Chapter Text
Yeon Sieun has been tapping his foot in a specifically rhythmic manner for the past 15 minutes.
No, no, don’t get this wrong.
He’s not nervous, or scared, or anxious, or any synonyms. Not at all.
The emotion that probably stands out the most amongst all the others is pure, venom laced annoyance paired with a lovely side of restlessness.
The airpods on noise cancelling mode in his ears could only do so much to make the experience of standing in the -12 freezing temperature bearable. Sieun is completely and utterly underdressed for the horribly cold weather that Seoul has to offer in the middle of February. That flimsy grey hoodie of his paired with a denim jacket one size larger probably makes it worse.
With every blow of the wind Sieun feels his immune system disintegrating and crumpling beneath the bullets of the ruthless winter. He should’ve stayed home, he should’ve. There’s endless amounts of work to do in terms of studying and yet he’s out here, testing the patience of his barely holding on health.
Still, he complies to scroll through his overly complicated psychology notes on his phone instead. His attention divides between that and the busy road ahead of him. Awaiting, on the look out.
So he can spot wherever Ahn Suho will appear from, of course.
Because they’d promised to meet up at exactly 16:30 pm and it’s currently 16:38. If Sieun had a bit more dignity and less patience he’d pack his bags and leave. Unfortunately he doesn’t, which results in waiting for the always late Suho.
Maybe Suho is Sieun’s one and only best friend and soulmate in the whole wide world or something, that still doesn’t excuse the irritation bubbling up in his chest. Nor the urge to bang his head against the pavement.
Who wouldn’t get fucking antsy when they’re being dragged outside in the blizzard to skin appointments and offices instead of remaining safe and warm at home? Exactly, so Sieun’s vexed wholeheartedly.
He sighs and raises his eyes at the scenery before him for the billionth time in the past 5 minutes. He can’t help but visualize the comfort of his bedroom, warm lights and air conditioning paired with comfortable clothes and a tranquility the outside world can’t offer— fuck Suho.
Fuck Suho for being so overly focused on Sieun that whenever he sets his mind on something there’s no fighting it, forcing Sieun to oblige diplomatically to every single burst of concern that occurs. That, or settling for world war three to commence and his study materials burning down pathetically.
Not to mention, it’s exam season, if they turn to ashes what follows? Failure, and Suho doesn’t want to be the culprit for that. The real atom bombing will happen and the survival rate will be lower than the first one back in 1945. So Sieun’s avoiding a mass extinction altogether and humanity should really be grateful, because he really doesn’t want to be here.
Two, three more minutes pass, “Sieun-ah!” and the characteristic tone of Ahn Suho fills his ears suddenly. Took him only 12 minutes more, a world record.
Sieun huffs unimpressed and turns to face the direction of source.
There he is, making quick, confident steps towards the latter, hands in pockets, figure slung back in that typical male way and grinning at Sieun. Annoying.
For the short time it takes him to make his way over, Sieun observes him throughly. Because what should one do while waiting for their friend to come to them? A flip? Yeah, so Sieun stares, you can call it that if you want.
He looks at Suho, hair grown past the distinctive bowl cut and style upgraded to classic, thought through boyish fashion manifesting through the black leather jacket and oversized jeans he’s wearing. Totally replacing red, or teal (depending on his mood) windbreaker and sweatpants he’d rather die than part with, Suho.
As fast as the thoughts pass Sieun’s mind while he watches him, Suho’s quick pace catches up and makes them halt abruptly.
“I made you wait didn’t i? Yeoshi was throwing a temper tantrum since i had to leave” he says with a scratch to his neck, almost apologetically in his own way.
Yeoshi? Right, Yeoshi. The cat that Suho’s weak ass couldn’t handle leaving on the sidewalk during a cold winter day and dragged back to his dorm. Against university policies, Sieun’s not sure how they managed to let him slip with that. Or how he himself lets Suho slip with bringing it over to his dorm.
Still a baby, he can admit it’s pretty cute at least. A Siamese breed with big blue eyes and a prickly as a cactus personality. It sleeps the day away or claws Suho’s eyes out if awake. And since it hasn’t done anything to him personally, he doesn’t mind it. The cat listens to him more than it has ever listened to Suho anyway.
The male has exclaimed that Yeoshi is Sieun’s soul twin in a cat body more than enough times to gaslight him into thinking there is some type of resemblance. It practically can’t stand Suho’s presence for more than 10 minutes and runs away whenever he approaches to hug it. Sieun can admit they’re on the same page for that.
‘Yeoshi will get used to me, he’s just a thug from birth, give him time. You warmed up to me, didn’t you?’ Suho said with a wink one time, the last part still makes Sieun’s arms prickle.
If warming up consists of losing human rights and letting yourself be dragged, hugged, poked and carried around then Sieun assumes the cat will eventually give up on trying to get that man away from it. Once Suho decides he wants you around, there’s no physical way to avoid him.
Suho throws a casual arm around Sieun’s shoulders, that sink under it pitiably, as a signal to start walking. The pace begins with slow and deliberate movements due to their difference in height, but the biting weather makes Sieun’s urge to walk faster bigger.
“i highly doubt he made a fuss over you leaving him” he says as a matter of factly, suppressing a shiver when the wind sends a harsh blow in his face.
Suho’s head turns to him, appalled and offended all at once, “He absolutely adores me, there were cat tears in his eyes when he saw me put on my shoes”
“Sure”
“What do you mean ‘sure’? Just because you’re as cute as a cat doesn’t mean you’re an expert”— too far. He went too far with that one, Sieun glances at him with raised brows in skepticism.
Suho, on the other hand seems completely confident in his words. He suddenly halts in his movements, pushing Sieun’s body down to stop him. A determined expression paints his features as he takes out his phone and begins scrolling through what seems to be his photo gallery.
After a bit of searching, Suho shoves his phone in Sieun’s face which makes him go cross eyed in attempt to see whatever it is he’s showing him.
He pushes it to a non-blinding viewing distance and takes a second to take in the image.
It’s an old photo, old enough for the quality to look shittier than what Sieun remembers it to be and old enough for him to understand it’s before the coma Suho was kicked into.
They both stand in the middle of the photo, arms around each other and hunched over to the point Sieun’s practically on Suho’s back. Beomseok is also there, seemingly put a dramatic distance between himself and his supposed friends. To the point he’s almost halfway out of the frame, definitely an effect on purpose. The mask on his face is bitter, unhappy, not wanting to be there. Sieun wonders how they hadn’t noticed earlier.
Suho’s wearing a non-toothy, but nonetheless sweet grin while Sieun, to everyone’s surprise, has a half smile and a wink adoring his scrunched up from joy features. Their eyes glee in content, in oblivious peace. A moment kids like them don’t comprehend well enough to cherish.
The nostalgia floods through Sieun’s chest, uninvited. It plants itself as a big, painful lump right in the middle of it. He maintains eye contact with the phone while attempting to swallow it all down at once. It doesn’t work, it just grows and grows, all while leaving Sieun to stand there and wait for a miracle.
“I gotta hand it to you, Yeon. You definitely beat Yeoshi here in terms of cuteness” Suho voices serves as one, unaware as ever and always.
Sieun doesn’t respond, the compliment slips past his ears completely and he remains still, reminiscing, forcing Suho himself to drag him forward.
He thinks and thinks, and thinks until the air, once again serving as a slap, whooshes a wave of chilliness. He realizes they’ve stopped in front of a large grey building. Suho’s turned to him with inspecting eyes, while Sieun’s hands are now tucked in the male’s pockets as a shield from the cold. Whenever that happened. Sieun’s too slow at getting through the fog of sentimentality and back into reality.
He ignores the urge to turn his head away and raises it instead, watching Suho’s face. Examining it for what it feels like the first time.
A different Suho stands before him, hair grown into a charming length and height easily surpassing Sieun’s 173cm. He towers over him with a different sense of vogue and matured, handsome features.
How did Sieun not assimilate that his friend has lost his teenage aspects and now stands before him blessed with a different kind of youth? Adult youth, one that suggests the pass of time. The quick turn of the clock has taken Suho’s old appearance with it, making him shine in a different spotlight.
Sieun almost shudders at the thought, the imprinted image of 18 year old Suho in his brain has finally become outdated. Like a software, an old computer or phone, forcing him to upgrade to a better, modern version.
As humbling as it is, it’s comforting as well. Enough years have passed, taking their adolescence away, getting rid of the past. Letting them bask in the regularity of the present days, a hope to a non problematic future. Alive.
20s suit Ahn Suho, Sieun decides after the thorough examination.
He’s in the prime of his handsomeness, smooth tan skin, not a single trace of bruises or cuts spotted. As if he’s lived his whole life like this. It makes Sieun glad in a way.
“Yeon Sieun! Are you having a stroke? Im genuinely worried here” Suho’s voice interrupts comically.
Sieun tilts his head to the side in response, unbothered enough to not respond.
It fuels the guy’s need to babble further, “You’re mad i’m not letting you study is that it? Fine, i’ll let you study for three days straight, okay?”
…
“Wait no, bad idea“
“Will you shut up now? Im fine”
Suho peers at him in return. Totally suspicious and unsatisfied with the response.
He may be the human form of a lie detector but he’s not skilled enough to see through Sieun’s skull. Still, his sixth sense totally wins against the attempt to reassure him and he squeezes the shorter’s fisted hands.
It’s not sweet, or anything close to that matter, enough pressure applied to scrunch up Sieun’s face while Suho smirks down at him teasingly. “You’re a weirdo” he admits.
“You’re not the first to tell me” Sieun shoots back and kicks the front of Suho’s shoe in order to free his hands.
If it comes down to weirdness, Sieun’s sadly winning. He was playing ‘Guess the difference’ in his head with a side by side comparison of 18 year old Suho and 21 year old Suho just a minute ago. Hypocrites everywhere and he’s one of them. Doesn’t mean Suho has to know.
Keeping up his strategic ignorance, Suho continues, “Back to work, we should be able to go inside now”
Sieun completely forgot what he’s here for. It splashes him back into the reality of wanting to go home. He rolls his eyes.
A buzz to the bell of the private office, 7 minutes and 43 seconds (he counted) of waiting inside the lobby, Sieun’s now seated in front of a lady in her mid 50s inspecting his hands as per Suho’s suggestion.
So onto the turning point, the reason for him being here: dry hands. Seems a bit dramatic, it is, but they’re not in charming condition overall. Thick and crusting with yellow skin to the point they glisten under the lighting, feigning oiliness when it’s the opposite, horrible stinging underwater and bleeding if he tries picking the yellow layers off. Sieun wouldn’t really care if they didn’t make gripping his pen, or holding his books so troublesome. Because of it all his hold became slippery and clumsy and Sieun complained about it.
Once.
Suho is as stubborn, if not more, as Sieun. A mule, a donkey on a bridge, the book example, all of the above.
He saw Sieun’s hands after a shower, screeched about how unnatural their sogginess looked and compared them to the creases of the brain and that was that.
At first, much like Sieun himself, he thought it’s something connected to the changing of the body. Sieun’s only 20 still, he has 5 more years to go. That led to him purchasing every kind of hand cream out there: organic oil, lavender oil, urea oil, chemical, plant based, heavy repair, gentle care. Everything that those beauty specialists with overly loud voices in Olive Young recommended to him, he bought it.
When the hand creams didn’t work he moved onto supplements: vitamin B, B6, B2, magnesium, whatever google suggested.
That phase ended when Suho got preoccupied with the beginning of his second year of university, leaving Sieun alone with his disgusting hands. But then winter rolled around, stress from exams and sleepless nights along with it, the stinging got worse as if on cue.
***
Sieun hisses as he picks at the wrong parts of his finger, a crimson hue staining the area. He inspects the cut for a second, deeming it unimportant and continues working.
“Cut yourself again, bookworm?”
Right, Suho is here, a totally forced, almost breaking and entering stay at Sieun’s dorm, but here.
Before Sieun can even process the words Suho’s already on his feet and yanking his wrist to investigate.
He didn’t miss the way his eyebrows furrow in disapproval as he traces the hardened lines of his palm. Ugly, repelling yellow lines that even 75 year old grandmas don’t suffer from. They’re crusting from overuse and red at the spots where his fingers bend all while Sieun can barely even move them as is.
“You said your hands are fine” Suho looks at Sieun. Unimpressed.
“They are” he says simply. it’s not that big of a deal, really. Suho’s always been a drama queen since high school.
“Doesn’t look fine to me” he waves Sieun’s wrist to highlight the point. He leans down and props his hand on the desk.
“Your lip is crusting too, the fuck? It’s almost bleeding. How’s that fine in your book?”
***
That small situation concluded the 7 and counting future dermatologist visits Sieun has had to endure and the painful antibiotic creams he was prescribed that burned the skin off his hands every time.
Suho’s untrusting behavior is also partially to blame, every doctor had given their opinion— Suho deems it illogical and moves onto the next professional. And then the next, and the next. Right until his grandma noticed Sieun’s dissatisfaction over the whole thing and recommended a dermatologist to shut Suho up.
Thoughts and prayers this ends the studyless afternoons Sieun has to endure.
“This must be Xerosis, severely dry hands worsened by the cold weather” she calmly states and lets go of his extended hands.
“You wash your hands a lot too, don’t you? Make sure to use a gentle soap, you’ve scrubbed your skin off” Suho’s puncturing stare is basically burning the back of Sieun’s poor head. The protection of the lady and the office is keeping him safe from the probable slap he’d receive otherwise.
A 150,000 won fee later and a prescribed hand cream and lip balm, Sieun walked-ran out of the office with Suho hot on his feet.
“We’re getting those creams and a pair of gloves before your hands turn blue and bleed out” he says as he blocks Sieun’s attempt to run away.
The male looks at his phone in response, reading out the time “17:45 pm, Suho, no time, i’ll buy it myself”
Suho snorts in disbelief, “If it was up to you to take live saving medication you’d drop dead the second i leave, let’s go”
Sieun sighs.