Chapter Text
Sehun read once that water is a symbol for emotions. And, right now, he feels as if he might drown in both.
Suhø’s words leave him floundering, set adrift, unable to wade through the multitude of emotions that flood through his body.
A small, traitorous part of Sehun rejoices at the knowledge that Suhø prefers him over his clone, that, for once, someone Sehun wants actually wants him back.
But the more rational part of Sehun — the part that remembers who he is, where he’s at, and, more importantly, who he’s with — brings up memories of Suhø and Sehůn, flush against each other in a way that surely goes beyond a platonic relationship between teammates.
The rational part reminds Sehun to be careful, cautious, on guard, because everyone’s capable of using sweet, sugar-coated words to get what they want, even a monster.
Ultimately, Sehun does manage to settle on one emotion: anger.
“Don’t,” he fumes, pale fists clenched unconsciously. His tone is icy, frigid, like wind on a winter’s night, nipping and pricking unpleasantly at your skin. “I’m not some child you can play with. You can’t just — just say these things to me, while you’re also with Sehůn. You can’t have us both.”
It’s probably unwise to speak to Suhø like that, even if Sehun loathes being treated like a naïve child (something he’s all too used to with his own leader back home).
Suhø’s still the enemy, the clones’ leader, the Red Force’s favorite, unpredictable and unstable, a force to be reckoned with. You never really know what’s coming with him — a small wave or a big one. But Sehun’s hoping that whatever does come his way, he’s strong enough to surf over it, instead of drown in its monstrosity like hundreds have before him.
Suhø’s brilliant blue eyes harden. Gone is the wounded animal and in its place is something else entirely. A wolf in sheep's clothing, that's what he is. “And who exactly said I wanted both of you to begin with?,” he seethes.
Sehun leans back nervously, swallowing hard at the clone’s change in demeanor. Alarm bells ring inside his head, warning him to leave now, yet he pays them no mind, gaze locked on the way that Suhø’s entire form seems to flicker, fuzz around the edges, like he’s not here anymore, not completely with Sehun.
His brilliant blue eyes are unfocused, almost vacant, like the calm before the storm, and his alarmingly red hair is starting to glow even brighter, almost like the flames Chanyeol conjures up, except these aren’t warm like those. These flames are ice cold.
He’s never seen Suhø like this before, only when…
Sehun startles when angry, jagged-looking gashes suddenly bloom across Suhø’s face, despite the fact that he should’ve been expecting them. It’s a terrifying sight to see up close, nothing compared to the beauty of watching the transformation from afar.
Now Sehun understands why the clones, so strong and deadly in their own right, are so fearful of their leader. Because behind that beautiful mask lies a monster. And what a joke that is, that such a monstrous being is hidden within such an eloquent body.
Self-preservation tells Sehun to run, hide, flee, because if it comes down to it, in a fight against Suhø, he wouldn’t stand a chance. After all, how can Sehun defeat someone who was clearly never meant to lose?
But that small, traitorous part keeps Sehun rooted in place, has him cautiously reach over and place a warm hand onto Suhø’s. It’s a bit surreal touching the clone like this, intimate, overwhelming, like dipping a limb beneath the ocean’s surface and knowing that he’s touching eternity, that it goes on forever until it begins here once again.
“It’s okay, you’re okay,” Sehun whispers shakily, over and over again, hoping by some miracle that his words get through the monstrous haze to Suhø, his Suhø.
Nothing happens at first. Suhø still flickers, eyes still unfocused, gashes still blindingly red, but he doesn’t resist Sehun’s touch, doesn’t draw back, doesn’t put up a fight, even though he could. Because although water never resists, never obstructs, never hinders, ultimately it still goes where it wants to, and nothing in the end can stand against it.
Then, little by little, bit by bit, Suhø becomes solid once more, blue eyes going back to their original brilliancy, and the flames in his hair losing their vibrancy.
Suhø’s with him again, here with Sehun.
He stares down at Sehun’s hand over his in wonder, like it holds all of life’s secrets, like it’s something magical, something holy. Sehun flushes bright red, quickly drawing his hand back and dropping it onto his lap.
Suhø’s gaze moves upward toward Sehun’s face instead, looking at the younger like he’s the closest thing to god someone like Suhø would ever be allowed near.
“How…?” Suhø trails off, slightly out of breath and voice full of wonder. His cheeks are rosy, his hair is ruffled, and his clothes are mussed, but he still looks so beautiful in spite of it all. And Sehun thinks that Darwin may have indeed been correct in his theory that all men are descended from apes, but surely eerily beautiful Suhø rose from the frothy sea as resplendent as Aphrodite did.
“I don’t know,” Sehun responds softly, truthfully. He shrugs as he looks down, embarrassment still clear on his face. “I just did what I thought was right.”
It’s silent for a few seconds before Suhø leans over and places a cool hand on Sehun’s warm cheek, imploring the younger to look up and into his brilliant blue eyes.
“Are you scared?” The of me is left unsaid, but Sehun’s just as smart as Suhø, just as able to read between the lines.
It’s said calmly, evenly, coolly, like Suhø doesn’t really care what the answer is, wouldn’t be affected by it either way, but Sehun knows better, can see the whirlpool of emotions in Suhø’s ocean-like eyes — fear, hesitance, wariness, hope, warmth, affection — and can feel the tension in his hand as he waits.
Sehun’s response is just as calm, just as even, just as cool.
“No.”