Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

“You smell so good, Sieun-ah…”

Suho presses his nose to Sieun’s chest and inhales deeply.

He wants to stay here forever: sprawled across Sieun in his bed with their legs tangled. His head rests on Sieun’s chest, where his heartbeat pulses steadily beneath his ear. Suho’s arms are loosely draped around him, and Sieun’s slow drag of fingers through his hair is almost enough to lull him to sleep.

“I smell like your shower gel,” Sieun sighs, amused. He increases the pressure of his fingers, and if Suho were a cat, he’d be purring with satisfaction. “We literally just showered together.”

“I know,” Suho grins smugly. “You smell like you’re mine.”

Sieun scoffs affectionately and withdraws his hand. Suho raises his head, resting his chin on Sieun’s chest to look up at him. Sieun only rolls his eyes, unaffected by Suho’s pout.

“You’re so cringe.”

“You’re so mean,” Suho bites back, his smile betraying him, “and you’re also blushing.”

“I hate you,” Sieun groans, though his pulse quickens beneath Suho’s fingers.

Suho shifts, propping himself up on his elbows to meet Sieun’s eyes. His gaze softens instantly, long eyelashes fluttering as he takes Suho in.

His breath catches when Sieun smiles fondly—full lips stretching over his face—and Suho’s chest aches with affection.

Sieun looks so beautiful that, sometimes, Suho forgets how to breathe. Having Sieun here, soft and pliant in his bed, stuns him every time.

Suho has done nothing good enough to deserve getting to kiss Sieun stupid, to dance with him in the kitchen like those couples on TV, or to watch him sleep in the mornings.

Every time Sieun stays the night, every time Suho gets to fall asleep with him tangled in his arms, listening to his breath slow, knowing that Sieun trusts him enough to let go, to be vulnerable, almost makes Suho cry.

He reaches out, brushing away a strand of hair falling into Sieun’s eye.

“I don’t want you to go,” Suho says quietly.

Sieun smiles, lifting his head to press a featherlight kiss to Suho’s lips. When his head falls back against the pillow, he looks dazed, his eyes warm, and Suho is so in love it hurts.

“I know, Suho-yah. But I’ll come visit, I promise.”

His smile turns cheeky, and Suho wants to bite him.

“And the year will go by quickly. Soon enough, you’ll be moving in with me on campus, and you’ll get to leave your dirty socks everywhere.”

“That’s the most romantic way someone’s ever asked me to move in with them.”

Sieun quirks an eyebrow, instantly offended, and Suho bites back a laugh.

“Because someone else asked you to?”

Suho smiles fondly, breathing in quietly as he noses at Sieun’s cheek.

“Calm down, baby. No need to stab anyone.”

His skin is soft and plump, irresistible, and Suho presses a soft kiss there.

“Besides,” he murmurs, “you might be the one who'll forget me. All alone in the big city.”

“I’d rather die,” Sieun replies, dead serious, and Suho loves him. “I like a grand total of five people, and that’s already too many. I think you’re safe.”

“I’ll come to see you every weekend,” Suho whispers, pressing another kiss to Sieun’s forehead. “Until you grow tired of me.”

Sieun reaches out, fingers brushing along Suho’s jaw, and Suho can’t stop the wrecked sigh that escapes his lips.

He kisses the tip of Sieun’s nose. Then his chin. A desperate need to show Sieun how much he loves him overwhelms him.

“Yah, Sieun-ah—”

A kiss to his cheek.

“You’re so—”

A kiss to the corner of his lips.

“Cute.”

And another. And another. And another.

He peppers featherlight kisses all over Sieun’s face, smothering him until Sieun breaks into laughter, warm and soft in his arms.

Finally, Suho drops his head against Sieun’s neck, biting gently at the tender skin. Sieun exhales shakily, his body tensing beneath Suho’s. Suho soothes the bite with a slow kiss, the barest touch of his tongue.

“I’m going to miss you. So much, Sieun-ah,” he breathes.

“And you know what I’m going to miss?”

Suho can hear the smile in his voice, and hums in response, waiting.

Suddenly, Sieun flips them, slipping on top of Suho with a self-satisfied smile, and Suho lets out a surprised huff. The weight of Sieun’s body is grounding, and he melts beneath it when Sieun cups his face and squishes his cheeks into a pout.

“My bus, if you don’t let me leave.”

Sieun presses a full kiss against Suho’s lips, cutting off his whine. Then, he pulls away and gets up.

Suho misses his warmth instantly. He sighs like he’s someone’s wife watching her lover leave for war and props himself up on his elbows for a better view of Sieun.

Sieun dresses quietly, glancing at Suho now and then, looking amused by the pout on Suho’s face.

Once his bag is packed, he walks back to the bed, inching closer—then stops himself, stepping back, thinking better of it.

He’s right. Suho wouldn’t have let him go.

“I’ll see you tomorrow.”

“I know,” Suho smiles back. “I’ll text you when I find the suitcase in the attic.”

Sieun hums gratefully. Suitcases are expensive, and Suho likes the thought of Sieun bringing a piece of him to college.

Sieun heads to the door, crossing the threshold—

“Sieunnie,” Suho calls.

Sieun pauses, glancing over his shoulder expectantly. And Suho drinks in the sight of him, all doe eyes and pink mouth.

Suho wants to tell him. That he loves him. That he wants to spend his life with him. That he’s never been happier than since the day they started dating. That Sieun is everything he's ever dreamed of.

But he isn’t quite sure if Sieun’s ready to hear it. He needs Sieun to say it first, on his own terms.

Sometimes, Suho worries he’s too much. Too clingy. That deep down, Sieun wishes Suho would love him a little less loudly, that maybe he wants someone quieter, easier—less himself.

Someone not quite… him.

Suho knows they’re a forever kind of thing. But he still thinks Sieun deserves better than him. Only, he has long realized that Sieun doesn’t want better. He wants late evenings and sleepy mornings and all of Suho’s imperfections.

Still, the impulse to say it—I love you—to make sure that Sieun knows, sometimes swells in his chest until it aches. But he’ll wait. He’d wait forever for Sieun.

So instead, he says:

“Get home, safe.”

And then, Sieun’s gone.

Suho waits until he hears the front door click shut behind Sieun before he gets out of bed.

He might as well go to the attic now, before the sun drops and he can’t see a thing.

The light’s been broken since he was a kid and thought playing ball in there was a good idea. His grandma never replaced it.

The door creaks when he pushes it open, and he coughs from the dust. He cracks the window open to let more light in and then turns around to search for the suitcase.

Something pink in a box near the door catches his eye, and his stomach drops when he recognizes his pink rabbit hand warmer.

He walks toward it slowly, crouching beside the box. His fingers tremble as he picks up the warmer, and the swell of memories flooding him is so bittersweet it hurts.

He hadn’t even known his grandma kept it. Which means Sieun must’ve gotten it back, somehow.

The thought makes Suho ache. It must have been so hard for him.

Most of the box is filled with old schoolbooks.

But at the very bottom, beneath a stack of wrinkled papers, he finds his old phone.

Excitement pushes away the grief, and he tries to turn it on, but it’s dead, like he expected.

Suho decides that the suitcase can wait and climbs down the ladder, jumping to the ground with a thud.

He heads back to his room, rummaging through his bag until he finds his charger. He plugs the phone in and waits.

He never really thought about what had happened to it. It’s been a year, after all, and his grandma gave him a new one with a new number as soon as the doctor cleared him to use a screen again.

It’s probably out of service anyway.

When it finally turns on, the lock screen lights up with a familiar photo: Sieun, Yeongi, and him, all grinning (mostly Yeongi and him) at the camera. His chest tightens. He wishes Yeongi had agreed to let Suho’s grandma give him her new number.

Then, he frowns. He still has mobile data.

And suddenly, the messages flood in.

Within minutes, the message icon shows over a hundred unread texts.

Suho’s fingers tremble as he clicks on the app. There are a few scattered texts from people, checking in up to a week after the accident, asking where he went.

But most of the notifications are from Sieun.

Suho stares at the screen, hesitant. He doesn’t understand why Sieun would have texted him so many times.

Then he notices the last message is from two months ago. When Suho was already awake and Sieun had been since long texting him on his new number.

He taps the thread, and it jumps to the top. The first message is from him, one he doesn’t remember sending.

It’s dated the day of the accident.

Suho scrolls fast, and his heart sinks as he reads the first texts. He drops to the floor, eyes burning, covering his mouth in grief.

Chapter Text

Suho doesn’t know how long he stays still, curled up on his bedroom floor.

His room is dark; the sun has set. The streetlamp outside his window casts long shadows against the walls, outlining the shape of his body.

Dry tears streak his face. His eyes are red-rimmed, his vision blurry from too much crying.  The shaking has stopped, but his shoulders still suffer the occasional tremor, like a fantom pain making itself known.

His grandma isn’t coming home today. She went to visit her sister in the countryside, and he watched her call ring some time ago. He knows she isn’t coming, but he still imagines her, knocking softly at his door.

She’d tell him that dinner was ready, and when Suho wouldn’t have answered, she’d have opened his door slowly, to check if he was asleep. He pictures her sinking to her knees at his sight, drawing him into her arms, whispering about her sweet boy.

He'd have breathed in the comforting scent of her laundry, crying silently in her arms, and she’d had told him everything would be okay. That Sieun was safe, only a phone call away, that it wasn’t Suho’s fault.

But the house is empty, and Suho stifles another sob.

Grief is a funny thing.

Sieun once described it as a drowning feeling.

For Suho, it feels like being buried alive—oh so dark and terribly lonely.

He can’t move, his limbs paralyzed by fear as the walls of his coffin close in. He could shout and bang against the lid, he could beg and pray and cry for somebody to hear, but he already knows that he’s doomed. He would only waste his breath; his oxygen will run out. He’s all alone under the weight of the dirt. No one is coming to save him.

It’s only a matter of time before he suffocates in the dark.

For Suho, grief feels like the trickling sound of earth falling into his coffin, the fragile wood threatening to cave in any minute now.

Somehow, he forgot that after everything he went through, it still could never compare to the pain of those he left behind. His pain will never measure to theirs.

Suho went into a coma on a Friday—less than a week after his sixteenth birthday—and woke up on a Tuesday, six months shy of turning eighteen. His broken body and the calendar stuck to his hospital wall the only evidence that more than four days had passed.

He had still been the boy who had told Sieun he’d see him tomorrow, the boy who had kissed his grandma—that was more of a mother, really—goodbye.

But Sieun had grown. The softness in his face had faded and he’d gotten taller too (not enough to catch up to Suho). His grandma had aged. Sorrow was etched into her features, wrinkles that hadn’t been there before.

Suho woke up on a Tuesday, after a year and a half that Sieun and his grandma had spent waiting for him. The months he spent healing from the aftermath of his coma, relearning basic motor functions, surrounded by his loved ones, will never compare to those they spent alone.

He thought he knew to some extent how hard it must have been for them, but he realizes he never truly understood. Not until the messages.

Not until he saw the way passing time had devoured them, how they had lived haunted by Suho’s ghost, trapped in a limbo between the dead and the living.

When Suho saw Sieun at the hospital, after all this time, he had felt relieved to see him surrounded by friends. Maybe, his grandma had exaggerated Sieun’s sorrow. Maybe, he had learned from their mistakes, and Suho’s absence hadn’t broken him. He surely had learned how to move forward, how to forget Suho, right?

A few hours had proven him wrong.

Sieun’s grief was vast. Crushing. And Suho’s heart had shattered under the weight of it.

Sieun’s pain had always been his own—Suho had never been able to stay untouched by it, not when it came to the boy with the sad eyes. And he had taken comfort in knowing that he was here now, that they could heal together, hold each other until they didn’t feel like falling apart at any time anymore.

But picturing Sieun suffering alone for all this time torments him. He hadn’t been there—not to help him grieve, not to shield him from the assholes at Eunjang or from the union. Or from anything at all.

And now, reading the messages, Suho realizes just how deluded he’s been. How much he has failed.

Because Sieun only mourned the time Suho had lost. He never mourned the time he spent waiting.

And they’re in a really good place now—making plans to move in together, shaping a future that belongs only to them.

Bad days are rare. Suho doesn’t feel like breaking something anymore when he thinks about Beomseok, and Sieun hasn’t fought since.

And when the summer sun shines high in the sky, warm against their skin, when the birds chirp from the lush green trees, and when Sieun looks at him with those loving eyes, it’s easy to forget.

To bury the past. The pain. The grief.

They’re in a good place now, and Suho doesn’t want to set them back.

But the texts… the texts tear his heart apart again and again.

For his grandma—who lost another child.

For Sieun—who carries guilt that was ever his.

And it feels stupid. He shouldn’t be the one falling apart when it’s Sieun’s pain. But they’ve been through so much together that Suho doesn’t really know where one of them ends and the other begins.

When Sieun cries, it’s Suho’s cheeks that get wet. When Suho’s hurt, it’s Sieun who bleeds.

After what feels like a small eternity, Suho drags himself up. His knees wobble, legs threatening to give out beneath him. He grabs the edge of his bed, fisting the sheet until he feels steady enough to stand.

He staggers to the bathroom, wiping his nose as he flicks the light on.

Carefully avoiding his own reflection, he splashes icy water against his face, partly to help with the puffiness, partly to shock the numbness out of his bones.

Once he can’t feel the tip of his nose anymore, he grabs a towel, patting his face and hair dry, and heads back to his room.

Two messages from Sieun await him on his phone.

19:55

My mother’s staying at work. Come over?

22:43

I left you clothes in the bathroom, in case you change your mind.

The first message is from three hours ago, the other from half an hour ago. Sieun’s probably asleep by now, but Suho isn’t about to turn down an invitation to fall asleep beside him—even less tonight.

It’s almost visceral, this needs Suho has to see him. To touch him. To make sure he’s okay.

The urge to hold Sieun close and never let go claws at him constantly. He doesn’t know how to love quietly. Not when it comes to his best friend.

He wonders if Sieun would be scared if he understood the depth of Suho’s love—almost obsessive in its yearning.

What would Sieun say if Suho admitted that he wants to consume him? That he wants the glowing embers to sear his skin into familiar patterns, so he’d wear Sieun like a brand, igniting again and again, welcoming the sparks? That he would lie down and wane in the fire’s cradle until the flames abate and the ashes grow cold?

Suho loves Sieun like a fire. Warm and constant on most days—like lying beside a hearth on a cold winter day. Scorching, devouring, blazing, on others.

He doesn’t think. He reaches for his old phone and sends a single message:

I love you too.

Then, he shuts it off, grabs his key and his helmet, and slams the door behind him.

He’s on the road in seconds. His bike weaves between the cars, heart pounding as each mile brings him closer to Sieun.

The house is quiet when Suho arrives. He enters the passcode on the keypad, the familiar chime of the door opening sounding far too loud in the silence. He kicks off his shoes in the dark, taking a deep breath as he glances around.

It feels wrong, somehow, how calm the night is.

How can the world keep turning, how can the moon still hang in the sky, when Suho’s insides are splintering apart?

For a heartbeat, he feels like he’s back in his coffin—trapped in the dark, in a night that will never end—and then—light from Sieun’s room spills into the hallway, and it’s like the lid opens, day breaking into a blinding sun.

Suho falters slightly, not expecting Sieun to be awake. He doesn’t trust himself not to fall apart at the sight of him, but he doesn’t want to make this all about him. So, he breathes in slowly, trying to prepare himself for a discussion he doesn’t have the right words for.

When he pushes the door open, Sieun is sitting at the edge of his bed, waiting. The bedside lamp casts a warm orange glow across the room, and Suho briefly considers pretending that nothing’s wrong and getting into bed with Sieun.

His boyfriend looks unsurprised to see him, only tired, as he takes in Suho standing in the doorway, helmet still in hand. His moves are slow and careful when he stands, almost like Suho’s a frightened animal that might bolt at any moment.

He looks incredibly soft in one of Suho’s t-shirts he borrowed and never gave back, his hair mussed from sleep. Suho wants to hold him so badly he almost misses the tension in his jaw or the way his fingers flex against the hem of his shirt.

“You can’t do this,” Sieun says firmly.

His dark eyes lock onto Suho’s with a mix of tension, worry, and reproach.

Suho drops the helmet and creeps in closer until Sieun has to tilt his chin up slightly to meet his eyes, and Suho loves him so much it hurts.

He lifts a hand to Sieun’s face, brushing his fingers gently over his cheekbone as he cups his face. Slowly, he brings their faces closer. Their foreheads touch, and Sieun exhales shakily.

“I’m sorry,” Suho murmurs.

“You don’t even know why I’m mad at you.”

Suho lets out a soft chuckle, pressing a light kiss to Sieun’s cheek before stepping back. He doesn’t even care what he did—he’ll apologize a thousand times. Because he loves him, and Sieun is in love with him, too.

“You can’t text me from your old phone and then not answer either of your phones,” Sieun says, swallowing hard. “Not when it means you… you’ve read the texts.”

His eyes shine in the lamplight, and Suho’s heart sinks. He’s reminded why he came here, what had pulled at his chest so painfully and had paralyzed him for hours.

“You can’t do this and not expect me to worry when you don’t answer my calls. You shouldn’t have driven, I would’ve come to you, I—”

“I’m sorry,” Suho cuts him. “I’m so sorry.”

He cups Sieun’s face again, the all too familiar desperate need to touch him, to make sure he’s okay, burning in his chest.

Sieun looks at him, knowing Suho isn’t just apologizing for driving here in the middle of the night.

“I’m so sorry, baby. I didn’t know, I—” His voice quivers, heavy with emotion. “It’s breaking my heart, Sieunnie. Thinking about you waiting for me, fighting alone, everything you went through, I—”

He must look desperate—eyes wide with sorrow, tears threatening to fall—but he doesn’t care.

“You said you wished you’d never met me,” he breathes, “and baby, I would have left you alone if it meant you’d be safe from all of this… I wish—”

Sieun grips his wrists, a tear sliding down his cheek. His hold is too tight, too urgent.

“Don’t ever say that. Don’t use words I didn’t mean against me, Suho-yah. I wasn’t okay. Don’t you understand I’d live through it all over again if it meant getting to this moment?”

“You can’t—you can’t say this,” Suho replies fervently, voice loud in the night. “Because I’d rather not have you than see you suffer. I’d love you from afar forever if it meant you were safe.”

Sieun lets go of his wrists, stumbling back with a dark laugh that shakes his shoulder. He presses his hand to his eyes, and Suho’s stomach twists as he watches the tears fall.

“You wouldn’t have loved me, Suho,” Sieun whispers after a beat, hurt twisting his face like the words hurt. “Not without what we’ve been through. I’m nothing special—not without the pain.”

Suho almost scoffs. Does Sieun really believe that? That Suho only loved him because of their grief? That he’s only interesting in his suffering?

Does he not know?

Does he think that Suho hadn’t noticed the long eyelashes of the quiet boy in his class? The sadness behind his sharp eyes? That he liked red apples but not green ones? That he always smiled when he saw a cat outside the school windows? That he liked the rain better than sunny days? That he was starved for love?

“It hurts me that you think that, Sieun-ah,” Suho says, his voice thick. “Don’t you know? Don’t you know that I would’ve fallen in love with you anyway? I was always meant to love you.”

Sieun crosses the space between them in a heartbeat, pulling Suho’s head into the crook of his neck and wrapping his arms tightly around him. Suho melts into it, hands grasping at the fabric of his shirt like he might fall apart otherwise.

“Then why can’t you understand,” Sieun whispers, voice trembling, “that you were worth the wait?”

“Because I don’t feel worth it,” Suho confesses in a murmur. “You never made me feel like I wasn’t, but… the messages brought back the guilt, I guess. I don’t think I know how to live with the knowledge that you couldn’t move on because of me—that I left you alone.”

“It was my choice,” Sieun sighs deeply, tightening his hold on Suho. “I chose not to move on. I chose to wait for you. I chose to push away people. You have nothing to feel guilty about.”

“The same way you don’t feel guilty?”

Sieun recoils instantly, loosening his arms as hurt flashes in his eyes.

“I’m going to get some water,” he says, looking anywhere but at Suho as he leaves the room.

He doesn’t bother turning on the light, grabbing a glass from the drying rack as Suho follows silently behind. The dark washes over them, the streetlight outside lighting their figures in soft shadows.

Suho thinks that it might be easier this way—to bare his heart to Sieun without seeing him clearly.

“I’m sorry.”

Sieun doesn’t answer at first, the quiet click of glass hitting the sink filling the silence.

“You were right,” he sighs. “I’m not the right person to tell you what to do with your guilt when I almost drowned in it. But I chose you, Suho-yah. It was my choice, and you don’t get to take it away from me just because you care.”

Suho leans against the countertop, a lump forming in his throat. He didn’t come here to make it all about him—and yet, here they are.

“I should be the one comforting you, Sieunnie. Not the other way around.”

“You’re being unfair again. You’ve done your share,” Sieun says, locking eyes with Suho’s. “We were both dealt a bad hand. Just because we didn’t suffer the same doesn’t me you don’t get to suffer, too. I’ve had months to process your loss, to live without you. You’ve just experienced it. I had time to mourn. You didn’t.”

“I think I liked it better when you didn’t talk much,” Suho chokes, eyes stinging, and Sieun smiles faintly, amused.

It’s too much, too sincere, for him not to tear up. Sieun is too good to him. Too emotionally intelligent. Able to put words to things Suho’s mind can barely grasp, his thoughts a muddle.

Suho thinks back to the last few months, to how well they were doing—and how easily the guilt and the pain resurfaced. They’ll carry this forever, he realizes. There will always be bad days—when breathing gets harder, when the oxygen runs out—but they’ll be here for each other.

Sieun with a shovel in his hands, and Suho holding out a lifebuoy. 

“You didn’t tell me Beomseok texted you.”

There’s no reproach in Suho’s voice, only concern.

“Hurt too much,” Sieun shrugs, like it means nothing. He pauses, breath catching slightly, before he adds, “It’s easier to talk about him as a concept than to… be in contact with him. Forgiving him doesn’t mean I ever want to talk to him again.”

Sieun closes the distance again, settling against the countertop next to him, their arms brushing.

They stay silent for a few minutes, and Suho’s chest tightens as he tries to find the right words. Thoughts race through his mind, blurry, like mist seeping through his fingers. He can’t make sense of the tightness in his chest that has nothing to do with what happened, but all with the boy standing next to him.

He watches Sieun unwrap a piece of chocolate, fascinated by the way his tongue flicks over his lips after he pops it into his mouth. Then, Sieun catches him staring, blushing faintly, and asks, changing the subject:

“Where did you find the phone?”

“In the attic, I didn’t know halmeoni had kept it. But what surprised me more is that I still had data,” Suho says, looking pointedly at him.

Sieun glances down, almost apologetically.

“Even after you woke up, I couldn’t get myself to stop paying. It’s kind of embarrassing you’ve read the messages, though.”

“I thought about not reading them, you know. You’ve sent them when you were vulnerable, and I…” Suho hesitates. “But I think I needed to know. What was going on inside your head, I mean. You don’t always make it easy.”

“I’m sorry,” Sieun says quietly.

He looks away, downcast, and Suho reaches out, intertwining their fingers.

“It’s not a reproach, baby,” Suho says gently, trying to put the pieces of his thoughts together. “It’s just… even if I can read you most of the time, you tend to hide when things are bad. You don’t want to burden people, and I need you to know that you can burden me. I don’t wish you were different. I just wish I could do enough for you.”

“Suho…” Sieun swallows hard, his shoulders tensing. “You just make it so easy, you know. You’re brave and open, and you’re so easy to love, and I…”

Suho blinks quickly, trying to stop the tears. Sieun never says something he doesn’t mean, but hearing him say Suho is easy to love nearly undoes him. Because this is the issue, Suho thinks. After all this time, they both still think they’re hard to love.

“I know you want me, and we’ve been over this already, but you’re like the sun, and I… I don’t know.”

“I wish you could see yourself the way I see you, Sieunnie,” Suho says quickly, voice breaking. “You’re… I don’t even have the words to tell you how bright you are, how you mean everything to me. And I know I’m too loud, too brash, too clingy—I worry all the time that I’m too much for you. But it’s because you’re the only thing that makes sense, Sieun-ah.”

“Doesn’t it scare you?” he asks suddenly, and Suho sucks in a breath.

He could pretend he doesn’t know what Sieun is talking about. He could say it’s getting late, that they can talk in the morning. He could lie—to Sieun and to himself.

But the truth is that he is afraid. Afraid of how much he loves Sieun. Of a love that teeters on the edge of obsession and desperation.

“Of course I am,” he replies in a whisper. “I’m so scared, Sieunnie.”

Suddenly, it’s too much—Sieun’s hands in his, the softness in his eyes in the dark, or the slope of his lips—and Suho feels like he’s burning, his emotions too raw, too exposed. He needs to put some distance between them before he ignites.

He was wrong before: he’s the fire, and Sieun’s the flint.

“I couldn’t have done it, you know,” Suho blurts, urgency rising in his voice. “If it had been you in a coma, I… I couldn’t have waited. I couldn’t have gone on living. Not without you. And I— It scares me shitless, Sieunnie. Because if you ever leave me, I wouldn’t know how to be a person anymore. And I… I’m not sure love is supposed to feel like this.”

Sieun recoils. “What do you mean?”

Suho sighs, pressing his palms against his eyes. He can’t look at Sieun. Not now.

“Sieun-ah, we’re not even eighteen, and I already don’t know how to function without you. Just the thought of you leaving for college is killing me because I don’t want you to learn how to live without me. Not again.” He pauses, the words thick on his tongue. “Being with you feels safe… but it feels like burning, too. I’d die for you, and I’d die without you, and I’m so scared of who I would’ve become if you’d been the one hurt instead of me. You have so much power over me, and it’s overwhelming. Fuck. And I don’t think that’s normal, Sieunnie.”

He exhales shakily, scrubbing his hands through his hair. The silence stretches, and Suho feels restless. He paces once, twice, and stops, gripping the edge of the sink like an anchor. His chest rises and falls too fast, his head sunk between his shoulders. His vision is blurry, the glass a white spot in the corner.

Behind him, there’s a soft rustle of movement. Then, Sieun's fingers close gently around his shoulders, warm and grounding.

Suho stiffens at the touch but doesn’t pull away. He lets himself be turned, slowly, until they’re facing each other.

Their eyes meet, and suddenly the world stops spinning, and Sieun is the only thing he can see. They’re close enough that Suho can see the faint scars on his cheeks, the mole on his neck.

He’s kissed that mole so many times. And the closer Sieun gets, the harder it is to breathe. Even in the dark, Sieun is insanely beautiful, his eyes infuriatingly gentle, and Suho has to resist the urge to kiss him. He isn’t sure he has it in him to stop, and they still need to talk.

“I don’t want normal,” Sieun says softly, stepping even closer. “You love me enough to let me go, and I love you even worse because I never could. I’m obsessive. I shut down when I’m scared. I push people away before they can leave. I don’t know how to be easy. And still, you’re here. I’m tired of believing that I don’t deserve your love when we’re still here. After everything. I don’t want anyone else. I want you. I love you. I’m so insanely in love with you.”

Suho’s breath catches, a wide smile pulling at his lips. His heart is pounding, his fingers trembling where they rest against the sink. He knows Sieun loves him—he read the message, they’ve been circling around it for minutes even—but hearing it out loud is different. It feels like his chest might burst from how insanely fond he is.

He’s never wanted anything so badly in his life—and he has him. Right here. Saying I love you like it’s the easiest thing in the world.

“You love me,” he says, grinning like a fool.

Sieun chuckles, bashful, and looks away—but Suho won’t let him hide. This isn’t just happiness, this is survival too. A love formed in the rubble of tragedy, but it’s theirs.

He cups his cheeks, fingers warm against flushed skin, and tips his face toward his own.

“You’re in love with me.”

“I am,” Sieun whispers, ever so softly. His eyes are wide in the dark, soft and deep like boba pearls. Suho wants to kiss every inch of the pink blooming across his face.

He almost laughs then, euphoria surging up in his chest. He pushes off the sink, rising to his full height. And when Sieun has to tilt his chin to keep eye contact, lips parting just slightly, heat stirs low in Suho’s stomach.

This time, he can't help but lean in and kiss him—urgent, breathless, like a starved man. Sieun melts into it, his lips warm and pliant, tasting of chocolate, and he grabs Suho by the shirt, pulling him closer. Suho kisses him deeper, parting his lips with his own, and when his tongue grazes Sieun’s bottom lip, a soft, wrecked sigh escapes him.

They break apart after a moment, lips swollen, both of them breathing heavily. Suho presses a sweet kiss to the corner of Sieun’s mouth before letting go of his face.

“I’m in love with you too, for the record. Like, insanely. Like I’d steal the moon for you.”

“Cringe,” Sieun says dryly, and Suho laughs, throwing his head back.

But then Suho feels a kiss to his neck—soft, wet, searing. His breath hitches, and he lowers his gaze.

He wraps his hands around Sieun’s waist and gently walks him backward, guiding him until his back meets the edge of the countertop. Then, without a word, Suho grabs the back of his thighs and hoists him up, setting him on the cold surface. Sieun lets out a sharp breath, his legs falling open as Suho steps between them.

Suho wraps his arms around him, pulling him close until their hips bump and there’s no space left.

“I love you,” he murmurs, voice shaking, lips grazing the shell of Sieun’s ear.

“I love you,” Sieun breathes back, his fingers sinking into Suho’s hair.

Then, Sieun kisses him again. It’s slower this time. Heavier. Their lips meet again and again, bruising with emotion, with want, with need. Suho’s hands are everywhere—Sieun’s waist, the small of his back, his thighs—and when Suho squeezes them, Sieun makes a small, strangled noise. He drops his head to Suho’s shoulder, but Suho doesn’t stop kissing him—his cheek, his jaw, his temple.

“I love you,” Suho says.

Their mouths crash, messy, desperate.

“I love you,” he repeats, soft and urgent, like he’ll never tire of hearing it.

They say it over and over, between breaths, between kisses, until Suho isn’t sure which one of them is saying it anymore.

At some point, Sieun’s hands slip beneath Suho’s shirt, trailing up his back. Then, they dip lower, slowly tugging the fabric up over his waist. Suho smiles against Sieun’s mouth, then pulls back just enough to take in the sight of him—flushed cheeks, tousled hair, eyes shining.

He gently catches Sieun’s wrists before the shirt can come off completely.

Sieun pouts, confused, and Suho laughs, the sound low and warm in his chest. He leans forward, pressing their foreheads together.

“I just need to say this first,” Suho murmurs. “You’re worth it. You’re worth everything. You’ll never be alone ever again, this is a promise.”

Sieun softens, lashes fluttering, lips parting slightly.

“I love you. I’ll always dig my way out and crawl home to you.”

And Sieun—oh, Sieun—smiles, so gently, so heartbreakingly sincere, before whispering, “They’d have to bury us together first.”

There’s a beat of silence. Then the pouts return, his tone cheeky when he asks, “And now, can I take off your shirt?”

Suho barks out a laugh, his shoulders shaking as he bites his lip, amused.

“Whatever you want, baby.”

Yeah, maybe love is supposed to feel this way. And maybe this isn’t the kind of love people write stories about. But it’s theirs.

And after all—who’s to say?