distrustful cat. One that mistakes loneliness for independence. One that hasn’t learned how to be loved yet. It’s exhilarating in a nearly selfish way.

Sieun can pretend all he wants to be an impenetrable wall of distrust and numbness, but Suho notices the shift in his gaze, the way his body closes in on him. It’s something earned, something special. It's something that makes Suho look at his fists and wonder if he's used them for good for once. For breaking down walls instead of breaking noses. 

Suho is no stranger to violence. It would bother him less if it didn't mean breaking his grandmother’s heart.

Things seem better. Things are better. Suho wants them to be. 

 

***

 

For a majority of the day their class is following around a researcher, Sieun and Suho standing next to each other in silent acceptance. 

Suho’s convinced Sieun is actually listening. It seems like something he’d do. Always aware, always present. It’s impressive. Suho misses his bed already. He smiles to himself. Still, he’d choose Sieun over sleeping any day.

It’s easier again. To be here. On this trip, in this world. His heart beats lighter now. When he doesn’t have to think about the past or the future or anything but the boy right next to him. 

 

***

 

Suho catches himself staring at Sieun’s hair with increasing frequency. The unruly strands, the ever growing length of it. He can’t help but see it wet, clinging to Sieun’s pale forehead.

It’s not. It’s really not. 

Sieun’s limp body buried beneath reckless waves. 

It’s dry. It’s dry and chaotic and longer, now. 

Sieun laying on the beach, chest heaving, lungs burning, the very picture of loss. 

It's just hair. Dry hair.

Sieun hunched over, vomiting, gagging, fighting with life, with air. Sieun’s hair in knots with sand and puke. His perfection destroyed. His constants broken. His existence spiraling down with the current. 

Suho pinches himself discretely enough for Sieun not to notice. Or maybe he does. Maybe he stays quiet like usual, even though he realises why Suho buries his memories in sharp, stinging pain. Maybe he's trying to be polite, not mentioning it. 

Suho decides he doesn’t have to mention it either. Suho decides he can be polite too. 

 

***

 

Suho makes jokes sometimes. Not loud enough to fall back into a class clown persona though. Small quips and comments meant for Sieun and Sieun alone. Suho can’t help himself, Suho can’t stop.  

Sieun doesn’t laugh, doesn’t smile. But he sticks around. Answers questions Suho has. It’s enough, Suho thinks. Anything Sieun will offer him is enough. 

They start talking about the sea. Sieun goes distant in an instant. Suho feels so helpless so fast that it gives him whiplash. 

 

***

 

Evening comes and Suho feels every hour of waking pulsate a different rhythm into his bones. It’s nerve-wracking, constantly walking between two different worlds. Between finding your way back to love and the chance to lose it the second you finally get your hands on it. Between skittish happiness and towering paranoia. Between the careful present and the violent past. 

Suho and Sieun’s roommates sit hunched by the open window, trying to sneakily blow cigarette smoke into the rumblings of the wind. Sieun’s lip twitches in what Suho interprets as annoyance. He scoffs in the boys’ direction, but they pay him no mind. 

Sieun doesn’t comment on it, and so Suho holds back. Being polite. 

 

***

 

Why they get ready for bed together, Suho doesn’t know. It’s just that the bathroom can fit them both. It’s just that Sieun looks so tired. It’s just that Sieun doesn’t complain when Suho follows after him.

Sieun sits on the closed toilet lid with his arms looped around his legs and his head resting on his knees while Suho brushes his teeth. Suho brushes longer than he normally would. He knows Sieun notices. Still, Sieun won’t move.

“I’m not hogging the toothpaste, you know”, Suho says, aiming to sound funny and not pathetically worried. He’s not sure he succeeds. “You can brush your teeth beside me.”

Sieun thinks of toothpaste pooling in his mouth. Clogging his airways, filling his throat. He can’t stop himself from gagging in disgust, eyes pressed together to hide from the feeling, body twitching in protest. Suho is at his side before he knows it, a sturdy body to press into, strong arms holding him, holding his face, a certain gaze to meet, to find ground under his feet again. Now if only that was easy.

Sieun’s chest is contracting almost painfully, rising and falling to the rhythm of his dissenting heart, and the breaths jittering out of his mouth are flat and rushed before an imaginary liquid can fill his expanding lungs. He gags once more, and it feels as if his dry, raw throat is knotting itself together in a helpless, deadly braid. 

“Hey”, Suho says with fear in his voice and his face and in the way his hands are all over Sieun (his shoulders, his knees, his back – an attempt to stop the trembling). 

Sieun hears him through the fog in his brain. Sieun hears the toxic worry seep into his skin and he wants to scream, he wants to thrash and cry. His nostrils flare in defiance and his hands clutch desperately at Suho to get him off, to get him away, to be a burden to only himself. 

“Hey!”, Suho shouts, and tears prickle hot and angry in the ducts of Sieun’s eyes. 

He wants to believe he’s fighting, but really he’s watching himself get lost in an ever rising watery mud, and he knows it won’t be long before the darkness takes him. 

“Sieun”, Suho begs, “Listen, hey, Sieun, you’re fine, you’re okay, you’re-”

Sieun contorts and twists away from Suho’s hold, straining limbs against the strongest person he has ever known. It’s futile and miserable, but it takes a few seconds before Sieun can accept that. Before he can remember that he doesn’t want to wage war against the only person who has seen him at his lowest and chose to come back anyway. 

“I’ve got you,”, Suho says, and it’s still unsure, still frightened, the way the words tumble out of his mouth. But it’s not his words that are tightly wound around Sieun’s shaking shoulders, and eventually Sieun’s flailing arms come to a tense sort of rest around his heaving torso. 

“I’ve got you”, Suho repeats, less insecure now, because somehow the situation has fallen back under his control. Because somehow they’re both breathing slower now, and the silence of the unmoving body of his only friend has turned familiar again. “I’ve got you.”

Sieun stares with glassy eyes at the shiny white tiles of this tiny bathroom and tries to pretend the mocking, rough panting of his reflection doesn’t anger him. 

Suho looks down at the person in his arms and wants to believe he’s beginning to understand. 

In the end, Sieun brushes his teeth with as little toothpaste as he can, frequently spitting out the foamed up water that is gathering in his mouth. Suho pretends not to watch for Sieun’s sake, but they both know his presence is a promise of safety. 

When they return to the adjacent room, the others are still smoking. Half finished cigarettes are starting to form a small pile on a bowl on the floor. What a waste, Sieun thinks with reluctant disinterest. But it’s not his money they’re wasting and it’s not his lungs they’re filling with tar (the wind is picking up the smoke, whisking it away and out of the room) and so he sits on his bed with rigid bones, and stares at the painted wall that won’t show him his own, mangled face. With his lips numb and his gums burning, and a distinctly cleaner feel to his mouth.

Suho pats him on his back with a tight-lipped attempt at a smile and their roommates warily watch from their cloud of smoke. 

They don’t say anything. They never say anything. Sieun wonders if they are scared or just being polite. 

When a teacher checks their room, the smokers scramble up and hide their mess with surprising success. The stench in the air goes uncommented.  

At first Sieun is quietly baffled at their luck. Then he hears the sniffle and sees the eyebags. 

“Go to bed. Lights out”, his teacher grumbles, sounding sick and nasally. 

“Yep!” call the roommates, “Yessir” calls Suho,  and ‘I guess’ thinks Sieun. 

Lights are turned off, blankets are pulled up, bodies carefully slot themselves into the pits of the overused mattresses. 

It takes so long to fall asleep, too long until the quiet mumblings out of his roommates’ direction fade into gentle snoring. Sieun turns and turns and watches the ceiling sway. 

He’s somehow beginning to sweat under the thin blanket weighing him down, and with impossible effort he pushes it to the side only to feel exposed beneath the barren light of the street lamp shining through the window. The cold washes over him, his eyes sting with exhaustion. Sieun pulls his blanket up to his chest and pretends it doesn’t make him feel like choking. 

And so it goes, minute after minute. From hot to cold to hot again. There’s a funny feeling swimming in Sieun’s stomach and he heaves himself on his side in case he has to throw up.

Goosebumps to sweat to goosebumps again. Sieun feels disgusting beneath his covers, but there’s no point in washing the grime off. It’s all he has, all he is. He sheds the blanket like the tears and he shivers under the moon’s watchful eye. 

Sieun falls into a sleep that seems too real to be restful. He falls into a sleep that takes him to the beach, to the ocean. Deeper than he’s ever seen it, darker than it’s ever been. Like molasses it greets him, syrupy slow. The waves don’t find him so much as his feet find the waves. The strangest steps forward, without ever having moved an inch. 

He walks into the waters and glows faintly in their shallow warmth. He tries to make sense of it and discovers it to be quite easy. A dream is only a dream once you’ve woken up. A dream is all you have when your mind is playing hide and seek with death. Sieun decides it’s his life now, walking the sea. Walking until the darkness swallows him, swallows all sound.

No strange sign of life breaches the distance. No sudden sign of movement brushes past Sieun’s strained, stiff limbs. The vast, black void drenches the world in nothingness and Sieun is hollow in the gentle sway of the sea. 

It seems he should open the floodgates, open his mouth. And so he does, like he walks, because what choice does a dream leave him? What power does he have?

He isn’t surprised by the force pressing in – that, he’s come to expect. Inevitable choking, forever he’s drowning. It’s the taste that appalls him – the sharp-bitter sting of the water pushing through his throat so violently he can’t even tell if it is coming from the outside or from inside of him.

He coughs and he sputters and he falls to his knees until there is nothing to fall onto anymore. The ground melts away to be ingested, to tear through Sieun’s stomach and lungs. Clumps join the water between his wet, crying breaths , and the pain becomes tangible between rampant hiccups and worn out shaking. 

Perhaps that’s when the shadowy outlines of the barren bones of the room dance in front of Sieun’s eyes again. Perhaps that’s when the rasp of his blanket claws at his skin with renewed fervour.

Perhaps that’s when the ground assembles hard and fast under Sieun’s writhing body and the vomit he’s choking on becomes far from a nightmare. Sieun gags as the stench of it hits him, his body convulsing as a shudder rolls over him, rolls more vomit up his throat. 

How Sieun gets to the bathroom is lost in a flurry of darkness and the fuzziest thoughts, so fluffy at the edges that you can’t get through to the meat of them. He falls to his knees before the toilet and after lifting the lid he’s at the mercy of his own mortality, feeling his body fail to keep his meagre dinner in. He’s not even sure what he’s throwing up beside water and bad memories, but whatever it is, it rocks his body for longer than he ever thought possible. 

Between the painful, strangled expanding of lungs and the saddened, pathetic contracting that follows, Sieun begs for Suho with cold, cracked lips and a desperation that runs so deep he believes he can feel it prick into his skin. 

It can’t be more than a quiet plea, a rough rubbing of vocal cords against one another, and still Sieun cries because he realises Suho won’t answer, Suho won’t come. 

Sieun shakes and shivers into the off-white of the toilet seat and tries very hard not to think about the germs that must riddle it. 

He heaves until he doesn’t. He cries until his tears dry out. 

Eventually his body settles, goes slack. Eventually he sits still and silent in a puddle of his very own sorrow. Eventually he stands, because he thinks there’s something shameful in self-pity. And because his legs are starting to prickle with his blood flow cut off.

He sways like the ceiling does and his hands grip the sink as if it could save him. Baby steps back into the main room. Suho’s bed is unmade and empty.

Sieun doesn’t dare react with anything more than closing his eyes and swallowing the lump that is blocking his throat. Another breakdown isn’t far away. It never is, these days.

The room feels too small for his breathing. Sieun needs to get away. 

Suho took the key, he realises, staring at its vacant spot on the night table in silent contemplation. He’s not sure he actually cares. He doesn’t even bother changing out of his shirt. 

 

***

 

Sieun, the vomit stains, the dragging feet and the hollowed out self he calls his own wander down the hallway in surprising synchrony. Sieun can’t tell where ‘he’ begins or ends anymore. Sieun barely even notices his roommates staring after him out of the half-open door. He pretends not to hear the click of it shutting him out. 

 

***

 

Just like in the dream, Sieun’s legs move forward. Just like in the dream, they take him to the sea. Maybe because he needs to face his terror in order to ever sleep again. Maybe because there is simply nothing else to do.

Sieun lets the mild summer air hit his burned out, tired flesh. As it opens his lungs with gentle, feather-light fingers a nearly inaudible sigh is coaxed out of his lips. Step after step, tree after tree. Sieun walks the night like he knows it. Like no noise could disturb him. Like no sight could unnerve him. The song of the birds is jarring and loud in the dark, in the morning that is not even morning yet. Sieun walks onward because his ears are deaf to the sound of celebration. 

Metre by sandy metre the beach stretches out before Sieun’s dragging feet. Second by second, Sieun feels the exhaustion pile up like the soil of a freshly dug grave. 

Sieun’s eyes strain to see a shape lying quiet and still beneath a misshapen rock. At first he prepares to turn, to find another place to rot, but then he sees the path of footsteps that mirrors his own beneath the flat shine of the moon. But then he sees the red streaks of an all too familiar jacket. 

Suho. 

Sieun feels breathless. 

Somehow it feels more monumental to approach Suho than the sea. Somehow following the way Suho took, somehow having his shoes press down into the exact patches of sand Suho’s shoes had makes it worth it.

The sand crunches, Suho’s gaze snaps up. Sieun stares right back with a motionless face and giddy delight pooling in his stomach with the guilt and the shame that is still so hard to let go. It’s hard to dwell on the past when Suho looks at Sieun though. It’s hard to do anything but want to laugh and weep with joy. 

“Sieun”, Suho greets in utter confusion. He scrambles to his feet and his eyes rake over every inch of his friend’s body. “Sieun, you-?” He speaks slower now that he sees Sieun isn’t injured. “What happened?”

Sieun forces his shoulders not to jump up in dismissal. Sieun fights to actually open his mouth.

“I had a dream”, he says matter-of-factly. “Then I threw up.”

Suho’s eyes drop to the vomit stains on Sieun’s shirt and he grimaces with a sort of friendly pity Sieun has never known. And how could he have ever known such a thing? The half-joking, full-understanding pity of a person that loves you. The promise to laugh without judgement if wanted. The capacity to be earnest if necessary. 

“You weren’t there”, Sieun accuses without even really wanting to. Suho’s gaze doesn’t steel like Sieun is expecting, no. Suho’s gaze goes soft at the edges, tinges blue with regret. 

“I’m sorry”, he says with the full commitment of someone who feels he’s responsible. Sieun eyes the ocean as if it could swallow him whole out of nowhere. Sieun watches the seconds tick by, smells the wind running past him, hears the stars watch the world.

“It wasn’t your fault”, he says. He can tell Suho doesn’t believe him. And so he turns his head and furrows his brows. “I don’t blame you.” 

Now that gets to Suho.

He breathes in – slow and methodical. Surprised and amazed and speechless all at once. He sinks back into his resting place. Muscles unlocking, skin folding to fit into a nook in the rock. Suho’s heart beats faster than he’d like it to.

“Wanna sit with me?”, he asks.

Sieun carefully inspects the look on Suho’s face. Sieun cautiously examines the sea. When his own tired body finds the earth it’s because the urge to be close to Suho is bigger than the fear of sudden death. Suho puts an arm around Sieun’s boney shoulders without ever meeting his eyes. 

They watch the moon shimmer in the silent void. Sieun can almost believe that with Suho at his side the ocean can do no harm to him. Sieun can almost believe that the God that is the sea has some respect left for the most loyal person that has ever walked this earth. 

“I’m sorry”, Sieun mumbles, because it feels appropriate. 

“For what?”, Suho asks, as if he couldn’t think of the answer himself. 

For ruining your night. For the accusation. For never telling you anything.

“For being so much all of the time”, Sieun settles on. “For being weird.”

A breeze brushes them kindly and Suho shakes his head with a small smile playing around his lips. 

“I like you weird.” Suho furrows his eyebrows, but the edges of his mouth stay up. “Or.. Well, I don’t think you're nearly as weird as you give yourself credit for.” He looks down at Sieun and Sieun stares right back with unflinching, open eyes. Suho shrugs. “Don’t get me wrong, you’re still one of the weirdest people I have ever met, but.. in the right way, you know? I think you make sense to me.”

Sieun doesn’t know how to take that. Suho doesn’t mind. The gentle rushing of the waves presses into Sieun’s ears with ever staying certainty.

“Maybe that makes me weird too”, Suho says without any of the pain Sieun would. 

Sieun opens his mouth to protest Suho’s self-deprecation until the reality of Suho’s comforting smile sets in. He watches the reflection of the stars twinkle in Suho’s eyes and he thinks the boy has never been more beautiful. 

“Maybe I like you weird”, Sieun mumbles and Suho’s face splits open into a blinding grin. And oh, how Sieun burns with pride at being the cause. And oh, how his chest spills open with bright light shining through. 

“Good.” Suho’s eyes crease, his gaze full of contentedness. “Good, because I’m not going anywhere.”

Notes:

well guess who got his shit together enough to write another chapter for this fic :'P

tomorrow it'll be a year since i've published the first chapter of this. thank you all for sticking around <3

Chapter 11: 'Cause I was young I thought I didn't have to care about anything / But I am older now and know that I should

Summary:

It was inevitable. Things come to their end.

Chapter title from Funny You Should Ask by The Front Bottoms

Words aren’t needed when the sea whispers its lullabies to the pliant bodies on its shore. Words aren’t needed, when the arms of two lovers entangle. They might not know it yet, but it’s palpable. The glow of their affection. Proudly, the reeds sway. Knowing, the gulls cry. Unseeing, the lovers call each other friend.

It is a mild night, and Suho is infinitely grateful for it. Because Sieun’s shirt is stained with vomit still. By the time of the sunset, he’ll be made of goosebumps and seashells. Shakingly shimmering under the last wink of the moon. For now, he is warm. The heat of a body molded into submission. Suho is anxious just thinking about it. His palms are clammy. Between his fingers he feels grains of sand. Despite it all, the comfort of proximity washes over him like a late-summer-memory.

By Suho’s side, Sieun’s thoughts churn. The factory of his brain works non-stop at disentangling the electrical pulsings dashing through his nervous system. Youngyi’s words claw at the assembly lines. The air pressure shifts, a storm is on its way. Shivers shoot up Sieun’s spine. It’s the time for confessions. A cosmic rule.

“I might not be a man”, Sieun says. It sounds too loud, the night puts no damper to it. Fearful regret materialises as an insistent lump in his throat. He hopes the waves will drown him out.

They do not. Suho’s eyes clear from their fogged up exhaustion. Intently, he stares into the sea, finding his footing. Seconds pass.

“Muscles aren’t all that makes a man.” Suho’s tongue is cautious around his answer, his knuckles are like knife points on his fists, clutching at his boney knees. “Manhood isn’t an exclusive club you need a membership for.”

It’s something he’s given thought to before. How willing men are to deny others their masculinity. It’s not something he wants Sieun to worry about. But Sieun’s lips twitch humourlessly. As if that’s the thing he’s worried about.

“What if I don’t want to be one?” Sieun inquires, sounding bitter again. He doesn’t want to owe Suho an explanation. He doesn’t want to be an abstract concept, a recalculation. Preparing for rejection, his jaw steels.

But Suho’s face doesn’t fall. Earnestly, he considers the question.

“Like… you’d abstain from it?”

Despite himself, Sieun coughs a fucked up, roughed up laugh out of his waterlogged lungs. His voice is quietly amused. Barely above a whisper.

“Abstain? Right. Me, ever the ascetic.”

“Ascetic? What does that mean?”, Suho asks, but even through his confusion, his face splits open into a teethgratingly beautiful smile. Even without being in on it, he basks in Sieun’s moments of joy. He’d be the butt of the joke for all eternity if that meant he got to see Sieun laugh. It’s a terrifying thought.

Sieun goes quiet, heat pushes an undefeated path right up to his ears.

“It’s about religious abstinence”, he explains jerkily. “Not important.” Or all that funny.

Suho’s grin reaches his eyes and it’s unfair, the way they sparkle. He looks at Sieun as if there was something pleasant in his miserable expression.

“You’re so smart”, he praises, and that gets to Sieun too. The way Suho says it betrays too much affection. There is no long-harboured jealousy in him. There is no expectation of it in him. Only genuine appreciation. Sieun burns alive. His mouth is resolutely glued shut.

“If a smart m-” Suho pauses for a second, thinking. “If someone as smart as you-” He nods, proud of himself. “-wants to abstain from being a man, then I say go for it. You seem to know what you’re doing, anyway. Most of the time.”

It takes a moment for Sieun to process the words. It shouldn’t, at this point. Suho is too easy to get along with. Still, Sieun’s breath is bated until his eyes refocus on Suho’s kind expression. His insides uncoil, relief floods his system. The knot in his throat dissolves into understanding. When his spasming muscles calm, Suho will be there to hold him.

“While we’re doing the confession thing, uh...” Suho’s cheeks are pink. Not from shame, but from the thrumming, tensing happiness hunting through their arteries. “I don’t just like girls. Boys, too. Uhm. Anyone nice, really. Wanted to say that a long time ago.” He shrugs. “I don’t like secrets.”

Sieun closes his eyes. Breathes in for what feels like an eternity. His hands don’t shake anymore. Eagerly, Suho watches his peaceful face. As if to reward him, Sieun’s mouth twitches into a tiny, if decadent smile. He opens his eyes again.

“That’s fine.”

Suho laughs with a full heart and kind eyes. Really, he’s giddy with delight. He gets up restlessly, trying to shake out the leftover energy. As if he still can’t meet Sieun’s eyes, as if Sieun’s passable approval were something vibrant instead.

Being nudged into movement seems impossible to Sieun, the weight of all gravity haunts his bones. Like Sisyphos, Suho drags him upward anyway. Always eager to share the world with him. Quite unlike the boulder, Sieun allows himself to be pulled right with him. The effort it takes to defy Suho is the real sisyphean task here. There is sweet relief in being dragged along by someone you so deeply care for.

Now vertical again, Suho jumps across the sandy beach like a little kid. Shaking all tension out of his machine of a body. Sieun watches him, curious. His legs ache for movement, his heart for love he doesn't feel deserving of. His hand yearns to be held by Suho again. His mind craves being careless for one moment longer. But just watching will have to do for now.

Like a wind-up toy, Suho stumbles around on quick feet with a grin on his face. He runs around Sieun, grinding the world to a stop. Sieun misses him already. How can you even grieve somebody before they’re gone? If he could fuse a part of Suho into himself, take him anywhere, Sieun probably would. There is affection in him, and it’s poison. Love chokes him up as it bubbles up his throat.

Suho places a few, faked punches on Sieun’s arm, so gut-wrenchingly gentle Sieun wants to cry. The pain he can take. The pleasure, however? That is what kills him. That a boy who breaks bones touches him with reverence.

“We wanted to practice this, right? Fighting?” Suho circles Sieun with short, deliberate steps, keeping his fists up. “We have time now.”

The joy drains out of Sieun. Yes. Yes, he did say that, didn’t he? Cruel, cruel life has caught right up with him again.

 

***

 

Suho goes down, splatters on the beach. His arms rush back to catch his straining body as the sand that flies up freckles his face. Sieun stares from what feels like miles away. Suho gets back on his feet with certain exhilaration.

“That was good, see? Come on. Again.”

He enters Sieun’s personal space once more, too close, purposefully threatening. Building himself up in playful flexing because he knows Sieun doesn’t want to hurt him.

“I have a headache.”

“Come on, Sieun. Just a little. Learn how to push right. You saw how fast I got up!”

Suho mimics a punch, then dances around Sieun on light feet again. Like before. How he still has the energy Sieun doesn’t want to know.

When Sieun doesn’t react anyway, it takes a few seconds until Suho comes to a stop in front of him. Their eyes meet – tired reluctance and manic energy. Suho cocks his head to the side.

“Your hands. My shoulders. Try to push me head-on. You’re more likely to get me off balance that way. Yeah?”

Sieun is very close to simply walking away from this. Suho’s worry irks him, insecurity is a leech he cannot shake off yet.

“One more?”, Suho tries.

Sieun stares at Suho with his big doe eyes and Suho falters, shoulders dropping, posture going loose again. He seems almost disappointed, but tries not to let it show. His eyes drop from Sieun’s, as always incapable of fully meeting his eyes.

Sieun acts in an instant. His hands shoot up to push into Suho’s shoulders, catching him off guard in what was supposed to be a joking twist of Suho’s expectation. It works a little too well. Suho flies further this time. With no time to react, he falls backwards into the water

Sieun’s heart stands still, his limbs go limp, his body comes to a tense, trying halt. The sea will take Suho from him, the sea has struck again. Perfect, gentle shores hide death within their shallow, sandy bosoms. Water takes what was not given. Suho’ll live mere seconds now. Petrified of dark and darker fates, Sieun’s intestines prepare to haul his dinner up the chute, feed the seagulls panic dinner.

But Suho jumps out of the sea as if it were nothing, shaking the water out of his hair. The droplets land on Sieun’s vomit stained t-shirt. They’re cold. Freezing bullet wound holes into Sieun’s empty belly. Really, they’re lukewarm. Sieun’s simply burning up.

“I’m fine!”, Suho laughs. “It’s fine, come on!”

He stands in the waves like he owns them. Sieun can barely imagine how much of an insult that is. But Suho grins at him as if the water couldn’t hurt him. But Suho lives and breathes without the fear of being swallowed whole. He’s gorgeous too. His wet hair pokes into his eyes. A glistening piece of algae hangs off his shirt. There is dirt under his fingernails and his clothes are drenched. His face is wild and open, forever in love with the world. Sieun wants him painted, wants to stitch him into his soul.

There is a tear in Sieun’s paranoia. He doesn’t walk away like he should. And when Suho holds his hands out – when the moment’s fragile earnestness is at stake – Sieun doesn’t turn away.

For better or for worse, Sieun takes a step forward. He doesn't take Suho’s hand even though his palms feel cold, itching for contact. Even out here, in the night, Sieun cannot allow himself the indulgence.

Suho doesn’t need him to. Suho can see right through him. The love shines out of Sieun like a shooting star, sizzles bright and vibrant like a strike of lightning. Where there is staying there is trust, at least in Sieun’s case.

Suho drops his hands without disappointment. Suho smiles so stupidly wide, Sieun imagines that if he was a dog his tail would be wagging. Worse, there's that stupid twinkle in Suho’s eyes. The reflection of Sieun’s fiery emotions in his friend’s eyes of obsidian.

Fuck. He’s fucked. Utterly, royally fucked. Sieun’s heart is in his throat.

Suho bends to scoop a handful of water up in his calloused palms. Sieun observes him warily, calculates the danger it emits. Gently, Suho lets the water escape through his fingers, lets it drip down his arms into the sleeves of his jacket. It glistens in the moonlight. Suho waits until there is merely a shimmering wet sheen of moisture on his hands. Suho waits until the mark of the sea has fermented his perfection.

Suho steps forward, Suho’s hands find Sieun’s cheeks. To his surprise, Sieun finds no desire to recoil. Wet hands press into Sieun’s jaw and cheekbones. The fat, the skin, the muscle, bone. Wet hands take Sieun’s face with the gentlest of touches, and so the sea is absorbing into Sieun’s pores again. Claiming him.

Sieun wants to twitch away, to twist out of Suho’s careful grip. Before he can try, Suho plants a kiss on his forehead with playful certainty. It breaks down all of Sieun’s defences. His arms fall flat to his sides. Only barely he keeps his mouth from falling open in silent surprise.

It’s so unexpected, so unreal, so far off from anything Sieun has allowed himself to believe about their fragile, budding friendship that it throws him off-kilter as effectively as nothing else could.

“The sea doesn’t have to be dangerous”, Suho proclaims as if that’s the only thing this was about. His hands don’t leave Sieun’s cheeks, still dripping with water.

Sieun wants to feel betrayed. Sieun wants to ask who made Suho do this. Sieun wants nothing more than for it to be real.

Suho’s hands retract. Confident as ever, he smiles. Though… the confidence cracks ever so slightly. He’s a little coy, beneath it all. It’s something that feels impossible for Suho and still Sieun sees it clear as day in his expression. Maybe it’s all the staring that does it. Compelled to do anything, anything at all, Sieun’s fingers twitch, readying themselves to-

An odd click splits the silence. Suddenly, the shine of a flashlight reflects off each other's surprised expressions. For one second, Sieun’s heart stands still. The security of this place can’t be keen on teenagers loitering on the beach at night. Momentarily, realisation flits over Suho’s face. Then it lightens up with a cheeky grin.

“Run!”

And run they do, dashing off into the shadows. Sprinting, stumbling, darting along like arrows. Digging their fingers into each other's sweating palms. Pulling themselves forward, hanging on for dear life. The yelling behind them is incomprehensible through the blood rushing through their ears. Their heartbeats are deafening, echoing through their high-tuned bodies.

Sieun trips and Suho’s eyes nearly jump out of his skull. With just a bit of luck though, Sieun catches himself at the very last second. Gratefully, their hearts beat in tandem down the path of their destruction. Sieun’s lungs feel like they're tearing at the seams, his breathing is ragged.

Suho laughs through the strain in his legs, victoriously throws his arms into the air. He doesn’t run for his life, he runs for the love of the game. Lively and perfect his muscles work. Sieun’s escapist fantasies have never included running, but suddenly it’s an integral part of them all. Following Suho and the joy in his tendons with a trust that reaches down into the earth’s crust.

Sieun loves this boy. There is nothing he can do about it.

 

***

 

Sieun collapses into his bed and right when the mattress stops wiggling under the force of his jump a key is pushed into the door and gets turned. Rudely, the light switch gets flicked on and the room is bathed in blinding, blue-ish white. Hell must be exactly this colour.

He hears one of his roommates groggily wake up, the yawn pressing out of his throat managing to sound just on the brink of annoyed. Sieun’s heart beats fast and faster, blood pumping loudly through his trembling body. In his mind his perfect report cards, his perfect attendance, his perfect grades swirl around like delicate leaves in a ruthless tornado, and he knows that a single word can ruin his life.

He vaguely, roughly remembers his roommates' tired faces watching after his nightly stroll away from his insanity and he nearly feels the vomit roll up his throat again. He’s been nothing but strange. They have every right to turn on him. They have every right not to care.

“Hello, boys. Is everyone here?”, the voice of his teacher tries not to spit into the room. He is definitely sick, sounding nasally and tired. It’s a great combination for bubbling anger. He tries to remember at least one of their names off the top of his head, then gestures vaguely into the room. “Donghyeon, tell me.”

There’s a short pause in which Sieun believes his roommate must be counting, or processing or even still just waking up.

“Hmm.”, Donghyeon mumbles, and Sieun shakes with the disrespect of it. He usually wouldn't care. But it’s his future that's being gambled on, and it’s a terrifying thing to listen to. He doesn’t want to lose his life torturously slowly. He doesn't want to lose it at all. But it’s worse in languid, lazy dismissal.

“Hmm..”, Donghyeon repeats thoughtfully, sleepily. If Sieun weren’t so terrified all of the time he would almost pity him for how often he was ripped out of sleep tonight. “...Yejun sleeps here, Suho’s up there and, uh.. Si- Sieun? Sieun’s over there.”

If Sieun didn’t have his eyes pressed close he could’ve seen Donghyeon blink slowly at their teacher.

“And, uh. I’m here. Makes four. All accounted for.”

Their teacher sighs under his breath. He’s not sure he believes them.

“Security called. At least two students were found outside.” He moves a little further into the room. “I just need to see everybody’s faces real quick.”

There's the sound of movement and a grumble from Yejun. A rustle of clothes and an “I’m here” from Suho. His voice is clear of sleep and his hair is wet. His jacket must be hidden under the blanket. The excuse of washing his hair this late is flimsy, but their teacher doesn’t linger.

Sieun is sure of one thing. He doesn’t want to be turned. Sieun doesn’t want to face the wrath that will lightning strike his future to dust. He can already feel the disappointment of his father prick needles into his skin.

“Sieun”, his teacher says, already suspicious.

Sieun doesn’t move. He feels frozen. No, he is frozen. His limbs don’t do what he asks them to. The least his muscles could do is spasm as if electrocuted – but at Sieun’s will they will not move. Tense and taut they pull together.

“Sieun, come on. I don’t have all the time in the world.”

Time stands still where Sieun lays, only sound gets through to him. He feels faint. He looks like he’s been outside. Because he has been. Because there’s sand crusted in his shirt and because he can’t behind the bunkbed railing like Suho can. The latter can’t come to Sieun’s rescue because then he will be found, hiding up there, trying not to rustle with the jacket under his blanket.

“He felt a little sick earlier.” Suho tries to save him anyway. “He’s probably conked out. Like, his body is healing or something.”

“Doesn’t matter”, the teacher grumbles. “I need to see his face anyway.”

Sieun doesn’t think that’s true. Doesn’t want it to be. Sieun cannot physically complain.

“Last warning, Sieun.”

If Sieun could sink into the floor he would. Shame burns in his veins and it embarrasses him, even now, how reliant he is on doing well, and not being a disappointment. The footsteps toward him are terrifying, turning him into prey. His teacher yanks at his shoulder to turn him around and Sieun’s eyes flutter open in nauseous shock. For good measure, Sieun blinks twice, but knowing himself, it looks robotic. He’s a fake, a clone. A shell of a person. Being human has never come easy to him.

His teacher looks him up and down and Sieun keeps his mouth shut. Eyes red, face pale. His eyebags are blue like the sea.

“Sieun, do you have to tell me something?”

Sieun stares and trembles and cannot move voluntarily. His guts are flipflopping around, writhing worms in his intestines. His blanket slides off his shaking shoulders and Sieun wants to cry. It’s obvious he’s been outside, his teacher will punish him, his perfect grades will be-

“Ugh!”, the man scoffs with genuine disgust, an involuntary reaction, “What’s that on your shirt!?”

Dirt, sand, water, tears-

“Oh”, Donghyeon interjects, loud enough to bring the attention back to himself. Risky. “He threw up earlier, it was this whole thing. I thought he changed his shirt.”

Sieun shakes, his eyes widen for no one but himself. Why would Donghyeon come to his rescue?

“Oh God…” His teacher can barely keep his voice down, exhaustion finally bubbling over the edge of his composure.

“Suho did say Sieun felt sick”, Yejun affirms from his place on the bunkbed and Sieun feels momentarily dizzy. Yejun is twisting Suho’s half lie to make sense. Yejun is tying their faking together with a neat bow of truth and it is unprovoked, completely unasked for.

Sieun stares with sickly strange eyes into the concern of his teacher as if he was going into battle. A few seconds his teacher considers him. Sometimes a gaze can win a fight.

“Alright, okay. One of you, help him clean up for God’s sake. Are you okay otherwise Sieun? Any pain?”

“....I’m fine”, Sieun presses out of his mouth as if there was something blocking words from tumbling out. The lie comes easy to him, of course. It’s all he ever says.

“Right.”, his teacher responds, tense. It’s obvious he’s not looking forward to continuing the search. “Okay. First, Sieun gets cleaned up, second; everyone goes back to bed. I’ll check up on you guys after I’ve checked the rest of the rooms.”

Sieun doubts it. Sieun’s mind races. Sieun can’t even fathom the luck that is shielding him from a fall down an infinitely tall cliff. He stares until the discomfort of his teacher is tangible, coating his tongue. He backs out of the room – weirded out and exhausted. The silence that engulfs them feels a lot like the calm before a storm.

“Thanks guys”, Suho says simply, easy-going happiness coming easy to him. That he’s smiling like a fool Sieun can hear out of his voice. Sometimes there has to be no storm.

“Thank you”, Sieun mumbles, hoping that Yejun and Donghyeon can hear him. He itches to ask why. He burns to know what could have possibly meant their protection.

Suho climbs down the stairs of the bunkbed to put his jacket away and to wring out some water out of his sopping wet pant legs.

“You didn’t rat us out for the cigarettes”, Donghyeon explains without being prompted, shrugging non-comitally. “An eye for an eye- Or, no, that was the wrong one... One hand washes the other. Yeah. That. We’re cool?”

He smiles hesitantly, seeming content with himself. For remembering the idiom or for having someone’s back? Sieun decides it doesn’t really matter.

“Of course.” Suho grins and salutes with a lenient disinterest in military drill, a loose move of the hand.

Sieun is so pumped full of adrenaline and fear turned relief that he just lets himself be ushered into the bathroom by Suho. That the boy grabbed a spare shirt from his part of the closet, Sieun only notices once the bathroom door is locked behind them.

“Gimme your shirt, I’ll wash the vomit out”, Suho says, holding out his hand.

Sieun stares at him incredulously. Suho stares right back. There’s another offer in his eyes and it makes Sieun shake. Why is it always here? Why is it always this bathroom? Why is it always when Sieun is at his most vulnerable?

But don’t you want him?

Sieun’s nostrils flare.

Why are you so afraid of love?

Forcefully, like ripping the bandage off, Sieun yanks his shirt over his head. Showing off the bruised expanse of his torso. Try me, motherfucker.

Oh, but Suho wants to try him, alright. Being seen, it is vomit-inducing. Sieun lifts his chin, and steels his jaw. Suho’s eyes soften despite it all. Sieun is very very decidedly not going to cry.

 

***

 

Reliably as ever, morning comes. Their roommates leave for breakfast. Sieun lives in Suho’s shirt. It smells like him. Like shitty body spray and restaurant grease. It doesn’t even matter. This is what Sieun wants. Something tangible. Something that won’t be taken from him. Someone who won’t look down on him.

When Youngyi and Beomseok burst in, Sieun doesn’t even have it in him to be surprised. They bring stolen food and questions, wiggled eyebrows and unending compassion. It feels as though Sieun has known them for years.

At one point, Youngyi starts scrutinizing Sieun with intent eyes.

“You need a haircut”, she decides.

Trusting Youngyi with a pair of scissors is a bit like jumping down a ledge without checking the impact area first. She plays the role a little too well, making exaggerated small talk and swooping her hair around. Beomseok giggles in the corner while Suho watches with a grin. He’s the only one who can see the silent curiosity in Sieun’s expression. He’s the only one to know him this well.

Minutes later, Sieun sees a nicer person in the mirror. Youngyi has cut layers into his hair, a modern cut that feminizes his face in a way that makes his heart flutter. When Suho sees the sparkle in Sieun’s eyes, his smile is so wide it splits his face apart.

“You’re happy”, he whispers, breathless.

Silently delighted, Sieun finds he has to agree.

Wonderfully delinquent, they convince their teachers that Sieun is still sick and needs Suho to stay and care for him. It’s the easiest way to avoid today’s activities, allowing them a bit of rest. Beomseok and Youngyi stick around just because, playing cards for money. Beomseok forks off half a fortune to an obviously cheating Youngyi. He would never ever call her out on it though, merely grins to himself in quiet delight.

All the while, Sieun looks over his english vocab sheet. Just in case. Suho naps on the lower bunk as Sieun revises and perhaps that makes it a little hard to concentrate. Yeah, it’s not the overly serious card game that does it. It’s Suho in Sieun’s bed. The shitty, bending mattress. Linen sheets damp with sea water, speckled with grains of sand. But it’s Sieun’s alright. The sight makes his heart flutter, only a little.

When the evening comes they are dragged to the beach by a disgruntled teacher. A beach clean up is in order. Sieun won’t disagree. It looks pretty gnarly out there. His sickness excuse surprisingly binds him to lesser duties though.

While Sieun was diligently studying and playing sick, the rest of the students learned how to make fires safely. Now a pridefully crackling campfire adorns the beach. Sieun's tasked to watch the flames die out. To him, it looks like they're breathing. Some frantic, desperate, in need for air. Others slow and soft, accepting their death.

The closer he gets, the closer his hands venture in search of warmth, the more he feels an all consuming wall of heat. There are only a few orange tongues licking their lips now, begging for freedom, for destruction, and still they are blazing, unyielding, turning Sieun's cheeks a pretty pink.

They flicker like shadows in the forest, they dance in the ashes, they turn grey and then to dust.

Distantly, Sieun hears the sounds of friends joking around as they clean up the remnants of a party. Memories of songs and movement, and yelling along. The sound is distant, unlike the wish to participate. It's the yearning for community, to blend in with the masses with an effortlessness Sieun simply does not possess. But as he looks up he finds Suho’s gaze – Beomseok and Youngyi tailing after him. He has that now, he has his handful of people. It’s a weird feeling.

A little bored, he experiments with the heat, pushing his hand closer. An old burn of his flares up with a sharper ache than the rest of his skin the closer it gets to the sweltering core of the fire. It feels like the heat focuses directly on the burn, looking to end what it started. A singularity of pain.

The wind turns and the smell of ashes and smoke rise in Sieun's nostrils. He knows he'll smell like it tomorrow. A distracting thought.

Even though Suho stays as near as he can to Sieun, eventually there is no more trash left to pick around the fire. He’s off to the shore, picking hot pink aluminium cans from brown-green reeds, twitching in the wind. It doesn’t take long for Yeongbin to appear at Sieun’s horizon. Always lurking, always burning to pick a fight. At least he’s without his friends this time, there are too many teachers around.

Sieun stares at him through the fire, his eyes are red with it. He hopes there's something ruthless in them. Something that holds onto life with sharper teeth than Yeongbin remembers. Silently, the boy retreats. With an awful feeling in his gut, Sieun knows that this is not the end of it. His gaze snaps back into the fire. Watching embers flicker to ash. Watching this lively thing blink out of existence.

Emptily, Sieun blows some air into the coals. Red, hot life springs up for just a second, almost like a surprised gasp is rolling through the fire.

Live, Sieun wants to tell it. Live for the coals and live for the ember. Carpe diem. Take your chance.

He doesn’t, in the end. Because it’s only a fire. Because it reminds him of no one at all. He returns to his duty; a silent guard watching the fire’s weary flicker with useless compassion in his eyes.

 

***

 

Things have settled into a rhythm, Sieun has apologized. It scares him, knowing how deep Suho’s eyes run. Sieun feels he sees too much. He needs a moment without it all. A moment to let it all absorb into his brittle heart. Too long has he gone without the feeling of love. Like a tidal wave, it is exciting and scary and drowning him all at once now.

After checking that Suho is sleeping peacefully in his bunk, Sieun leaves the room. It’s a bit like the world has come to a halt. With Suho safe and sound, Sieun can spare some of his brain power for calmer thoughts. The breeze presses its gentle fingertips on Sieun’s face, petting his hair and playfully twirling a strand of it around. The wind understands him. His footprints leave traces of his fateless existence. Cautious satisfaction blooms in Sieun’s intestines, growing its branches up his throat.

From flickering street lamps to shadowy trees, Sieun walks between the stalks of giants. There is relief in realising the world doesn't revolve around you. Crickets play their song, the ocean rushes in the distance. Trunks of trees older than his father are rotting on the side of the path.

Of course, the peace doesn't last forever. A few minutes into the forest and Sieun realises something is wrong. The breeze rustles bushes no longer, they seem to do it all by themselves. He knows he's being watched. He hears the shuffling in the trees.

Yeongbin’s appearance at the fire digs itself into Sieun’s brain. Some things you cannot avoid forever. Goosebumps litter sickly skin. Sieun is a machine that cannot be set out of motion. He aims for the shore. It’s the final act, he supposes. Showdown.

The moon is bright on a night like this. Spotlighting the horror of it all. Giving little chance to hide. The sand parts easily for Sieun's tired feet. Exhaustion is an ancient friend of his. His muscles warn him: there is only so much he can take before his volition is worn entirely thin.

“Is that a beached whale back there?”, someone familiar taunts. Sieun knows Yeongbin’s voice too well by now. It circles around him in his nightmares. “Hey boys, we oughta push that freak back into where it came from!”

Feigning disinterest, Sieun stares out onto the sea. Watches the water rock buoys to sleep. Sieun doesn’t feel the need to warn that he has washed off some of his fear of the sea already. Sieun doesn't feel the need to acknowledge the torments of a boy who hasn’t learned how to weave anything but cruelty into humanity’s strings of fate.

“Real pretty” Yeongbin hollers as he steps out of the trees. “You cut that hair yourself?”

The fact that the answer is no surprises Sieun even more than it would Yeongbin. The precision in Youngyi’s attention to each strand of his hair is fresh in Sieun’s mind. The awe on Suho’s face. They matter to him now. He didn’t think he could ever shed his indifference and yet…

But that’s a thought for quiet moments. Not this. The hair on Sieun’s neck stands up, his body is an animal’s again. Out of the corner of his eye, he scans the shadows tailing Yeongbin. Jeongchan and Taehoon, the vultures. Not even really smiling anymore. They look up to Yeongbin, watch his face like starving dogs, begging for scraps. Evading the brunt impact of the hand that feeds and punishes alike. Is this even life? Is this only writhing in mud? Their faces are tired, their throats full of bile. Fed up with the world. They will be evil if given the chance. Sieun heaves a heavy breath. His eyes are narrowed in anticipation.

“We’ll show you what we do with uncooperative bastards alright. Rip your damn hair out.”

Shallow promises. But Yeongbin doesn’t play fair. They approach Sieun together. Three of the vilest creatures on earth. The sand sinks under their feet too. Slows down Sieun’s impending doom. It’s all so terribly useless.

“You saw me, didn’t you?”, Yeongbin asks, all snake eyes and pridefully slicked back hair. Self-obsessed bastard. “You knew we would come. Why you run out of hiding I will never understand. You get off on having your ass beat?”

Sieun could ask Yeongbin the very same thing. He cocks his head to the side.

“You know I will fight. Why do you keep coming back for it?”

“Hah! So he does speak!”, Yeongbin hollers. A lame line. Sieun has heard it a million times already.

“That’s not an answer.”

Yeongbin’s unwavering grin asks for a swift end, but Sieun is still too far away to deliver it. Cautiously, he picks at his fingers, trying to concentrate. Jeongchan’s a weak point, he could- He is snapped out of his musing by a ray of light glinting through the trees, a sudden distraction.

“Sieun?”, somebody whisper-yells from the same direction. It kicks Sieun’s body into second gear. Too many people are looking for him tonight. He misses the time he was invisible.

Yeongbin jerks at the sound, recalibrating, but doesn’t take his gaze off Sieun. His eyes narrow, but the slimy grin on his face is self-assured still.

“You’re not behaving right, Sieun. Always looking for the special treatment.” Yeongbin must feel invincible. “Don’t worry, we’ll correct it ourselves.”

He gives a sign with his fingers. It doesn’t feel flashy enough for a person as intense as him. Taehoon is the first to charge. It is as it was. Some things never change. The world moves through Sieun like a gust of cold wind. He manages to evade the brunt of Taehoon, turning on his heel. Taking a stance, turning sideways. Doing what Suho taught him.

Taehoon snarls. Sieun is so, so tired of being afraid.

“Sieun!?” The voice has grown louder. It sounds too much like home.

“There!” Another joins in.

Sieun spares them no attention. Taehoon takes confident strides around him like he owns the world. He must know he's only pretending. He must know he's only Yeongbin’s lapdog.

He takes a swing at Sieun, but Sieun sees it coming and ducks right away. Uncaring, Taehoon winds up another swing. Taking the chance, Sieun grabs a handful of sand and throws it in Taehoon’s eyes. With a yelp, he staggers backwards, rubbing at the needle pricks that tear his vision to shreds.

Behind his shadowy silhouette, several figures emerge from the trees. The light from their flashlights flinches like an animal, flickering over the beach. For merely a second it meets Sieun’s eyes, but it’s enough to rob his vision all the same. Sightless and scared, he stands there. A deer in headlights. Sieun feels his blood run cold. He hears it coming- but from where?

“Sieun!”

The warning only serves to distract him more. The world comes crashing down on Sieun, the sand is coarse against his skin. The weight of Taehoon feels like it has tenfolded, like a freight train pushing the air right out of Sieun's lungs, crushing him into the ground. Splattering his body on the beach.

There is nothing he can utter apart from a breathless expulsion of air as he crashes, as Taehoon follows suit. His eyes flutter shut painfully. It tears at his resolve, his arms can’t lift a body as broad as Taehoon’s from the ground. He is an insect pinned to a board.

The shuffling of feet is distant in Sieun’s ears. The body on top of him writhes around painfully, digging its elbow into Sieun’s throat. Sieun groans against the spike of adrenaline, against the grind of bones into his own. It fucking hurts, he knows there’ll be bruises. He's had worse, of course, but it all matters so little now. All he ever does is ache. His mind is a festering wound. Perhaps he’s been bested after all.

Footsteps, footsteps, ever closer. Utter certainty. Someone lifts Taehoon off of Sieun, lets him breathe again. Not someone, no. Sieun forces his sandcrusted eyes to open. Of course it’s Suho. His grip is tight on Taehoon’s hair, dragging him away like an unruly sack of rice. Doesn’t hit him, doesn’t fight. Simply removes him from the scene. Sieun doesn’t have it in himself to be mad about the intervention. His ribs burn as if they had snapped inside his aching body. His breaths come in short and wheezing.

Suho finds his eyes. Uncertainty paints them in sorrow. Sieun hates the look of it. It doesn't belong on Suho’s face. He averts his gaze, trying to fit the puzzle pieces together. The figures in the forest? Youngyi and Beomseok stand off to the side, Youngyi enthusiastically, Beomseok not so much. But both are stanced up to win the fight. Ready and willing to make this war. Suho called them up to search for Sieun? Sieun burns.

There is another silhouette there, keeping back. Sieun squints, but can’t make them out.

“We meet again. You fucking clowns still don’t have anything better to do?”, Youngyi takes the chance to ask, pointing her chin at the three vultures, scattered on the beach like overturned chess pieces.

Sieun cannot keep his attention on them for long. Suho has earned his eyes like a tribute. Subconsciously he grips Taehoon’s hair harder and the latter twitches. The curve of his mouth is violently angry.

“This is between Yeongbin and Sieun”, Suho announces with an even voice, trying to redeem himself. “Let's make this a fairer fight.”

Something in Yeongbin’s face has fallen. It is gratifying to see. Maybe he questions the strength of the chains that he keeps on his dogs. Maybe he really is too vain to get his hands dirty. The one time he tried, Sieun was alone and out of his mind. Shitfaced, an easy target. This looks different. Violent, sober clarity. Sieun doesn't need alcohol to want to rip Yeongbin’s tendons out. He heaves himself off of the ground. Taking his position.

“Let me fucking go!”, Taehoon snarls at Suho, his big hands fight clumsily with Suho's iron grip. The latter wrangles Taehoon's body into submission easily – wrapping his arms around him, holding him still. The boy’s shoulder joints are nearly popping, he grunts in pain.

Yeongbin watches carefully, schooling his expression into something uncaring again. A meagre sacrifice to keep the power in his stance. A rotten king. If Sieun were to cut him open, he would find maggots feasting on his flesh already.

“Your dog is barking”, Youngyi says glibly. “Won't you tell it to shut its trap?”

Her voice is perfectly taunting, but look closely and you’ll see the disgust in her eyes. She has met too many men like him. Desperately, Yeongbin pretends not to hear her, watching straight-backed as Taehoon loses his faith in him. Eyebrows furrowed, shoulders bowing under the strength of Suho’s hands.

Jeongchan turns his head to throw a pointed grimace in Youngyi’s direction. A petty defense. Yeongbin does not care about them, he must know. That was true from the beginning. Will the threats work on him forever?

“Women…”, he mutters as he turns back. Yeongbin’s perfect tin soldier. That his friend is kneeling for another is something he can apparently ignore.

Youngyi’s eyes narrow. The second Jeongchan’s back faces her again, she clubs her flashlight over his head. He falls with a grunt, knees buckling. Quickly, deftly, Youngyi wrangles him into a headlock. It's trickier than she’d anticipated, but with spite and righteous wrath she gets it done. This time, it’s too close to ignore. Yeongbin jerks forward, almost in a motion to help, but Beomseok hurls himself in the way with no hesitation. His own flashlight glints in the moonlight, a willing weapon in his hands. Don’t you dare, his expression screams.

Yeongbin stops dead in his tracks and steels his jaw. His hands are empty. He is surrounded.

“Yeongbin! Yeongbin, I-”, Jeongchan begs, trying and failing to writhe around Youngyi’s grip. Her eyebrows are creased in concentration. Inexperienced, she adjusts her grip until Jeongchan sputters breathlessly, coughing into the sand.

“You have your chance”, Suho announces. Leaving Sieun the moment to prove himself. Leaving Yeongbin to prepare. “We just had to even out the playing field”

“Yeongbin! She’s hurting me!”, Jeongchan interjects with a terrified shriek. It sounds like it’s the first time he has ever experienced pain. Sieun spits the dirt in his mouth onto the ground. What would the victims of their reign of terror think about that?

“Shut the fuck up!”, Yeongbin snaps, eyes wide like a cornered animal. His panic ruins him, he is looking down a cliff of softening power, of growing weakness. To him, losing his status is akin to an assassination attempt. Taehoon jerks back as far as he can with Suho’s arms around him. Yeongbin’s rage is blind, biting. Barely, he reels it back in. His words are scalding.

“I’ll get witnesses for the mess at the party. You know my connections, you know my father. They’ll admit to what I ask them to. Your roommates too. They’ll sacrifice your fucking asses to save their own.”

Sieun feels the fear boil in his gut. He can picture the face of his father already. Disbelieving. But Suho grins like he expected this.

“One hand washes the other, I know.”

A movement in the shadows. The fourth figure from the trees? Anticipation sizzles through the dogs and through Sieun. Only Yeongbin proudly lifts his chin. Sieun’s jaw nearly drops. Out of all people, Donghyeon enters the scene. Carrying a flashlight and a severe look on his face. Smartly, he’s stayed put for now. Not risking his own skin. He is right to be cautious. But now?

“Our roommates will stick to us ‘cause we will stick to them.” Suho’s eyes are blazing. Loyal as ever. He loves this feeling.

Yeongbin’s expression flashes with bitter determination.

“You want to go to college, right?”, he addresses Donghyeon. “You’re not like Suho, sweeping the floors for a lifetime. You still have a chance, you know?” He smiles with too many teeth. Silently threatening. “But pick their side and you’ll join them in every. single. aspect. After I’m done with you you’ll be nothing.”

Donghyeon’s eyes flit from Yeongbin to Jeongchan to Taehoon. Dogs kneeling at their master's feet. They are nothing to him. Threats are all he has. Connections he has flexed for too many years. Yeongbin’s promises mean nothing. He will kick you when you’re down just the same.

Donghyeon steps fully out of the shadows. A bold move. He has made his decision.

“Really? Suho, Sieun and me have been in our room all night though. We’re sleeping right now, even. We hadn’t even heard of the party.” He smiles ever so slightly. “I’m a roach to you too, Yeongbin. You don’t have to try anymore.”

Something insistent flares up in Sieun. Mutual respect. Strength in numbers in ways Yeongbin didn't think was possible. Screwing with his calculations is one of the best feelings in the world. Yeongbin hates it, of course. Sieun’s satisfaction is something he cannot ever allow. It grinds him to dust, it tenses his fists. It looks like he is shaking.

With a scream of utter madness, Yeongbin charges up again. Sieun jerks his body into a defensive stance. When everything’s said and done, Yeongbin’s last resort is mindless aggression. Figures. Sieun’s teeth press down on each other, his muscles are ready.

Sober and certain, Sieun works his body like a machine. It winds away easily from Yeongbin’s searching hands. Another swing from Yeongbin which Sieun semi-expertly blocks. Arm against arm, they wrestle for the crown. Sieun’s fingernails are deep in Yeongbin’s flesh. Yeongbin kicks Sieun’s shin into submission. The blooming pain filters through Sieun’s vision. He’s dizzy with the punches. One after the other, they trade each other injuries. Safe in the knowledge that it’s just them in the world. Alone save for their nemesis.

As their breathing grows ragged, their movements grow rash. Sieun is quicker on his feet than ever. Adrenaline has him by the throat. Turning and turning until he has Yeongbin where he wants him. The sea is shimmying pretty behind him. Yeongbin smirks.

“You want a repeat performance?”

Sieun cocks his head.

“Sure.”

Yeongbin's legs bury deep in the ground, he is so sure of himself. But when he charges, sand isn’t all he has to fight against. A perfectly placed piece of driftwood welcomes his foot like Sieun had hoped. Yeongbin gets stuck, falters in his movement. Sieun reaches down again. Too distracted with getting himself untangled, Yeongbin cannot save himself from a handful of sand piercing into his eyes. Sieun fucking loves this trick. Blinded and stumbling, Yeongbin curses for help.

We are alone, remember? Yeongbin’s stance is unguarded, facing Sieun head-on. All Sieun has to do is recall Suho’s lessons. Hands firm as steel, Sieun crashes into Yeongbin. Offering him up to the sea. Oh, and it takes.

Seafoam spritzes up gloriously as Yeongbin gets buried under shallow waves. Not soon after he emerges, still trying to rub the sand out of his eyes. Panting. When he can finally see again, Sieun stands before him. The waves are lapping at his feet like obedient puppies. Yeongbin’s face falls.

Sieun’s boot crushes his sternum as he kicks him back under the waves. Again, he emerges. Again, Sieun follows. Hands on his shoulders, holding him down. Watching the bubbles of air from his soundless scream.

Tears prickle in Sieun’s eyes at the memory of his own drowning. He lets Yeongbin come up for air. The latter sputters, his gaze is wild and his skin pale, like all of his blood has rushed out of it. He cannot accept his loss. Sieun doesn’t care.

“Never bother me again”, he says firmly.

Yeongbin’s expression is incredulous. Sieun does not feel he has to elaborate.

He leaves Yeongbin breathless, gasping as the waves crash into the back of his head. As Sieun wades to the shore, he finally remembers there are other people here with him. Excited, Youngyi waves at him, jostling Jeongchan in her grip. Beomseok grins from ear to ear. Even Donghyeon holds a thumbs-up to show his approval.

And Suho?

Suho’s throat is tight. This fight didn’t even matter to him. Because Sieun never had to prove himself for Suho. But to see the satisfaction in Sieun’s usually so vacant face? To see him smile as he returns to his real, actual friends? To watch him bloom, concluding this terror? He’s beautiful. His new hair flies in the wind. His clammy hands, the fire in his eyes. Loving him is the easiest thing in Suho’s dragging life.

Defeated, Suho is overcome with the urge to hold him. Quietly, he eases his grip on Taehoon, pushes him away. There is nothing for him left to do.

“Get him!”, Yeongbin demands immediately. His voice is rough from the coughing. The water has washed all the expensive gels out of his hair.

But Taehoon simply stands and dusts off his knees. Spares him no attention. He only rolls his shoulder to dissipate the lingering pain before finally beginning to trek back to his room.

“What the fuck are you doing?!”, Yeongbin yells.

“Going back.” Taehoon sounds bored. “I’m done with you. Tell your father what you want.”

Silently, Youngyi follows Suho’s example, releasing Jeongchan to his own whims. The boy springs up and dashes right back to Yeongbin’s side, eagerly hauling him up from the ground. Disgusted, Yeongbin pushes his hands off of him. Sieun gets the feeling some people will always be dogs.

“This is not the last you’ve heard of me”, Yeongbin promises. The words are empty like himself.

The vulture and his dog. They limp away, a sorry sight. The silence they leave hangs like a heavy, wet blanket over the world. Their footprints turn to mud. Sieun’s ragged breathing is the heartbeat of the night. An owl hoots in the distance.

“We should get back”, Donghyeon mutters. “Before they call the teachers on us.”

But Sieun barely hears him. He only has eyes for Suho, staring at the hunched frame of his best friend. Suho is the first person to have ever truly listened to Sieun. Suho is the first person who really tried to understand him. What started as shallow intrigue has morphed into an animal beyond Sieun’s capacities. It wreaks havoc in his chest.

“Shall we?”, Suho asks. His expression is tinged with kindness. He holds out his hand. An invitation not to linger.

Relieved in ways Sieun cannot articulate he takes it. Their hands slot together like cracks in the pavement, like a riverbed and the lake it bleeds into. Like it’s meant to be. Clammy, they both are. Nervous. It’s never been more okay. Sieun’s heart beats faster and faster as the animal inside chases his blood.

When Donghyeon starts trotting back to their rooms, he sets the rest of them into motion. Youngyi and Beomseok bump into each other’s shoulders in rhythmic sympathy as they walk. A relieved acknowledgement of the other's presence. Suho’s hand is warm in Sieun’s still.

The forest is a little less dark with friends to share the way. Soon, they pass it. Hallways painted years ago greet them, the staircase Sieun remembers uncomfortably well. Donghyeon gives a curt nod to them all. Grateful for his support, they nod back. He goes swiftly to bed. For the rest of them, the goodbye is difficult. Tomorrow feels like an eternity away. A nervous, bubbling energy wafts all around them.

“You fucked him up good”, Youngyi decides. Her voice is firm, her eyes sparkle. She’s proud of him. Sieun, for once, knows what he’s done to deserve it.

“It was really cool”, Beomseok agrees, tugging at the sleeves of his cardigan. “I hope he leaves you alone now.”

“He will”, Suho says. His eyes are a universe of emotion. “And if he won’t, we know who to call.”

“I’m sure he got the message.” Youngyi cracks a smile. “But you better call us anyway.”

“Of course”, Sieun pipes up. There is nothing he is more certain of than this.

Having this, having them, is overwhelming to a kid like him. For years he was lonely. But these are his friends. Within days they’ve seen him at his lowest and at his best, juggling fate as best as he could. And yet they are still here. Picking up after his mistakes. Knowing he will do the same for them. He’d like to keep them around. And he will.

Companionable silence falls on them. Youngyi shuffles on her feet.

“You better go and get your alibi.” Her face is soft, even in the harsh light of the hallway lamp. Kindness Sieun’s been missing all his life.

“Yeah.” Suho scratches his neck. “We better do that.”

No one makes a move. Until, after a moment of uncertainty, Beomseok’s arms twitch open, a wary invitation.

Oh, but how they were all waiting for it. They crush into each other in a hug they’ve been needing for years. Noses press into shoulders and arms try to impossibly reach around every single one of their bodies. It is a clumsy affair, full of love and relief. Part way through it, they lose their balance, falling into the wall. They giggle giddily. Sieun has tears in his eyes.

Everything has to come to an end. The door closes behind Suho and Sieun. Donghyeon is sleeping already. Quickly the weight of exhaustion makes itself known to Sieun and Suho too. Too long has Sieun gone on without pause. Still, he lingers. Never wants to part with Suho. There is a bit of magic in the air. But when the seconds turn awkward, Sieun strips down to his shirt and his boxers. Adequate pyjamas, as far as he’s concerned. Suho does the same.

It’s too difficult to keep on standing. When Sieun falls into bed his bones dissolve to nothing. He forces open his exhausted eyes. Suho is staring at him again. Curious. Always looking out for him. Scared he’ll turn away once and Sieun will disappear again. The latter knows the feeling.

The night is ancient, his inhibitions are low. Sieun is too tired to hide any longer. He knows what he wants. Slowly, he lifts up his blanket. Pats on a spot of mattress beside him. He’s given up on the thought of being caught tonight. Yeongbin is finished. For today. Maybe longer.

Suho steps closer.

“You sure?”

“I’m offering.” Sieun cocks his head. “It is your choice whether you take me up on it or not.”

Suho inhabits the space Sieun has carved out for him. In his life, in his heart. They rearrange limbs until they fit on the mattress, entangled in one another, tired yet buzzing with energy. Warm bodies. The weight of Suho against Sieun is pleasant. His presence means comfort, his breathing means peace.

In the silence, their urges are as loud as a jet engine. Suho places a single, cautious kiss on Sieun’s forehead. Sieun knows what Suho wants too. The thought isn’t as daunting as it used to be.

Slowly, tired, Sieun angles Suho’s head, his fingers pressing gently into his jaw. Suho’s breath hitches.

“Sieun-”

He cuts himself off. His eyes are wide. Sieun revels in it. Having Suho caught off guard for a change.

He lets the seconds pass to really feel it. Suho’s breathlessly waiting for his lead. It’s addictive.

“You love me”, Sieun decides. He’s known for a while now, if he’s honest. He’s just never understood why before. But now he is growing into a person worth loving. It is wonderfully exciting, it prickles up his spine.

Suho swallows. Unsure of where to go from here. The moment feels fragile. A soap bubble on its steady descent. Iridescent. Beautiful. Worth it, even with its imminent destruction.

“Yeah”, he whispers. “Yes, I do.”

Sieun feels warm. A gentle feeling is nudged between his lungs and rib cage, shimmering gold. Suho’s eyes reflect the moon outside the window. He looks at Sieun as if he’d steal it out of the sky for him.

“Good.”

Sieun presses a kiss on Suho’s lips. Wonderfully soft. It feels appropriate, the seal of these words.

“I love you too.”

Suho's eyes widen to finality. He breathes a giddy lungful of air. Sends a kiss right after, overeager. Sieun laughs. He really laughs, a stupid giggle born from sleep deprivation and the confident dismantling of the walls he has built up over the years.

There is a place for him in this world. It is a good feeling. He knows who to lean on when things get rough. He knows he can lean on someone at all. He isn’t a king or a pawn, he is a person with a story and a mind of his own. With Suho – with Youngyi and with Beomseok – he isn’t lonely anymore either.

It feels good to admit he is kinder now. To himself and to others. Change is a curious thing. Change is the sun coming out after the spring rain. Sieun doesn’t fear it as much as he used to.

Here, within the arms of the boy that he loves, Sieun can finally say that he’s happy.

Notes:

Hi there. It's been a while, but I did it. We come to our end.

For a while I thought I'd never pick this fic up again, but ultimately I am glad I did. For a long time i considered its ending (over a year and a half, evidently!). I even considered Sieun killing Yeongbin. It would've made for an interesting story certainly lol

In many ways, this story is my journey into adulthood. It's a little weird to share that with so many people, but I would lie if I said it wasn't just a little cool as well. I didn’t think I’d ever reach so many people with a story I started in high school out of desperation to get my emotions out.

What I'm really trying to say is: This story holds meaning for me, messy and uncoordinated as it is. Your support is astonishing. Thank you for every Kudos and every comment. It meant (&means) a lot. <3

(P.S. I did leave some minor plot threads open. Please forgive me, it’s been years. Feel free to ask about them, I might even remember where I wanted to go with them haha)