Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Life was cold, gray, and monotone. At least in the eyes of Si-eun where everyday felt like the same. At least that was until he met him. Suho. Suho’s presence was a distraction to Si-eun at first, a confounding variable in his controlled experiment he calls life. But slowly, little by little, Si-eun allowed Suho to penetrate the walls he diligently built up over the years.

Si-eun lived not for himself but for his parents. He felt as if he was their living trophy, a puppet being controlled, and his parents, the marionettes. Suho taught him what friendship was, what passion was. But if Si-eun had known what results from allowing himself to feel his emotions, he’s not sure he’d ever open up to anyone again.

Suho is gone. Well not gone, but In a coma. To Si-eun, he’s gone, and it’s all his fault. Si-eun sits by Suho’s bed, it’s another one of his visits. Si-eun has come by at least twice a week after school and just sits there looking at his friend. His brown doe like eyes shine with unshed tears as he sits there slouched on the uncomfortable hospital chair his eyes vacant but swirling with dull guilt.

If only I was better, stronger. Suho wouldn’t be lying here. It should be me. I don’t deserve to be here.

Si-eun thinks bitterly biting his bottom lip which was chapped and gnawed raw. A bad habit that Suho often scolded him over. His thought process is interrupted by a soft voice clearing their throat. It’s the nurse, she tells him that visiting hours are over and walks out leaving Si-eun to collect himself.

Si-eun calmly sighs and stretches standing up, his neck sore from looking down at Suho. He puts on his jacket and grabs his backpack. As he does so his phone slides from his pocket clattering to the ground.

It’s open and still on Suho’s contact from where he texted him earlier that day. Another habit that he’s developed. Suddenly, a notification pops up on the screen as Si-eun leans down to pick up the phone.

Si-eun looks at the notifications. It’s Park Humin. Or as most people call him: Baku. Typical. Ever since Si-eun met the guy he’s been pestering him, but strangely Si-eun doesn’t mind. Sure Juntae and Hyuntak are his friends too, and he does find comfort in their presence, Baku always seems to capture his interest. After all, Si-eun understands Hyuntak’s type of character, a hotheaded fighter, too loyal or too impulsive, maybe both. He understands Juntae as well, a soft hearted kid, strangely adorable but realistically smart as well.

Si-eun is great at profiling others. It’s all about psychology, people all fit under certain categories. After all there’s a reason that personality types exist. He’s great at reading people, their motives, their logic, their behaviors.

Baku is different. He’s energetic but serious, a complete idiot, but surprisingly thoughtful. He’s caught Si-eun off guard multiple times which unnerves him. Si-eun doesn’t like questions that don’t have answers. After all every problem should have at least one solution, that’s just how the world works. To him, Baku is an unsolved equation with too many variables.

Maybe it’s because he forgot what it felt like to have a friend or to even be noticed, acknowledged, or maybe because a small part of him sees Suho in Baku. Whatever the reason was, Si-eun often found himself looking at Baku when the group of friends were together.

Baku himself was often attentive to Si-eun looking at him with big starry eyes full of earnest and something that he can’t quite decipher but it makes him feel strange for some reason. If Baku were to be an animal he would be a golden retriever, a lot of bark and a lot of bite but lovable nonetheless.

Snapping out of his thoughts Si-eun shoves his phone in his pocket and exits the hospital but not before glancing back one last time at a sleeping Suho. The night air is chilly and Si-eun wishes he had left earlier. The last bus has done its run for the night and now he has to make the long walk home. Si-eun doesn’t mind the walk, it’s the silence he minds.

He left his earbuds in his desk at school and can’t study or listen to anything. Si-eun is not one for music or noise, in fact he enjoys the silence. He enjoyed the solitude and silence that had become a part of his everyday life before everything that happened.

But now, the silence slowly suffocated him, it allowed him to think too much. About Suho, about Beomseok, about everything. Si-eun is a thinker, and that’s what his parents loved about him. He was smart and logical so why do his recent thoughts make no sense to him?

As Si-eun walks along the dimly lit path that leads to his apartment his phone buzzes again. He deliberates whether or not to check his phone hoping it’s not his parents nagging him. He’s attended his classes as diligently as ever and stopped fighting after the fall of the Union, well mostly stopped. After a few minutes he decides to check anyways.

It’s Baku. Si-eun finally looks at his phone and he sees 15 new text messages and 2 missed calls.

Park Humin: Si-eun buddy wya? I have chicken it’s ur fav. I’m waiting outside your door! 👹

Si-eun doesn’t smile but his lips quirk upwards slightly. Baku always puts the weirdest emojis in his texts. His pace unknowingly quickens as he nears his apartment. Once Si-eun approaches he sees Baku sitting on floor by his door. His brown hair is flat on one side since he was pressed against the door and his uniform was the same crazy but oddly organized look.

Once Baku hears Si-eun approaching he sits up and looks in his direction breaking out into a broad grin flashing dazzling white teeth

“Hey Si-eunah my ice princess!” Baku booms reaching out to ruffle Si-runs hair much to his dismay

“What took you so long? The chicken is getting cold. You have a microwave right? I brought some leftovers since you ditched us” Baku says referring to Si-eun’s decline at hanging out with Baku and the others.

Si-eun stares blankly at Baku with his doe like, brown eyes. His bangs fall neatly just above his eyes and the light from the doorway emphasizes dark circles under his eyes.

Baku stares straight into his eyes with the same wide grin before looking away slightly stuttering his grin getting somehow wider, and Si-eun wrinkles his eyebrows slightly in confusion

“Let’s not solicit here” Si-eun murmurs calmly and opens his door allowing Baku to step inside. Baku gratefully steps in taking off his shoes and looks around the place. It’s empty and desolate of decorations something that strangely fits Si-eun.

Si-eun reheats the chicken as Baku takes a seat at the table “Wow this is my first time here, makes me feel like I should thank you for letting me in your holy sanctuary” He jokes as Si-eun maneuvers around the kitchen grabbing two cups

“Well you never asked to come over” Si-eun replies softly and plates the now steaming chicken walking carefully over to place it on the table.

Baku laughs a heartily “You’re right my friend, I guess you always are, mister ice nerd” At that remark Si-eun scoffs and sits across from Baku handing him a glass of water who accepts it eagerly downing half of it in one go.

The two sit there silently for a while only the sound of chewing penetrating the air. Baku doesn’t take his eyes off Si-eun the whole time. But he does move his neck from time to time still slightly sore from when he waited for Si-eun at his door. He ended up dozing off in an uncomfortable position and was woken up when Si-eun approached.

Si-eun notices the slight movement of Baku and tilts his head slightly in confusion. “What’s wrong with your neck?” He questions softly his voice barely audible. Baku picks up on the question easily though and grins widely “Ah it’s nothing, just sore from waiting for my ice princess to arrive. Why? Are you worried for me Si-eunah?” He says teasingly and cracks his neck

“I can help you with that” Si-eun quietly says. At his words Baku freezes and whips around to look at him with intrigue “Really? Sure why not!” At Baku’s admission Si-eun nods and leans over the table with a hand out. Before he does anything he cleans up the remains of the chicken as he likes to keep his apartment organized. He then sits back down in his original seat and reaches out*

Si-eun carefully grabs Baku by the back of his neck and wrap his fingers gently around his neck threading them into his hair on the back of his head, massaging and brushing against pressure points to force pleasure And relaxation. At the sudden touch Baku stiffens and starts to fidget his face flushing a pink color against his tan skin. Si-eun noticing his fidgeting uses his other hand to gently grab Baku’s chin to keep him from moving.

“Don’t move” Si-eun murmurs. He’s unaware of the full extent that his actions have on Baku as he’s done this only to himself when his neck ended up inevitably sore after hours of studying. Si-eun carefully looks at Baku’s face studying his reactions searching for any signs of discomfort. Baku now restrained by Si-eun’s hand, blushes a deeper color looking directly at Si-eun frustrated at his apathy and lack of awareness. Si-eun methodically kneads into Baku’s neck alternating between firm and gentle touches.

The apartment is silent and dim with only one lamp by the table on casting a warm glow over the two boys. The atmosphere is charged but comfortable as they silently sit there. As Si-euns ministrations continue, Baku holds back a groan, an unfamiliar heat pooling in his lap. He breathes shakily and jolts standing up swiftly when Si-eun’s finger brushes a particularity sensitive part on his neck. He clears his throat “I uh feel better now thanks Si-eunah” Baku says willing for his body to calm down. Si-eun stand up too and looks at the clock

“It’s late, we have school tomorrow you should go” he says faintly. To which Baku nods eagerly and moves to put on his shoes. At the door Si-eun says his farewells to Baku, but as he is about to shut the door Baku stops it gently with his hand “Wait. Si-eunah” he abruptly says

“What is it?” Si-eun queries. He expects Baku to start talking as he usually does but instead Baku looks down at him, their height different evident, his dark eyes are serious and he’s not smiling. This catches Si-eun off guard and he silently looks up waiting for a response.

All of a sudden Baku leans down and whispers in Si-euns ear. His warm breath tickles and Si-eun feels a flush run up his neck. He only nods in response his doe eyes wide, and at that Baku flashes one more of his signature grins before ruffling Si-eun’s hair and taking off for the night.

Stunned by the sudden proximity and words of Baku, Si-eun methodically prepares for sleep brushing his teeth and changing his clothes. As he lays in bed thoughts swirl around him. From his earlier visit to Suho to his small interaction with Baku, everything prevents him from sleep. Especially what Baku had said. Si-eun mulls over the words before sleep eventually overcomes him and he gently closes his eyes ready for another rough night with inevitable nightmares.

Chapter Text

The sound of an alarm clock rouses Sieun from his sleep. He turns his head slightly and his alarm reads 5:30am. Sieun sits up groggily and wipes his eyes before getting up and preparing for school. He decides to skip breakfast not feeling in the mood to force sustenance down his throat. In fact, he had lost the ability to taste food after the accident with Suho. The doctor says it’s psychological issues but he thinks he just lost the motivation to even taste. His sleep was very shitty and he exits his apartment in a grumpy mood trudging his way to school.

Sieun arrives at school well before everyone else. He usually arrives at a normal time where Baku, Hyuntak, and Juntae are already at the gates waiting for him, but today he decided that he needed the extra time to make up for the studying he lost yesterday due to Baku’s surprise visit.

He quietly enters the classroom and opens the curtains taking his seat by the window. The morning sun casts a soft glow over him and he reaches into his desk grabbing his notebook and flipping to a new page. Time slowly passes by as Sieun studies and soon he can feel his eyelids getting heavy. Sieun shakes his head trying to stay awake, but the intoxicating atmosphere of the comfortable silence and warmth from the sun lulls him to sleep.

Sieun has his head lying on the desk to the side and in his arms. His brown hair shimmers in the light and his long eyelashes flutter in his sleep. Prominent circles appear under his eyes and his breath is slow and even. Even in his sleep Sieun has his signature frown, but he seems more vulnerable, more human in his sleep.

As Sieun is dozing off a shadow is cast over his gently closed eyes causing him to scrunch his nose and open them slightly. What greets him is the sight of Baku standing above him, his hand raised in a position that blocks the sun from Sieun’s vision.

Upon seeing Sieun wake up Baku grins broadly and scratches the back of his neck sheepishly “Sieunah! Sorry did I wake you? I didn’t mean to” he says cheerfully and goes to sit by him. Sieun sits up tenderly and shakes his head

“It’s ok, I shouldn’t be sleeping at school anyways” he murmurs softly rubbing sleep from his eyes. At his words Baku beams and is about to say something when Hyuntak loudly barges into the classroom hitting Baku on the head

“Ya! You ask me to get you some food and the you leave without me. You’re lucky I even brought them to you dumbass” Hyuntak says annoyed and drops a bag of goodies in front of Baku who frowns at him and grabs him putting him in a chokehold “I’m not a dumbass, my dad says I’m very smart” Baku retorts as Hyuntak struggles in his grip.

Sieun watches the banter unfold as Juntae enters and casually sits by him. This has become a routine of the boys crowding around him. At first, the attention made Sieun wary, but he soon became acclimated to the dynamics and a friendly atmosphere settles over the friends. The first bell rings and the teacher walks in announcing a new seating chart for the semester.

Sieun can’t tell whether it’s a blessing or a curse, but he was placed to be a desk mate with Baku and a few seats in front of him were Juntae and Hyuntak. This is going to be a long semester. Baku sits up attentively as the teacher posts the seating arrangement bursting with excitement. He turns towards Sieun and gives him a lopsided grin “Looks like it’s you and me Sieunah” he says cheerfully to which Sieun cracks a smile at his antics and nods slightly. “Yeah I guess so” Sieun softly agrees.

Baku opens his mouth to say something once again but the teacher clears his throat and orders everyone to get out their notebooks. Baku frowns slightly and rummages through his desk before pausing and turning towards Sieun with big brown puppy dog eyes.

Sieun’s eye twitches under the weight of Baku’s gaze and he silently pulls out a fresh notebook from his bag handing it to Baku who accepts it eagerly like it’s a gift from the heavens. Sieun then pulls out his own notebook which was decorated in his handwriting and flips to a new page. The teacher drones on about Korean history and Sieun calmly listens, occasionally jotting down a note.

Soon enough lunch rolls around, and Sieun turns to Baku who usually jumps at the sound of the bell dragging Sieun to the lunchroom. This time however, Baku has his head on his desk and his eyes are closed shut. He tends to get bored easily and ended up dozing off during class. Sieun sits there staring and him and decides to grab his pen raising above Baku’s face to draw a mustache on him. Why? Well Sieun didn’t know the reason why either, he just was compelled to do so.

Just as the marker is about to touch Baku’s face, Baku wakes up and sees Sieun leaning over him, his chocolate brown doe eyes narrowed in concentration. The sight catches Baku off guard and he blushes deeply sitting up straight.

“Is it lunch time yet? I’m hungry” Baku says loudly, trying to calm his rapidly beating heart. Sieun nods silently and stands up ready to go to the cafeteria.

The cafeteria is buzzing with noise by the time the boys arrive. Baku leads the way, practically bouncing with renewed energy, while Hyuntak and Juntae trail behind, arguing about whether spicy tteokbokki is better than sweet.

Sieun follows quietly, his hands in his pockets, letting the sounds wash over him. His appetite is still absent, but he takes a tray out of habit and grabs a carton of milk and a few side dishes—just enough to look normal.

They find a spot near the windows, and Baku immediately starts tearing into his food like he hadn’t eaten in days. “Man, I swear school drains the life out of me. You ever just sit and feel like your soul left your body?” he mumbles with his mouth full.

“You’d feel more alive if you stayed awake in class,” Hyuntak retorts, poking Baku in the side with his chopsticks.

Baku laughs loudly his mouth still very much full of food and says “ I would pay attention if school was more interesting!” The boys laugh at Baku’s antics except for Sieun. He sits there silently poking at his food and listening to the conversation as if he’s a third party in the group.

Juntae notices and leans in slightly, his voice gentle “Sieun, are you ok? You look zoned out” he says. Sieun blinks at him, caught off guard by the observation. He shrugs lightly. “Didn’t sleep well.”

The table quiets slightly—not awkwardly, but enough to feel the shift in the air. Baku looks over at Sieun, his usual smile faltering just a little.

“I was gonna say something funny, but now it feels illegal,” Baku says, trying to lighten the mood.

Sieun’s lips tilt up ever so slightly and motions for Baku to speak. “What do you call a fish fish with no eyes?”

Hyuntak groans. “Don’t—”

“Fshhh.”

Sieun blinks slowly at the sheer stupidity of the joke and cracks a small smile which lights up fireworks in Baku’s chest.

Damn he’s so cute Baku thinks to himself. How can I get him to notice me he wonders before squashing down the thought embarrassed with himself.

The lunch bell rings and Sieun discards his barely touches meal which earns him a frown from Baku. Baku decides to refrain from commenting however and follows Sieun back to the classroom.

————————————————————————
It’s the end of the day now and Sieun is calmly packing up. Baku appears next to him as he turns around to leave. He explains that Juntae has cram school and Hyuntak has martial arts practice. Sieun fails to see how this involves him. Baku noticing Sieun’s lack of interest grabs his arm gently and looks at him with his dark expressive eyes. “You want to get some ice cream or something” he says almost pleading with Sieun.

Sieun opens his mouth to decline, but pauses thinking back on the words Baku whispered into his ears. What Baku had said still puzzles Sieun and every time he mulls over it a strange feeling fills his gut distracting him. Sieun doesn’t like that feeling. He needed full concentration for his studies and felt like this human reaction was only gonna hurt him.

Despite his logic Sieun still nods in admission and looks up at Baku. “Sure, why not” he mumbles putting on his backpack. It wouldn’t hurt to go with Baku, Sieun needed to figure out the reasoning behind his words. Yes, this was for research purposes and nothing more. At least that’s what Sieun told himself.

Baku eagerly leads Sieun out of the school gates excited to spend some alone time with Sieun. As they’re walking side by side on the street, their hands brush sending a jolt of electricity up their arms. Baku doesn’t pull away and instead slings an arm over Sieun’s shoulder friendly, using “being a bodyguard” as an excuse, but really Baku just loved the feel of Sieun against him.

Sieun puts up little fight and relaxes slightly at Baku’s presence as they make their way to the grocery store. Tonight was going to be an interesting night. At least it will if Baku has anything to say about it.

Chapter Text

Baku drags Sieun to this cute little walk-up spot that sells all sorts of cold treats. The storefront is tucked between a flower shop and a stationery store, its windows glowing softly with pastel signage. A hand-painted board lists options in bubbly letters: bingsu, soft serve, fruit pops, slushes, milk tea floats. It smells like syrup and crushed ice and something vaguely floral.

Sieun blinks at the menu, skeptical. “This looks like something out of a kid’s cartoon.”

Baku grins. “Exactly. That’s the charm.”

He orders for them both before Sieun can say anything else—some sort of yogurt-based bingsu with fresh strawberries, condensed milk, and a heap of soft mochi pieces on top. Sieun gives him a sidelong glance but doesn’t argue. He’s too busy trying not to react to the way Baku stands too close, his arm brushing against Sieun’s as he leans on the little order counter.

“You always act like you’re in charge of everything,” Sieun mutters, eyes following a stray cat slinking around a nearby flower pot.

“I am in charge,” Baku says, puffing out his chest slightly before smirking. “At least when it comes to snacks.”

The dessert arrives in a clear plastic cup with two spoons sticking out at odd angles. They sit on the short curb just outside the shop, legs stretched out in front of them as cars roll by in the distance.

Sieun takes a bite, mostly to shut Baku up. It’s cold, sweet, sour, and smooth all at once. Annoyingly good.

Baku watches him like a hawk. “You like it.”

“I didn’t say that.”

“You didn’t have to.” He nudges the cup closer to Sieun, offering him the first proper scoop. “Go on. You need sugar. You’ve been brooding all day.”

Sieun clicks his tongue but obliges, taking another small bite. The chilled mochi sticks to his spoon and he chews it slowly, distracted.

After a beat, he speaks without looking at Baku. “Why do you keep doing this?”

Baku raises an eyebrow. “Doing what?”

“This.” Sieun gestures vaguely to the dessert, the spot, the closeness between them. “You don’t have to babysit me. I’m not your project.”

Baku sets his spoon down. His voice is gentler this time. “I don’t think of you like that, Sieun.”

Sieun finally meets his eyes. The night hums around them, soft and open, and something unspoken passes between their gazes.

Baku shrugs one shoulder, trying to play it off, but his voice betrays the truth. “I just like being around you.”

Sieun doesn’t know what to say to that. His first instinct is to put up walls, to make a snarky comment or change the subject. But nothing comes out.

Instead, he stares down at the melting dessert between them, watching the syrup pool around the edges.

“…I don’t get you,” he says finally.

Baku leans back on his hands, eyes fixed on the stars barely peeking through the city haze.

“Then we’ve got something in common,” he murmurs.

And for the first time in a long time, Sieun feels the weight in his chest shift — just slightly, just enough to breathe.

“Hurry up before it melts” Sieun murmurs, and Baku enthusiastically nods.

Sieun takes a small bite and stares straight ahead while Baku shoves a quarter of the dessert into his mouth in one go.

Baku watches Sieun chew, then lights up like a firefly. “Wait—wait, hold on.” He scoops up the perfect bite of ice, strawberry, and mochi, balancing it with surgical focus. “Open up.”

Sieun stares at him flatly. “What are you doing.”

“Feeding you. Come on, say ‘ahhh.’” Baku leans in, spoon held up like he’s offering treasure to a tiny, suspicious woodland creature.

Sieun blinks once, slowly. “I have hands.”

“Yeah, but this is cuter.” Baku beams, completely undeterred by the sharp glare he gets in return. “Don’t ruin the moment.”

“I’m not participating in the moment,” Sieun mutters, shifting away like a cat being offered a costume.

Baku just scoots after him, grinning. “You totally are. You just don’t want to admit you like being doted on.”

“I’ll throw this entire thing in your face.”

“Then I’ll just lick it off.”

Sieun falters.

Baku freezes too—realizing what he said a second too late. His ears go a little pink, but he recovers quickly, grinning like it was all part of the plan. “I mean—waste not, want not, right?”

Sieun narrows his eyes, visibly weighing his options. Then, slowly, reluctantly, he leans forward and takes the bite straight off Baku’s spoon, eyes fixed on Baku the whole time like a threat.

Baku chokes on his breath a little. “Whoa. You actually—”

Sieun chews, deadpan. “There. Happy?”

Baku practically wags his invisible tail. “Extremely.”

Sieun rolls his eyes and turns away, hiding the faint flush in his ears behind his hair. “You’re impossible.”

“And you’re adorable when you pretend not to enjoy my company,” Baku says, smug, digging into the dessert again.

They fall into a comfortable silence, the streetlights casting a golden halo around them, cars a distant hush in the background. Baku hums tunelessly, content just sitting there, and Sieun, for once, doesn’t move away.

In fact, when Baku scoops up another bite and wordlessly holds it out again, Sieun just sighs through his nose—and eats it.

He doesn’t look at Baku when he does it. But he doesn’t pull away, either.

“Does it taste good?” Baku asks, tilting his head with a lopsided smile that’s all open warmth, like sunshine on asphalt after rain.

Sieun nods slowly, almost out of habit. Then he stops.

His brow furrows.

He stares down at the melting dessert between them, spoon still hovering near his mouth. The cold registers on his tongue, the sweetness of the strawberry syrup, the subtle chew of mochi, even the faint tang of condensed milk. Vivid. Real.

He can taste it.

His breath catches, lashes fluttering as his mind struggles to keep up with the quiet explosion of sensation. He hasn’t really tasted anything in weeks. Maybe months. Food had become a routine—fuel, not feeling. He’d chew and swallow and forget, all automatic. But now

Now he can feel the grain of the ice melting across his tongue. The texture, the temperature, the life in it.

Something tightens in his throat.

Baku doesn’t say anything at first. He watches Sieun quietly, the usual teasing falling away as he notices the shift—how Sieun’s shoulders go still, how his hand clenches a little too tightly around the plastic spoon, how his gaze is locked on nothing like he’s trying to solve some invisible puzzle.

“Sieun?” Baku’s voice is soft, unsure, like he’s afraid of startling him. “You okay?”

Sieun blinks. Once. Twice. Then very slowly, he nods again.

“Im fine…” His voice comes out thinner than expected, almost brittle. “I can taste this…. It’s good”

He doesn’t elaborate, but he doesn’t need to.

Baku’s expression softens into something deeper—less golden retriever, more quiet anchor. “You haven’t been able to?”

Sieun shakes his head once, gaze dropping to his lap. “Not for awhile, no I haven’t”

It slips out too easily. He hadn’t meant to say that much. But the night feels like a secret and Baku feels like someone he might trust not to drop it.

There’s a silence between them—heavy, but not uncomfortable. Just real.

Baku shifts closer. His shoulder brushes against Sieun’s lightly, the warmth of it grounding. “You’re tasting now,” he says, gently. “That’s good, right?”

Sieun doesn’t answer. He just sits with the thought, feeling it roll through him like a tide. He is noticing. He’s tasting. He’s feeling again—even if it’s small, even if it hurts a little.

And maybe that should scare him.

But it doesn’t.

Not with Baku sitting beside him, still humming softly like he’s trying to fill all the cracks Sieun didn’t know he had.

“...It is good,” Sieun finally says, so quietly Baku almost doesn’t hear it.

Baku’s grin returns, but it’s gentler now. More tender. “Told you dessert fixes everything.”

“You didn’t say that.”

“Didn’t I?” Baku hums. “I meant to.”

Sieun finally allows himself the smallest smile, tired at the edges, but real.

The dessert is nearly gone now—just streaks of syrup clinging to the sides of the flimsy plastic bowl, melting into nothing. The silence that follows isn’t uncomfortable, but it isn’t quite easy either. It’s full of things unsaid, thick with the fragile weight of Sieun’s unexpected admission. He sits stiffly, backpack still slung over one shoulder like he’s halfway to leaving, but for some reason… he hasn’t moved.

The streetlights flicker above them, washing the sidewalk in a tired amber glow. The world outside the quiet bubble they’ve made keeps turning—cars pass, distant voices chatter—but Baku only has eyes for Sieun. Always, always only Sieun.

His gaze drifts to the boy beside him—dark brown hair tousled by the breeze, skin pale under the gentle wash of city lights, and those doe eyes, so dark they’re almost black, framed by thick lashes. There’s something hollow in them, something heavy and unreachable. They should’ve been warm, soft like their color suggested—but instead, they’re void. A curtain drawn shut.

Sieun sits like someone used to disappearing.

Like he’s convinced no one’s really looking at him.

Baku is. He always is.

And maybe he shouldn’t care this much. Maybe it’d be smarter not to. But when Sieun smiled—really smiled, even if it was small—it did something to Baku’s chest. Stirred something tender and terrified and electric.

Baku’s charcoal eyes flick to the spoon again, then back to Sieun. His voice, when it comes, is casual—too casual. But beneath it, there’s a tremor of hope. Of something soft trying not to sound like it’s begging.

“You know,” he says, nudging the empty dessert bowl with his knee, “we could make this a thing.”

Sieun turns his head slightly, just enough to meet Baku’s gaze. There’s already suspicion in those eyes.

Baku scratches the back of his neck, feigning nonchalance. “Like, every week. We find a new place—different dessert, or food, or whatever. I’ll treat.” He flashes a grin that doesn’t quite reach his eyes. “Could help you get your taste back.”

Sieun doesn’t respond at first. He watches Baku, as if trying to peel him apart with nothing but silence and suspicion. He’s always been good at spotting lies, even the well-meaning ones.

“And why would you do that?” he asks eventually, voice low, neutral.

Baku shrugs, still trying to play it cool. “Because I’m a good friend? Because you clearly need an excuse to leave the house that isn’t school or the hospital or wherever you go off to on the weekends?”

His tone is light, but he watches Sieun closely for the reaction. Sieun flinches slightly. It’s just a blink, a breath, but Baku catches it. Knows he hit too close to something raw.

Sieun looks away. His fingers tighten where they rest against his jeans. “You don’t need to babysit me.”

“I’m not,” Baku says quickly, leaning forward now, tone dropping into something more sincere. “I just… I like hanging out with you. And I figured this might be a good excuse.”

There it is. The truth, or at least the closest thing to it. Baku doesn’t say I want to be close to you. He doesn’t say I’m worried you’re going to disappear if no one keeps showing up. But it’s there, between the lines. Soaked into every word.

Sieun breathes out through his nose, eyes narrowing. “You know I don’t like people fussing over me.”

“I’m not fussing,” Baku counters. “I’m bribing you with food. Big difference.”

That earns him a dry glance, but it’s not as sharp as before. The edge has dulled, just slightly.

Sieun sinks back against the bench, tilting his head to look up at the sky. It’s nothing but a hazy orange-pink wash tonight, the stars blotted out by city smog and streetlight. Still, he watches it like it might offer him answers he hasn’t asked out loud.

“I don’t promise I’ll show up every time,” he mutters.

Baku perks up immediately, smile stretching wide. “I’ll take what I can get.”

Sieun sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose like he’s already regretting this. “Once a week. That’s it.”

“That’s all I asked for.” Baku leans back beside him, their shoulders brushing again—intentionally this time. He doesn’t press, doesn’t look at Sieun, just sits close and lets the night settle around them.

Sieun doesn’t say anything else. But he doesn’t pull away either.

For Baku, that’s enough.

For now.

The walk home is quiet at first.

They leave the glow of the dessert stand behind, trading its warm lights and sugary air for the cooler hush of the side streets. The pavement is cracked in places, the yellowed streetlights buzzing faintly overhead. A few cicadas whine in the distance. It’s the kind of quiet that doesn’t demand conversation, the kind that feels both safe and lonely.

Sieun walks with his hands in his pockets, eyes fixed on the sidewalk like he's counting the cracks. His movements are subtle, mechanical. There’s a practiced tension in his shoulders, like he's always ready to shrink into himself, to vanish. The sugar’s long gone from his tongue, but the ghost of it lingers. He still can’t stop thinking about the moment Baku held the spoon out to him. How stupid it made him feel. How… seen.

He hated being seen.

Baku walks just half a step ahead, but he keeps glancing back, as if to make sure Sieun is still there. His strides are relaxed, hands swinging a little with each step. The bounce in his gait is unmistakable, he's clearly in a good mood. Probably just happy Sieun agreed to anything at all.

“I’m serious about the once-a-week thing,” Baku says suddenly, his voice light. “You can even pick the places. Just—somewhere new. Somewhere with flavor. We’ll find the good stuff together.”

Sieun hums noncommittally, gaze never leaving the ground.

“I mean,” Baku continues, smiling to himself, “I’ve got a list of spots already. I’ve been, uh… keeping it for a while. Just in case you ever said yes.”

Sieun snorts, the sound quiet and involuntary. “That’s pathetic.”

Baku grins like he’s been complimented. “You say that, but you’re walking next to me right now. So who’s really pathetic?”

Sieun exhales a sharp breath through his nose. Not quite a laugh. Not quite not.

They cross the street in sync, Baku stepping a little closer as a car passes behind them. His shoulder bumps Sieun’s gently, not enough to make him stumble, just enough to say I’m here. He doesn’t pull away this time.

Sieun doesn’t either.

They walk in silence for a few more blocks. The air cools, brushing against their cheeks, rustling the leaves above. It smells faintly of rain even though the sky’s clear. Baku kicks at a pebble and watches it skitter down the sidewalk.

Then, softly, like he’s not sure he should say it, he adds, “You know... it’s ok that you can’t taste things.”

Sieun doesn’t look at him. “Why bring it up, then?”

“Because I want to help,” Baku says simply. “I don’t want you to think you’re broken or something. You’re not. And if walking around the city eating overpriced desserts with me somehow helps bring your taste back, even just a little, then I want to do it.”

Sieun stops walking.

Baku takes another step before noticing and turns back, confused. Sieun’s head is bowed slightly, his bangs hiding his expression. The quiet between them stretches, heavy and slow. When Sieun speaks, it’s low and flat.

“You keep saying I’m not broken,” he murmurs. “But you don’t see what it’s like.”

His voice is steady, but something about it feels like a thread unraveling. Something tightly wound finally slipping.

“I wake up and everything’s gray. Food doesn’t taste. Sound doesn’t register. People laugh and it sounds like static. I keep telling myself to care, to try, but it never works. It’s like I’m here, but… not really. You can’t fix that with mochi and strawberries, Baku.”

Baku stares at him. His hands tighten into fists at his sides, helpless, aching. There’s no sunny comeback in him this time.

“I know,” he says quietly. “I know I can’t fix it. But I can walk next to you while you figure it out. I can make sure you’re not doing it alone.”

Sieun finally looks up. His eyes are glassy in the streetlight — not wet, not quite — but the emptiness is cracking. A single hairline fracture running through the still surface. Baku holds his gaze, his charcoal eyes steady and open and full of something raw and unwavering.

And it’s that look, not the words, that makes something in Sieun falter. That makes his shoulders finally drop just a little.

He exhales.

“Once a week,” he mutters. “That’s it.”

Baku smiles, slow and soft. “Once a week,” he echoes.

They start walking again.

Neither of them says anything more that night. But when their hands brush again, Sieun doesn’t move away.

And Baku pretends not to notice the way his own heart nearly stumbles out of his chest.

“I take it back, you’re nothing like him” Sieun mutters, mostly to himself. Baku picks up the phrase but doesn’t acknowledge it.

Eventually, the two split ways and began the quiet walk back to their own houses. No more words were exchanged—just a glance, a slight nod, as if anything more would’ve broken the fragile stillness that had settled between them. Baku turned the corner first, disappearing into the shadows of a side street, his footsteps growing faint. Sieun lingered a moment longer before heading in the opposite direction, his hands in his pockets, the streetlights casting long shapes on the pavement ahead. The night air was cool, brushing softly against his face, and though nothing had been resolved, something felt different—lighter. Not quite peace, but the beginning of it. Sieun walks with a lighter heart and Baku practically flies home from the butterflies in his heart.

Chapter Text

The days blur together as Sieun and Baku grow closer, their time at school folding into a quiet rhythm of exchanged glances, accidental brushes of fingers, and conversations that begin with sarcasm and end in something dangerously close to comfort. Juntae and Hyuntak tease, Baku pretends not to care, and Sieun says nothing, but he stays. And somehow, that says everything.

Soon, the day arrives. The day Baku’s been planning in his own clumsy, persistent way, a casual suggestion turned promise: “Let’s try something new. Food this time. You have to actually eat, okay?” Sieun hadn’t said yes. He hadn’t said no, either. But Baku showed up anyway, grinning like it was the most natural thing in the world, and Sieun followed because he always does.

They head to a tiny, tucked-away food stall near the edge of town, the kind of place only locals know about. The kind of place that smells like hot oil, broth, and childhood memories. Baku orders for both of them with an ease Sieun envies.

He hasn’t been able to taste anything since that night.

No matter what he’s tried… spicy, sweet, burnt, bland, it all turns to ash in his mouth. Food has become texture and temperature, nothing more. But Baku doesn’t know that. Not really. Not to the extent of it.

Instead, he talks. About the ajumma who runs the stall, about how she gave him free tteokbokki once when he came here crying after flunking a math test, about how eating here always made him feel better, “like stuff didn’t suck for a little while.”

Sieun listens, chopsticks idle in his hand. The food sits steaming between them.

Baku leans forward, chin in his palm, watching him with that look, the one Sieun still hasn’t figured out how to meet. “Go on. Try it. I bet you’ll like it.”

Sieun picks up a piece of fish cake and chews slowly. The broth’s still hot, savory, rich with spice. It should’ve hit him right in the chest, but there’s nothing. Again.

He lowers his chopsticks. “It’s good,” he lies.

Baku squints at him like he can see straight through it. “Liar.”

Sieun doesn’t respond.

But Baku doesn’t get mad. He doesn’t push. He just sits back, blowing gently on his own food. “We’ll keep trying. I’m not giving up until something tastes good to you again. Got it?”

Sieun blinks. The words lodge somewhere between his ribs. “That’s dumb.”

“Yeah, well,” Baku shrugs. “So am I. Lucky for you.”

Sieun’s lips twitch. It’s almost a smile, almost something lighter. He looks away before Baku can see it. But the warmth stays, just beneath the surface.

They sit like that for a while. The food cools. The sun dips lower. And even though Sieun still can’t taste a thing, somehow, this moment doesn’t feel empty.

Not quite peace. But the beginning of it.

They eat in silence for a while… well, Baku eats. Sieun mostly pokes at the food, feigning interest whenever Baku glances his way. The street’s a little quieter now, the late afternoon sunlight stretching long over the concrete, casting golden streaks across the stall’s metal counter.

Baku finishes his skewer and tosses the stick into the empty cup. “Okay, that one wasn’t the winner,” he says, brushing off his hands. “But I’ve got a list. We’ll find something. What do you wanna try next? Something sweet?”

Sieun stares at him. “You made a list?”

“Obviously.” Baku puffs out his chest, smug. “You think I don’t take your recovery seriously?”

Sieun looks back down at his uneaten fish cake. “It’s not a recovery,” he mutters.

Baku goes quiet. For a moment, Sieun thinks maybe he’ll finally leave it alone, but that’s not who Baku is.

“Okay,” Baku says softly. “Then I’m just staying for no reason.”

That gets Sieun’s attention. He glances up, surprised, but Baku’s not teasing. His smile is smaller now. Not sad, but steady. “I don’t care what you call it. You lost something. I want to help you get it back. That’s all.”

Sieun looks away, throat tight. The words are too much, too warm, too open. They press against something fragile in him, something he’s not ready to acknowledge.

“You don’t have to do that,” he says. “It’s not your job.”

“Maybe not.” Baku shrugs. “But I want to. And I don’t mind being annoying if it means I get to see your face when something finally tastes right again.”

Sieun almost scoffs—but the sound gets caught halfway. He feels the sting behind his eyes before he can stop it and quickly turns away, pretending to dig through his pocket.

Baku doesn’t mention it. Doesn’t call attention to the way Sieun suddenly won’t look at him. Instead, he stands and stretches, his hoodie bunching slightly at the waist. “Alright. New plan. Dessert. You’re gonna try bungeoppang. It’s hot, it’s crispy, it’s shaped like a fish. What’s not to like?”

Sieun raises a brow. “You just want an excuse to eat more.”

“Correct,” Baku says without shame. “Also, you said you’ve never had it. That’s basically a crime.”

He starts walking without waiting for an answer, confident Sieun will follow.

And he does.

They wander a little farther into the side streets, the noise of traffic fading behind them. The air is cooler here, dusk creeping in. They find a cart tucked next to a bookstore, the vendor already flipping the golden fish-shaped pastries with practiced ease.

Baku hands over a few crumpled bills and gets two. He shoves one toward Sieun.

“It’s hot,” he warns, grinning.

Sieun takes it carefully, the warmth bleeding through the paper. He holds it close, unsure. Then, after a second, he takes a bite.

He chews slowly. Red bean. Crisp edges. Soft inside.

Still nothing.

But for some reason, this time, it’s not so frustrating. Because when he glances over, Baku’s already watching his face closely for a reaction. Sieun gives a small shake of his head and Baku grins, happy nonetheless that he tried it,

They walk side by side beneath the soft glow of the streetlamps, the last of their bungeoppang half-eaten in their hands. The world feels quiet again, but not in the heavy way it used to. It’s quieter like a lull in the noise, ike a moment waiting to be filled.

Sieun keeps his gaze ahead, but his thoughts tug in another direction. That night. The one with the fried chicken, the long silence, the weightless air. There’s something he’s been holding onto, turning over in his mind like a loose thread.

He speaks without looking at Baku.

“What did you mean that night?” he asks. “When you whispered in my ear.”

Baku nearly chokes on his last bite.

He fumbles to catch it with a napkin, wiping at his mouth. “Wh—what?”

Sieun finally looks at him, expression calm, almost clinical. “You said, ‘You have no idea what you're doing to me, do you, Sieun?’”

Baku’s ears flush a vivid red almost immediately. He lets out a nervous laugh and tries to wave it off. “Oh, that? I was—uh—I don’t even remember saying that, honestly—"

“You said it clearly. Just after I helped you with your neck pain” Sieun interrupts, voice even. “It’s been bothering me.”

“Bothering you?” Baku repeats, horrified. “Why?! It wasn’t supposed to— I mean, I didn’t mean it like—”

He groans and drags a hand down his face. “Okay, listen. I say dumb stuff when I’m flustered, alright? I didn’t mean anything weird by it.”

Sieun watches him carefully. “You were flustered?”

Baku shoots him a look. “Oh, come on. You’re gonna make me spell it out?”

“Preferably,” Sieun says, deadpan.

Baku sputters. “Okay—okay fine. You were being...you. All quiet and serious and helping me… touching me so gently like it wasn’t a big deal even though you never do stuff like that and—ugh.”

He throws his head back dramatically. “God, you're so calm all the time it makes me feel like I’m the crazy one.”

Sieun raises an eyebrow. “That’s not an explanation.”

Baku groans again and turns to face him, walking backwards now as they make their way down the sidewalk. “I meant… you mess with me. In the brain. In the heart. Whatever. It’s not scientific, okay?”

Sieun studies him. “So it was romantic.”

Baku nearly trips.

He catches himself and stares at Sieun, eyes wide. “You’re not gonna let me escape this conversation, huh.”

“No,” Sieun says plainly.

Baku’s shoulders slump in defeat. “Fine. Yeah. It was… romantic. Or pathetic. Or both.”

There’s a beat of silence.

Sieun looks away, eyes softening. “…I thought so.”

Baku blinks. “Wait. That’s it? No teasing? No telling me I’m gross?”

“I didn’t say it made sense,” Sieun replies. “It just felt… strange. Hearing it. Like it didn’t belong. Like it hit the wrong part of my brain.”

Baku looks a little worried now. “So you hated it?” Sieun shrugs. “No. Just didn’t know what to do with it.”

Baku quiets.

They walk a little farther, the night settling thick around them. The tension simmers but doesn’t break.

Eventually, Sieun says softly, “But I didn’t hate it.”

Baku turns his head sharply, eyes wide. Sieun keeps walking. The corners of his lips lift—just barely.

And Baku? He grins like an idiot, and Sieun swears he starts to lightly bounce as they walk.

The pair continues walking, but back in the direction they came from. The world is hushed now, it’s just the sound of their footsteps, a rustle of wind through the trees, and the occasional hum of a distant car. The streetlights cast long shadows, bathing the sidewalk in pools of amber light and darkness. It should be an ending. A good night, a see you tomorrow.

But neither of them says it.

Sieun walks with his hands in his pockets, head lowered slightly, eyes flickering to Baku’s every few seconds as if checking for something, confirmation, maybe. That he didn’t misread anything. That the strange flutter in his chest isn’t just a glitch in the system.

He looks back again at Baku, who’s staring straight ahead. Sieun wonders what he’s feeling.

Baku is jittering inside. His pulse is a live wire. His brain is screaming don’t do it, but his feet won’t stop moving, his hands won’t stay still. His skin burns from all the things he didn’t say, and his mouth is still tingling from that moment Sieun said he didn’t hate it.

They come to a stop at the corner.

Sieun is quiet. As always. But Baku’s learned to read that quiet. It’s not absence, it’s pressure. Waiting to be let out.

“Hey,” Baku says, voice a little rougher than usual.

Sieun glances up.

And before he can talk himself out of it—before he can think at all—Baku steps forward and wraps his arms around him.

Not a casual hug. Not a friendly pat on the back. But a real one. Firm, nervous, desperate in a way that Baku can’t explain. One arm tight across Sieun’s back, the other around his shoulder, cheek pressed lightly to the side of his head. He doesn’t move. Doesn’t speak. He just holds him.

Sieun goes stiff immediately. Rigid, as if his body doesn’t quite know how to register contact, especially not like this. His breath catches in his throat. His fingers twitch inside his pockets.

It’s warm. Too warm. Baku’s body radiates heat through every layer of clothing. It rushes through the front of Sieun’s jacket like an ambush, crowding his senses. His pulse rises slowly, a quiet throb in his ears, steady and uncomfortable. Not unpleasant. Just… overstimulating.

He should pull away. He should say something sarcastic. Something dismissive. But instead—

He breathes in.

Baku smells like detergent and spice from the food stall and something bright and warm underneath, something alive. His heartbeat is frantic against Sieun’s chest. Sieun feels the shape of him—leaner than expected, more solid, his hand pressed right between Sieun’s shoulder blades.

And without realizing, he leans in.

His body softens first. Then the tension in his shoulders loosens. His chin barely brushes Baku’s shoulder. His eyes drift shut.

What is this…? The thought is quiet, not frightened, just fascinated.

“I—uh—it’s cold,” Baku blurts suddenly, the words muffled against Sieun’s neck. “I mean—not that cold, but you looked cold. And it felt right. I mean not like that right—I just meant, like—”

Sieun exhales, just short of a laugh. “You’re bad at this.”

“I know,” Baku groans into his hoodie.

Sieun doesn’t pull away.

And Baku doesn’t let go.

For a few seconds, they’re suspended in something heavier than silence. The kind of closeness that buzzes under the skin. There’s no kiss. No obvious move forward. But the air is thick with possibility, charged with a thousand unspoken instincts.

Sieun’s mind tries to analyze the moment, why this pressure in his chest feels like hunger, or why his hands ache to rise, to touch back. Why the world has narrowed down to the shape of one boy holding him like it means something. Like he means something.

But his body doesn’t need to understand. It just stays there, resting in the warmth. Letting it happen.

Eventually, Baku pulls back just enough to look at him, his arms still loosely around his waist.

Sieun’s eyes open slowly. They’re closer than they’ve ever been.

“Was that okay?” Baku asks, his voice quieter now, full of something vulnerable he’s trying not to show.

Sieun stares at him. For once, unreadable. Then, without answering, he just says, “You should go home.”

But he doesn’t sound cold. He doesn’t sound distant. He sounds like someone trying not to fall off the edge of something new.

Baku lets go, reluctantly so, his fingertips brushing down Sieun’s sleeves like he’s memorizing the feeling, and steps back with a grin he can’t hide.

“Same time next week?” he asks, half a joke.

Sieun shrugs. “We’ll see.”

But as he turns away, Baku watches the back of his head, the way his hands stay out of his pockets this time. The way he walks a little slower. Like maybe he’s waiting to be followed.

Sieun has barely made it five steps before a voice calls out. “Hey—wait up!”

He stops, sighs. Doesn’t turn. Of course it’s Baku. Footsteps slap the pavement behind him, hurried and a little uneven. “You’re seriously just gonna leave me here after that?” Baku calls, breath puffing in the cold.

Sieun turns halfway, expression blank but resigned. “Was I supposed to walk you home?”Baku shrugs, catching up beside him. “No, I just… I dunno. Didn’t feel like going back yet.”

Sieun raises a brow. “So your plan is to follow me instead.”

“Yup,” Baku says, grinning. “Consider me your unwanted sidekick for the evening.”

Sieun exhales through his nose, turns back toward his street, and starts walking again. “You’re persistent.”

“I prefer charmingly tenacious,” Baku says, falling into step beside him. “Plus, you’re the one who said ‘we’ll see.’ That’s not a no.”

Sieun glances at him sideways. “That wasn’t a yes either.”

Baku just shrugs, hands stuffed deep in his hoodie pocket, still smiling. “Didn’t sound like a no.”

They fall into a rhythm again. The night’s grown colder, but the warmth from earlier lingers—under the skin, in the air between them. Neither mentions the hug. It sits between them like something sacred and volatile, untouchable for now.

By the time they reach Sieun’s place, the sky is a deep navy, stars barely visible above the glow of the city. Sieun pauses at the gate to his building.

“You’re seriously coming in?”

Baku shrugs again, like it’s obvious. “Unless you’re gonna fight me.”

“You’d lose.”

“Not if I distract you with my natural charm.”

Sieun scoffs, quiet, involuntary, and pushes open the door. “Fine. Just don’t touch anything.”

“Too late. I’m already touching the vibe,” Baku says, stepping in behind him like he’s done it a hundred times before.

Inside, the apartment is dim and silent. Familiar. Sieun toes off his shoes by the door and gestures lazily. “Sit. Don’t break anything.”

Baku glances around, eyes wide and curious, taking in the tidy minimalism of the space. “Wow. It’s, like… cleaner than I expected, even though I’ve been here before.”

“That’s because I live here.”

“Right. Right.” Baku flops dramatically onto the edge of the couch. “So, what now? You gonna make me tea and psychoanalyze me or something?”

Sieun shrugs off his jacket and tosses it over a chair. “No. I’m going to sit here, and you’re going to be quiet for five minutes.”

Baku grins, pulling his knees up to his chest. “That’s rich, coming from the guy who just melted into my arms ice cream on a hot day.”

Sieun freezes mid-step.

He turns his head slowly. “You’re still talking.”

“Yeah, but I’m being honest.”

Sieun sits across from him, arms folded, legs crossed, unbothered, but his ears are pink. Baku watches him like he’s waiting for a reaction. A glare. A retort.

Instead, Sieun just stares at him. Steady. Cool. Calm.

“Why’d you really come?” he asks after a beat. Voice low. Not accusing. Just precise. Baku blinks. He looks down at his hands, fidgets with the edge of his sleeve. “I dunno. I just didn’t wanna leave yet.”

Sieun tilts his head, studying him. “You could’ve said that.”

“Yeah, well… I didn’t think it’d sound good out loud.” Baku rubs the back of his neck. “It’s weird, right? Wanting to stay with someone after just…hugging them? I don’t even know what we are.”

Sieun’s voice is quieter now. “You’re the one who keeps showing up.”

“And you’re the one who keeps letting me.”

That silences them both.

The air shifts again. Heavier now. But not uncomfortable. Sieun looks away first, eyes settling on the window, where the lights of the city blink in and out of view. His fingers curl slightly against his arm.

“I didn’t hate it,” he says again. This time, softer. As if admitting it more to himself.

Baku doesn’t smile this time. Doesn’t tease.
He just leans back on the couch, content to share the quiet. Minutes pass like that. Not much said. Nothing touched. But between them, everything moves.

And for the first time, Sieun doesn’t mind the silence.

It’s the situation he minds.

This moment, this soft, warm, almost moment, isn’t his to have. It doesn’t belong to someone like him. Someone with blood on his hands, invisible maybe, but felt all the same. The room is dim and still, lit only by the faint orange spill of a streetlamp filtering through the curtains. Baku is there, sitting on his couch like it’s his second home, hands tucked between his knees, looking so alive it hurts.

Sieun shifts, arms folded across his chest like armor. A defensive position. He tells himself it’s because he’s cold.

But really, it’s because he’s splintering.

He shouldn’t have let him in. He shouldn’t have let anyone in. Not when Suho is lying in a hospital bed, unmoving, pale, small in a way Suho never was before. The memory drags him back like gravity, too fast, too real. The beeping of machines. The antiseptic smell that never leaves his nose. The way the doctor looked at him like he was already supposed to know.

He might not wake up for a while.
We’ll do everything we can.

Everything. As if Sieun hadn’t already done everything. As if he hadn’t run, hadn’t fought, hadn’t screamed until his throat was raw.

And yet.

He’s here.

He’s here, and Suho isn’t.

A sharp, nauseating guilt coils in his stomach. He swallows hard, but it sticks in his throat like glass. His breath stutters. There’s this noise in his head, static, buzzing, building behind his temples like pressure, like something that wants to crack him open.

He doesn’t deserve to feel okay. Not even for a second. Especially not with someone like Baku, someone who looks at him like he’s worth something, like he’s someone worth knowing, worth being close to.

Sieun’s eyes are distant, fixed on nothing. His fingers dig into the sleeves of his shirt.

Baku’s voice breaks the silence, tentative. “You okay?”

Sieun doesn’t answer. He can’t. His mind is spinning, looping back to the image of Suho’s face, his bruised temple, the faint lines of the oxygen mask, the soft, rhythmic beeping of the heart monitor. He hasn’t told Baku about what really happened that say. Not the details. Not the parts that matter.

If he did, if Baku knew, he’d leave. He’d realize what kind of person Sieun really is. The kind of person who brings ruin just by being close.

“I shouldn’t have let you in,” Sieun says suddenly. His voice is flat, too level. Like a sheet of ice.

Baku blinks. “What?”

“You should go home.”

“Why?”

Sieun finally looks at him. And Baku stills.

There’s something dark in his chocolate brown eyes now. Not anger. Not even sadness. Just that hollow sort of detachment that comes from holding something too painful for too long. He looks tired. Not in the physical way, but soul-tired.

“Because this—” Sieun gestures vaguely between them, “—this is too comfortable, it’s too nice. I don’t deserve this.”

Baku leans forward slightly. “Sieun…”

“You don’t get it.” His voice is sharper now. The wall’s going up fast. “Suho is in a hospital bed. He might not ever walk again. He might not even wake up. And I’m here. Sitting in a warm room, Letting someone like you—”

He stops. Chest rising and falling. Hands trembling slightly now.

Baku doesn’t flinch.

Instead, he stands up.

And before Sieun can retreat further into himself, into whatever void he’s disappearing into, Baku snaps, not with anger, but with a sudden, bright intensity that cuts through the fog like light.

“Stop.”

Sieun blinks.

Baku’s jaw is tense. He takes a shaky breath, fists clenched at his sides. “I get that you feel like crap,” he says, eyes locked on Sieun’s. “I get that you think you’re not allowed to feel anything good because someone else is hurting. But that’s not how it works.”

Sieun says nothing.

Baku takes a step closer. “You hurting yourself doesn’t make Suho better. You throwing your own happiness away, it doesn’t magically fix anything.”

Sieun looks down, eyes darting, throat tight.

“I know I’m not some genius or whatever,” Baku mutters, stepping even closer, softer now. “I can’t fix what happened. But I can be here. And maybe that doesn’t mean much to you, but…” He swallows hard. “You shouldn’t have to sit in this pain alone. That’s all I’m trying to say.”

There’s a long pause.

Sieun stares at the floor. His fingers twitch. His chest feels too small for the air in it. He wants to say leave, wants to say I’m fine, wants to say I don’t deserve this, but none of it comes out.

Because underneath it all, there’s this deeper ache.

He doesn’t want Baku to leave.

Not really.

Baku moves to hug Sieun once again. Sieun doesn’t lean into the hug.

He stiffens. Not in the shy, uncertain way he did before, but like something inside him has snapped tight. His body locks under Baku’s touch as if held in place by invisible barbed wire. Too much. Too close. Too warm.

Too forgiving.

He sucks in a breath, but it catches on something sharp in his throat. The guilt rises again, louder, uglier, like bile.

And suddenly he can’t take it.

“Let go.”

The words come out low and rigid, like broken glass.

Baku blinks, startled. “What?”

“I said let go!” Sieun jerks away from him, pulling back so quickly the sudden motion makes the room tilt. “What the hell are you doing?”

Baku raises his hands slightly, palms open. “I was just trying to—”

“To what? Fix me?” Sieun’s voice cracks around the edges now, rising despite himself. “You think if you sit close enough and talk soft enough I’ll magically stop being who I am?”

“That’s not—”

“Don’t lie,” Sieun cuts him off, sharp and cold. “You think you’re helping. You think your presence is some kind of gift. But it’s not. It’s a distraction. I don’t need this. I don’t need you.”

Baku flinches, just a little, but stays standing, his face a quiet mess of concern and restraint.

“I know you’re hurting,” he says, carefully, calmly. “But pushing everyone away won’t fix it. You shouldn’t be alone right now.”

“Why not?” Sieun snaps, voice now almost trembling with fury. “So you can sit here and watch me unravel? So you can feel good about being the only one I talk to? Is that it?”

Baku's brow furrows. “No. That’s not—”

“You want to be some savior?” Sieun laughs, hollow and bitter. “Well congratulations, you found the school’s biggest wreck. Is that what you like, Baku? You like broken things? Is this fun for you?”

Baku’s jaw tightens, but his voice doesn’t rise.

“You don’t mean that.”

“I do.”

Sieun’s hands are clenched into fists now. His chest heaves. His throat feels like it’s on fire.

“I don’t want you here. I don’t want your pity. I don’t want this fake concern. Just… go.”

Baku goes very still.

There’s a pause. It’s thick, fragile, painful in its stillness.

And then he nods.

“Okay,” he says, voice low but steady. “If that’s what you want, I’ll go.”

Sieun doesn’t say anything. Doesn’t move.

Baku walks to the door slowly. No anger in his steps. Just something weary, something bruised but not broken. He stops with one hand on the knob.

“I meant what I said,” he murmurs without turning back. “You shouldn’t be alone. But if this is what you need… I’ll respect it.”

And then he’s gone.

The door shuts with a soft, almost apologetic click. And somehow, that tiny sound hurts more than the shouting did. It lingers in the air like a bruise, like an echo he can’t scrub out of his ears. For a full five seconds, Sieun stands frozen where he was, staring blankly at the space Baku had occupied just moments before. The quiet is sudden and suffocating. It feels alive, swelling into every corner of the apartment, crawling up the walls, slithering over the furniture until it finds him and wraps around his chest.

The absence is louder than Baku’s voice had ever been. The warmth is gone, drained clean from the room like someone pulled the plug on his only source of light. He should feel relieved. That’s what he wanted, right? To be alone? But all he feels is cold. So cold it scrapes against his bones.

He drops to his knees.

The motion isn’t dramatic. It’s slow, mechanical, like his body is shutting down by increments. Like a puppet with its strings cut. His knees hit the floor with a dull thud. He curls forward, wraps his arms around himself, and presses his forehead to the tile. He doesn’t cry. He can’t cry. He hasn’t been able to in years, not when Suho got hurt, not at the hospital, not in the quiet, awful nights when he couldn’t sleep for all the noise in his head. But this, this is worse than crying. It’s silence turned inward. It’s grief curling around itself, sharpening into guilt.

You ruined it.
You ruined him.
You always ruin everything.

The thoughts hiss like steam from a broken pipe, constant, poisonous, and impossible to tune out. They’ve lived in him for so long that he doesn’t even notice how cruel they are anymore. He believes them like they’re law. Like they’re scripture. They wrap around his ribs like iron bands, like every inhale should be a punishment for daring to keep breathing when Suho can't even talk, can’t express himself. Suho’s face flashes behind his eyes, peaceful, too peaceful, lit by the sterile blue glow of hospital machines. His best friend, his brother in all but blood, still and broken because Sieun didn’t stop it in time. Because he froze. Because he was oblivious. Because deep down, maybe he didn’t realize the extent of his situation.

He presses his hands to his temples and clenches his jaw, grinding his molars until pain blooms in his skull. It doesn’t help. The images keep coming, Baku’s face, startled and hurt. The way his voice stayed soft even as Sieun lashed out. The way he still said “I’ll respect it.” Like he knew Sieun didn’t mean it, but accepted it anyway. That unbearable patience. That quiet affection. It had been too much. Too good. And Sieun had broken it.

Because he had to.

Didn’t he?

If he let Baku in… if he leaned on him… then what? He gets attached? He starts to hope? And then what happens when Baku gets tired of picking up the pieces? When he realizes Sieun is not some tragic, fixable boy in need of love, but a broken machine that doesn’t stop cutting even when someone tries to hold it? It’s better this way. Cleaner. He told himself that. Over and over. But it doesn’t feel clean now. It feels like blood under the fingernails.

He stumbles to his feet and makes it to the kitchen like a man crawling through a storm. He throws open the fridge. That stupid leftovers of fried chicken that Baku with his ridiculous smile and bright eyes, had eagerly brought over for him to eat. Sieun stares at it like it’s mocking him. He slams the door shut so hard the fridge shakes. The silence afterward is worse.

He shouldn’t have come.
I should’ve never let him in.
I don’t get to feel better. I don’t get to feel anything.

His hands are trembling now, full-body tremors that rattle through his limbs with no sign of stopping. He presses them flat to the counter and bows his head. He tries to focus on the feeling of the cool granite beneath his skin, but it only makes him more aware of how hot his face is, how tight his chest feels. His breathing comes fast and shallow. He’s unraveling, and he knows it. And no one is here to stop it now.

And maybe… maybe that’s what he wanted.

But now that he has it, this empty room, this silence, this total isolation, it doesn’t feel like safety.

It feels like being buried alive.

His knees give out again and he sinks to the floor like a collapse in slow motion. He pulls his sleeves over his hands, balling the fabric in his fists, trying to disappear into himself. The apartment presses in around him, suffocating and hollow, filled with shadows and the ghosts of kindness he doesn’t believe he deserves. The guilt sits heavy in his stomach, acidic, churning. It claws at his throat. He thinks he might be sick. He thinks he might break. He thinks he already has.

And worst of all, he thinks Baku will still come back.

Because that’s the kind of person Baku is. Patient. Kind. Stupid.

And that scares Sieun more than anything.

Because if Baku keeps coming back, one day Sieun might stop pushing him away.

And if that happens… if he lets himself need again…

Then the next time he loses someone, it might destroy him completely.

So he curls tighter, face pressed to the cold floor, and whispers to no one:

“I’m sorry.”

But it’s too late.

No one is here to hear it.

Chapter Text

Morning arrives without permission.

The sunlight slips past the curtains in thin, unforgiving lines, slicing through the gloom like scalpels. It paints pale streaks across the floor, across the discarded blanket, the cluttered desk, the unwashed dishes, and finally, across Sieun’s face.

He stirs, slowly, as if waking from the wreckage of a shipwreck rather than sleep. His back aches. His neck is stiff. One of his legs is half-numb, twisted awkwardly beneath him. He doesn't remember falling asleep, only that sometime in the middle of the night, after hours of sitting motionless on the cold kitchen floor, his body had simply shut down. No dreams, no comfort. Just darkness like a tomb, and now this: the harsh glare of morning.

He blinks up at the ceiling.

It feels like it takes an eternity for the rest of his senses to catch up. There’s a dull ringing in his ears, and his limbs feel like they’ve been filled with sand. Even his thoughts are slow, sluggish, reluctant, refusing to form fully. It’s not peace. It’s exhaustion. Emotional, physical, existential. Like every atom in his body is protesting the act of being alive.

He pushes himself upright with difficulty, joints cracking from being folded too long. His hoodie slips from one shoulder, and his shirt is wrinkled and clings to his skin in places from cold sweat. He runs a hand through his hair, but it doesn’t help. Everything feels wrong. His body feels too big, too heavy, like he’s wearing someone else’s skin.

The room around him is still, faintly lit and oddly unfamiliar in the morning haze. The shadows are softer now, less cruel, but they don’t comfort him. They just remind him that he’s still here. That he made it through the night. Somehow.

He gets to his feet in slow, mechanical movements. The floor feels colder now. The silence is back, thicker, quieter, heavier. He doesn’t bother turning on the lights.

In the bathroom, the mirror doesn’t offer him any mercy. His reflection looks like a ghost wearing his face. Pale skin, dark circles carved under glassy eyes, lips chapped and colorless. His brown irises look dimmer somehow. Like even they’ve dulled. He looks like he hasn’t slept. Not really. Not in days.

He doesn’t spend long looking at himself.

He splashes water on his face. Brushes his teeth. Pulls on his uniform with motions that are practiced but disjointed, like his hands don’t belong to him. Everything feels distant. The tie hangs slightly crooked. He doesn’t fix it.

He doesn’t eat. His stomach is a knot of ice and self-loathing.

By the time he steps outside, the city is fully awake, but Sieun isn’t. Not really. The air hits his face and it’s colder than expected, making him flinch slightly. The sky is a dull gray, overcast and heavy with low-hanging clouds. The kind of morning that feels like it should have been canceled. Like the world should’ve stayed in bed.

He walks to school with his hands in his pockets, head down, and walk slow. His posture is slightly slouched, not from laziness but from weight, an invisible one that clings to his back like something he can’t scrape off. His footsteps echo against the sidewalk like he’s walking through fog, like time doesn’t quite move right anymore.

The people around him exist in a different frequency. They laugh. Chat. Breathe like it’s easy. Their worlds are still turning.

His feels frozen.

The guilt is still there, sitting under his skin like a bad tattoo, impossible to ignore. It throbs with every heartbeat. He can’t stop replaying the way Baku looked when he walked out. Not angry. Not accusing. Just… quiet. Hurt, maybe. But too kind to say so.

That made it worse.

Sieun told himself he had to do it. Had to push him away. That it was for the best. But now, all he has is silence, and an ache in his chest that refuses to fade.

And somehow, beneath all the numbness, something inside him already misses Baku.

But he doesn't deserve to.

So he keeps walking.

And the school gates grow closer.

The school gate creaks as he steps through, and the morning chatter of students washes over him like a tide. It’s not overwhelming, just… distant. Like someone pressed a layer of glass between him and the world. Conversations buzz around him, footsteps scuffle past, and backpacks swing as students hurry to beat the bell, but Sieun moves through it all as if underwater—slow, soundless, detached.

He barely makes it to the front steps before he hears Hyuntak’s voice.

“Yo, Sleeping Beauty.” It’s light, teasing, just as always.

Sieun glances up, and there they are—Hyuntak leaning against the railing with his usual cocky grin, Baku beside him with his bag slung low on one shoulder, and Juntae crouched near the steps, sipping something too sugary from a convenience store cup. Their presence is easy. Familiar. Solid. The same as it always is.

That’s the worst part.

Juntae gives him a nod. “You look like shit.”

“Mm.” It’s all Sieun says. He doesn’t have it in him to quip back, and they don’t seem to expect it.

Baku’s eyes meet his.

It’s brief—just a second, maybe two—but it hits Sieun like a punch to the gut. There's no smile today. No teasing spark. Just that open, vulnerable look, soft and full of unspoken questions. Like a puppy that doesn’t understand why it’s been scolded. He’s not asking for an apology. He’s just… worried. Patient. Still here.

Sieun looks away first.

Baku doesn’t push. He just adjusts his bag and says, a little too brightly, “Come on, we’ll be late,” like nothing happened. Like last night didn’t happen. And without waiting for an answer, he starts walking.

The others follow.

Sieun’s feet move before his brain catches up. He falls into step behind them, his gaze lowered to the ground, the backs of their shoes the only things anchoring him. The silence around him feels louder than any shout. It rings in his ears, dragging every heartbeat like it’s made of stone. But the guys don’t say anything else, and somehow that’s worse than if they had.

They’re treating him like normal.

Like he’s normal.

And it’s almost enough to make him unravel all over again.

He feels Baku beside him, just a step ahead. Close enough to reach out. Close enough to say something—anything. But Sieun keeps his mouth shut. He doesn’t know what he’d say. He doesn’t trust his voice not to break.

So they walk.

Four boys, side by side, through the school gates and toward another meaningless day.

And for the first time in a long time, Sieun feels like he doesn’t belong beside them. Not because they’re excluding him. But because they aren’t.

They’re still here.

Still smiling.

And he doesn’t think he deserves it.

The classroom feels dim despite the daylight. Gray clouds still press against the windows, and the hum of conversation floats through the air like static, low and shapeless. Students chat, shove papers around, pull at each other’s sleeves, laugh too loudly about things that won't matter tomorrow.

Sieun sinks into his seat.

He doesn't look at Baku right away. He doesn’t need to. He can feel the warmth of him beside him, close enough that their sleeves nearly touch. Baku always runs hot, his energy, his body, the way he seems to glow even in gloom like this. That heat is comforting, maddening.

Sieun keeps his eyes on the desk. His notebook lies open, blank. A pen is uncapped and idle in his hand.

He clears his throat.

It’s a small sound, but it feels like too much. Still, it has the effect he intended. Baku’s head turns immediately, gaze snapping to him. Those brown eyes, warm and wide, search his face with quiet urgency.

Sieun swallows.

There’s no need to explain it all. Baku wouldn’t understand it the way he does. The math of it. The symmetry. The cold, efficient logic that tells him what he did was wrong. That no matter how overwhelmed he felt, no matter how justified the spiral seemed in the moment, pushing Baku away had been a mistake. Emotion doesn’t negate responsibility. Regret does not erase damage. And so, he must name it. Not explain, not defend. Just say it.

“I’m sorry about last night,” he says plainly.

His voice is low. Even. No decoration. Just words laid neatly in a row, like an offering on a plate.

“I was unkind. I shouldn’t have been.”

He doesn’t say you didn’t deserve that or I didn’t mean it. Those feel too emotional, too imprecise. What matters is the acknowledgment. The admission. The clean, steady line of it.

Baku blinks at him, startled, but only for a second.

Then he grins.

It's not a big grin. Not his usual full-force, flashing one. It’s smaller, softer, tilted at one corner, crooked like it’s been hastily patched on. But it’s real.

“You’re so weird,” he says with a quiet laugh, eyes crinkling at the corners.

Sieun just blinks at him.

Baku reaches over and pokes him lightly in the side, like he can’t help himself. “Was that your super fancy Sieun version of ‘I’m sorry for being a jerk’?”

“Yes,” Sieun replies, without hesitation.

Baku chuckles and leans back in his chair, stretching his arms behind his head with a pleased sigh. “Well. I accept.” He turns toward the front of the room, still smiling. “You’re lucky you’re cute when you’re all serious like that.”

Sieun stiffens slightly but says nothing. Baku’s tone is teasing, but there’s something genuine under it. It buzzes at the edge of Sieun’s awareness, a warmth that feels dangerous, tender.

He doesn’t respond.

But after hours of torturous deliberation and mental duress, the pressure in his chest lets up, just a little.

Just enough to breathe.

Baku lets out a long, exaggerated sigh that fills the small space between them like a gust of wind. “Man, I’m tired,” he declares with mock exhaustion, dropping his head slightly onto Sieun’s shoulder as if the weight of the world, or rather, the weight of Sieun’s moods, has just landed squarely on him.

Sieun blinks, caught off guard. He’s about to protest, but Baku’s already weaving his arms around Sieun’s arm, pulling himself closer with a gravity that’s impossible to resist. The sudden closeness makes Sieun’s breath hitch for a fraction of a second.

“You,” Baku says with a mischievous grin, voice low and teasing, “are officially responsible for my tiredness. So you better take responsibility and let me rest.”

Sieun stiffens, but the tension in his shoulders softens. He doesn’t move away. Baku’s warmth seeps through the fabric of his sleeve, and despite his logical mind telling him to maintain distance, his body betrays him, responding to the quiet comfort Baku offers.

Baku’s head dips lower, his cheek brushing lightly against Sieun’s arm as he closes his eyes, settling in like a cat claiming its favorite spot. Sieun can feel the steady rise and fall of Baku’s breath, the subtle warmth radiating through their contact.

For a moment, Sieun simply stays still, his analytical mind momentarily silent under the weight of something unspoken and softer. The world outside their small bubble blurs, and even the weight of his worries feels just a little less crushing.

Baku’s grip tightens ever so slightly, not enough to be demanding, just enough to remind Sieun he’s not alone.
————————————————————————
The shrill chime of the lunch bell slices through the classroom air like a blade. Chairs scrape against the floor, bags rustle, voices rise. The room swells with life as students stand, stretch, and begin to pour out into the halls, chattering and laughing in flurries of motion.

Sieun doesn’t move.

He registers the bell, registers the rustle of papers and the low drone of footsteps, but his hand remains still on the page in front of him. The tip of his pen rests just above a half-written formula, a line of ink trailing off into nothing.

He turns his head slightly.

And there he is.

Baku is slumped against him, his arms still coiled around Sieun’s like a makeshift pillow. His cheek is pressed to Sieun’s shoulder, dark brown hair falling into his eyes, lips parted in the faintest breath. There’s a warmth radiating from him, constant and quiet, like the sun behind a cloud. The weight of him isn’t heavy, but it’s unmistakably there, grounded and present.

His grip is loose now, softened by sleep, but his body leans into Sieun like he trusts him to hold him up.

Sieun stares.

It’s not the first time Baku has been this physically close he’s always been tactile, impulsive, drawn to touch the way others are drawn to speech, but this is different. It’s still. Quiet. Real in a way that hits deeper than his usual teasing latches or casual shoulder bumps.

He shifts slightly, enough to test the moment, maybe to pull away, maybe to wake him. But as soon as he moves, Baku lets out a soft exhale, almost a sigh, and curls in closer.

Sieun freezes.

Then, he doesn’t move at all.

The logical part of his brain ticks. He’s asleep. It’s fine. There’s no point in disturbing him. He’ll wake up soon enough. But that’s not why he stays. The logic is a cover, a comfortable excuse to do what he already wants, to sit still and let this quiet moment exist, untouched.

Outside the window, clouds shift. A weak strip of sun cuts through the gray and lands across the desk, pale gold against his textbook. Sieun watches the dust drift in the light, his eyes glazed slightly with thought.

He should feel uneasy. He should feel the creeping weight of guilt again, should think of Suho lying unconscious, of all the things he hasn't done, of all the pain he’s still carrying. But somehow, this… Baku sleeping against him, his warmth seeping through the sleeve of his uniform, doesn’t feel wrong. It doesn’t cancel out the grief. It simply coexists with it.

That’s what unsettles him most of all.

He lowers his gaze and flips the page.

His pen glides over the new sheet, a quiet scratch of ink against paper, steady and uninterrupted. His arm shifts only slightly beneath Baku’s hold, careful not to wake him. His handwriting is slower now, more deliberate. But he continues.

He doesn’t stop studying.

And he doesn’t move Baku.

Sieun doesn’t notice them approach at first.

He’s halfway through a problem set, scribbling quietly in the margins of his notebook with Baku still loosely draped over his arm, sleeping soundly. The classroom has thinned out, the air quieter now, filled mostly with the distant clatter of lunch trays and laughter echoing faintly down the hall. A soft kind of solitude. Or at least, it had been.

A shadow falls across the desk.

Sieun looks up, just barely, and finds Hyuntak standing beside him with a paper bag in hand, his mouth already curled into that insufferably knowing smirk.

“Well, well,” Hyuntak says, voice pitched low but unmistakably smug. “Looks like somebody skipped lunch for a cuddle session.”

Behind him, Juntae hovers just out of reach, holding a tray with two neatly wrapped kimbap rolls and a bottle of banana milk. His eyes flit from Sieun to Baku and then quickly down to the floor, cheeks flushed.

Sieun exhales slowly through his nose. “He’s asleep.”

Hyuntak snorts. “No kidding.” He leans in a little closer, cocking his head as if to study the tableau more intimately. “Wow. He’s really knocked out. You must be cozy, huh? I mean, I get it, your shoulder looks like premium pillow real estate.”

Juntae gives him a light nudge in the ribs with the tray, whispering, “Stop it,” too softly for anyone but Hyuntak to hear.

“Anyway,” Hyuntak says, straightening up and dropping the bag onto the edge of Sieun’s desk with a thud. “Brought food. Baku’ll be mad if he wakes up starving. Well, mad in his Baku way. Which is, like, hungry and annoying.”

Juntae steps forward, placing the tray down gently beside the bag. He doesn’t say anything at first, just offers Sieun a shy smile. It’s small, earnest, the kind that doesn’t push. His gaze flickers briefly to the way Baku is curled against Sieun’s side, then away again. Not judging. Just seeing.

Sieun nods once in acknowledgment. “Thank you.”

Hyuntak rolls his eyes. “You could at least pretend to take a break.”

“I’m fine.”

“That’s exactly what someone not fine would say.” He jerks a thumb toward Baku’s sleeping form. “He’s the one doing self-care. You’re doing self-punishment with a side of physics.”

“I’m reviewing formulas.”

“You’re reviewing your own downfall.” Hyuntak sighs dramatically, theatric to the very end. “Anyway. We’ll be in the courtyard if you decide to be a human being.”

Juntae steps back quietly, still watching Sieun with that soft, worried gaze. Just before they turn to go, he says, almost in a whisper, “Don’t work too hard, okay?”

And then they leave, Hyuntak dragging him by the elbow, muttering something sarcastic as they vanish out the door.

The room feels quiet again.

Sieun lowers his eyes back to the page in front of him, but he doesn’t write anything.

Not yet.

Instead, he glances at Baku’s face, still pressed lightly into his shoulder. There’s a faint crease between his brows, like even in sleep, something’s weighing on him. And Sieun doesn’t know what to do with that.

He doesn’t know what to do with any of this.

But he doesn’t move.

And slowly, quietly, he lets the pen drop from his fingers.

Sieun leans down digging into his backpack, and slides an AirPod into his right ear, a rare gesture for him. He usually doesn’t listen to music during class breaks, but since he’s forced to take a break from studying, he figures he might as well. The soft hum of the melody settles over him, a quiet shield against the restless noise of the school around him.

He leans back slightly in his chair and turns his gaze toward the window. Outside, the sky is overcast, clouds drifting slow and heavy, a soft gray wash stretching across the horizon. His eyes follow the movement of a stray leaf caught in a lazy breeze, twisting and falling like it has nowhere else to go.

The music threads through the stillness, and for a moment, the chaotic knot in his chest loosens just a fraction. He lets his thoughts drift, untethered and hazy, his mind a quiet space where only the music and the dull pulse of his heartbeat exist.

Minutes slip by. The classroom noise fades into the background. Then, a soft rustle against his arm breaks the spell.

Baku’s eyes blink open slowly, still heavy with sleep. His head lifts slightly, his cheek slipping off Sieun’s shoulder.

“Food,” Baku mumbles first thing, voice thick but insistent. “I’m hungry.”

Sieun’s lips twitch into a small, almost imperceptible quirk of amusement, but he doesn’t respond. He keeps his gaze fixed outside the window, letting the music wash over him.

Baku shifts, eyes tracking Sieun’s, then gestures lazily toward the tray of food Juntae and Hyuntak dropped off earlier.

“Is that for me?” he asks, voice hopeful.

Sieun nods once, slow and deliberate.

Baku grins, already reaching for a piece of kimbap.

Sieun watches him quietly, the corner of his mouth softening just a little.

The music plays on.

Baku’s grin widens as he picks up a piece of kimbap, but instead of eating immediately, he leans closer and nudges Sieun’s arm with his elbow. “Hey,” he says softly, voice teasing. “You’re hogging all the music. Come on, share.”

Sieun glances down at the single AirPod in his ear, then back at Baku’s expectant face. He says nothing, just raises an eyebrow, a silent challenge.

“C’mon, don’t be stingy,” Baku persists, his voice playful but laced with that familiar stubbornness. He inches closer, the subtle scent of his shampoo brushing against Sieun’s skin.

Sieun’s logic wars with his annoyance. He wants to hold onto his solitude, his little bubble, but there’s something about Baku’s persistence, something disarming in that half-smile and bright eyes, that makes resistance feel unnecessary.

With a slow sigh, Sieun pulls out the other AirPod and holds it out. “Fine. But only because you’re hungry and distracting.”

Baku’s face lights up like he just won the lottery. He takes the AirPod carefully, slipping it into his ear with exaggerated reverence.

As the music fills both their ears now, Baku’s foot starts tapping gently under the desk. He hums softly along with the melody, a low, easy sound that spills warmth into the quiet space between them.

Sieun watches him out of the corner of his eye, the corner of his mouth lifting into a subtle smile despite himself.

Baku’s fingers pick up another piece of kimbap, which he munches happily, eyes half-closed in contentment.

“See?” Baku says between bites, voice muffled but cheerful. “Much better with company.”

Sieun doesn’t respond, but his gaze softens as he leans back, letting the music and the quiet closeness wash over him.

Baku takes another bite of kimbap, chewing thoughtfully, the soft rhythm of the music humming between them. Then, mid-chew, he pauses and turns those earnest brown eyes toward Sieun—wide, hopeful, and just a little shy, like he’s about to ask something important but isn’t sure how it’ll land.

“So…” Baku begins, voice low, hesitant. “What are you doing after school today?”

Sieun blinks, caught off guard by the sudden question. He shrugs, his expression cool and unreadable. “I’m going to the hospital.”

The lightness in Baku’s eyes dims, replaced by something careful, serious. He bites his lip for a moment, as if weighing his words, then looks up again with those big, pleading eyes—puppy dog eyes, soft and sincere.

“Is it… okay if I go with you?”

There’s a beat of silence.

Sieun stiffens imperceptibly, the air tightening around him. For a brief moment, the logical part of his mind argues to say no, to keep things simple, to maintain his own space, to protect Baku from the weight of Suho’s condition. But then his gaze shifts, and he lets out a slow breath.

“You’re going to follow me anyway, aren’t you?”

There’s no anger in his tone, just the quiet resignation of someone who’s already seen the answer in Baku’s determined eyes.

Baku’s mouth quirks into a small, victorious smile, but his expression remains gentle.

“Maybe,” he admits softly. “But I promise I won’t be a nuisance.”

Sieun’s eyes soften just a fraction, and the music plays on, the fragile, steady thread weaving them closer in a world that still feels so uncertain.

Sieun’s gaze lingers out the window for a moment longer, eyes tracing the slow dance of clouds drifting across the sky. The steady rhythm of the music fills the silence between them, grounding him in the here and now even as his mind pulls him toward the hospital waiting room and everything it means.

Finally, he meets Baku’s earnest eyes and, with a calm that barely masks the storm beneath, says quietly, “Do what you want.”

The words hang in the air, simple but heavy. There’s no flourish, no big declaration, just an almost clinical statement of fact, as if Sieun has weighed the risks and consequences and decided, against his better judgment, to let Baku step inside his fragile world.

For a heartbeat, Baku just stares at him, disbelief flickering in his eyes like a light caught in a sudden breeze.

Then, slowly, the disbelief melts into something warmer, brighter. His lips twitch into a grin that’s equal parts triumphant and shy. “Really?” he asks, voice rising slightly with excitement.

Sieun nods once, sharp and decisive, though his eyes soften just a little. “Really.”

Baku’s whole posture shifts as if he’s been holding in a breath for too long and finally can exhale. He practically vibrates with energy, the awkward tension of before dissolving into a bubbly eagerness.

“I’ll be quiet,” Baku says softly, voice sincere despite the sparkle in his eyes. “Like, as quiet as I can be. I’ll even sit in the corner and not say a word if you want.”

Sieun glances sideways at him now, and Baku beams even harder, like a child proud of a promise he has no intention of breaking. He’s ridiculous. Clingy. Overbearing. And somehow... Sieun doesn’t mind it as much as he knows he should.

He lets his gaze return to the window. The music continues playing in their shared silence.

Baku starts humming again, soft and off-key, his warmth now a steady presence pressed against Sieun’s side.

Baku is still humming faintly, head bobbing lightly to the rhythm of the song in their shared AirPods, when his voice breaks the calm.

“You know…” he says, almost too casually. “Sometimes it’s okay to show emotions.”

Sieun doesn’t move. He doesn’t look at him, either. The words hover in the air between them, deceptively light, but Baku’s tone has shifted, gentler now, lower, more careful.

“I know you’re really mature,” Baku continues, quieter this time, his voice softening like he’s walking through a room where everything might shatter if he’s too loud. “You handle everything like it’s your job to keep things from falling apart. And that’s… honestly kind of amazing. But—”

He pauses, his words trailing, then returning with more weight.

“But I hope you know it’s not weakness to let yourself feel things too.”

The silence that follows is immediate and heavy. Baku doesn’t expect a reply, maybe he knows better than to push Sieun for one. He just watches him, brown eyes steady, his usual grin gone, replaced with something quieter, steadier.

Sieun still doesn’t say anything. His face gives nothing away, just the same unreadable calm carved into fine, sharp features. But something shifts in the set of his shoulders. Not quite tension—but not peace either.

Then, the bell rings.

Sharp. Hollow. Like the closing of a door.

Sieun moves first. Wordless, mechanical. He begins gathering the trash from Baku’s meal, napkins, wrappers, the half-eaten rice ball that’s gone cold. His hands are precise, methodical, cleaning up what isn’t his without being asked.

Baku watches him, eyes serious, no trace of teasing now.

There’s a tightness in his chest that he doesn’t know how to explain. Something about watching Sieun quietly tend to the smallest things makes his throat feel thick. He wants to say something, anything, but he doesn’t. Not yet.

Instead, he just watches, silently filing this moment away. The way Sieun moves like he’s too used to being needed and not enough to being cared for.

And just for once, Baku doesn’t try to fill the silence.
————————————————————————
The afternoon sun hangs low in the sky, bleeding gold into the schoolyard, casting long shadows that stretch and fold over the cracked pavement. The final bell has rung, students spill out in clusters of chatter and laughter, their bags slung over shoulders, and their footsteps light with the freedom of the day’s end.

Sieun walks with his usual quiet composure, bag slung over one shoulder, steps neither rushed nor slow, just measured, like always. Baku is beside him, slightly ahead one second and slightly behind the next, never quite walking in sync but never far either.

Behind them, Hyuntak and Juntae trail lazily. Hyuntak throws a piece of gum into his mouth with a flick of his wrist, talking at Juntae about something Sieun only half-hears.

“Wanna hit the convenience store first?” Hyuntak calls. “I’m starving.”

“I think we’re heading somewhere else today,” Baku says, eyes flicking to Sieun before he offers the others a vague, lopsided smile.

Hyuntak raises a brow, curious, but doesn’t press. Juntae just gives them both a quiet nod, hands in his pockets, a small smile tugging at his lips as if he already knows not to ask.

Sieun doesn’t say a word.

They split at the school gates, Hyuntak and Juntae turning off toward the nearest row of shops while Sieun and Baku continue straight, down the tree-lined sidewalk that leads into quieter streets.

For a while, neither of them speaks.

The world feels softer here, away from the buzz of students and the scratchy PA system and the endless low hum of classroom lights. The city noise is distant, muffled under the hush of wind threading through the branches, under the faint scuff of shoes against the sidewalk.

Sieun stares ahead, face unreadable as always. But inside, the familiar knot is forming, tight and cold and low in his gut. The hospital always feels like walking into an echo chamber of guilt. Like walking into a place where every footstep rings with things he couldn’t prevent.

Beside him, Baku doesn’t hum. Doesn’t ramble. He walks silently, respectfully, like even he knows that the weight in the air isn’t something he can crack open with a joke.

But the fact that he’s there, steady, warm, just a few inches away, makes the cold feel just a little less unbearable.

And Sieun, despite everything, doesn’t tell him to turn back.

Not this time.

They walk side by side, the city slowly giving way to quiet, empty streets. The buildings thin out, the sounds of horns and chatter fading beneath the hush of the wind. The hospital looms in the distance, a pale structure rising against the paleening sky, sterile and cold. But the world between them is warm.

The breeze picks up, gentle but persistent, and it threads its fingers through Sieun’s hair, tousling the soft brown strands until they lift and flutter around his face. For a moment, something about him feels… not of this world.

The wind moves through him like it’s brushing through a memory, not a person. His eyes are calm, almost distant, and his expression is so quiet, so still that it looks like it belongs to someone just out of reach.

Baku slows, his chest tightening unexpectedly. He doesn’t know why. Maybe it’s the silence. Or the way Sieun’s hair catches the light and moves like it’s part of the breeze. Or maybe it’s the way Sieun doesn’t look back. Doesn’t say a word. Just walks ahead, like this is a path he’s always meant to take alone.

And suddenly, Baku feels it… a quiet, irrational fear curling in the back of his throat.

That one day, Sieun might just disappear.

That he could blink, and Sieun would dissolve into the wind like he was never really here to begin with. Like something weightless. Temporary. A presence that never truly let itself be held.

Baku shoves his hands deep into his pockets, fingers clenching. He bites the inside of his cheek, eyes glued to Sieun’s back. He wants to say something, anything, but the words don’t come.

All he can do is keep walking, trailing just behind him, trying to close a distance that shouldn’t exist… but somehow always does.

They turn the last corner. The hospital’s entrance comes into view, glass doors catching the fading light. Sieun stops, his profile still and expression unreadable.

Baku stops too.

And he doesn’t say a thing.

Because somehow, he knows that if Sieun hears the wrong words right now, he really might disappear.

“Let’s go,” Sieun says softly, barely louder than the wind.

The words are simple. Almost weightless. But they carry a kind of gravity Baku immediately feels. It’s not just about entering a building. It’s about stepping into something Sieun never lets anyone see, something sacred, raw, and aching.

Baku doesn’t say anything. He just nods, his usual brightness dimmed by a rare solemnity. His lips press together, and for once, he doesn’t try to ease the tension with a grin or a joke. He falls in step beside Sieun, the air between them quiet but full.

As they approach the entrance, the automatic doors slide open with a soft hiss, and the hospital’s scent hits them, sterile, cold, and faintly medicinal. The artificial lighting washes everything pale. White walls. Polished floors. A low murmur of voices echoing from the front desk. The sharp beeping of machines from somewhere distant.

Sieun’s steps are steady, but Baku notices the faint change in him. The way his posture stiffens. The way his eyes, usually so alert and precise, glaze just a little. Like he’s forcing himself to go numb.

Baku once again wants to say something. But he can feel that this isn't the time.

Instead, he stays close.

Their footsteps echo quietly as they move through the corridor, Sieun leading with muscle memory, like he’s done this a thousand times. Baku’s eyes flick across everything, the nurses, the signs, the worn vinyl benches, until they come to a stop in front of a door.

Sieun stares at it for a second.

Just a second.

Then he slowly lifts up his hand and loosely grabs the handle. His touch is delicate, light, as he pushes the door open and calmly steps in not bothering to usher Baku in who gingerly walks behind him.

Chapter Text

The door glides open with a muted click, the hinges barely making a sound as the sterile white light of the hospital room spills out to greet them. The scent of disinfectant hangs heavier here, sharper, almost metallic beneath the hum of medical equipment.

Inside, the room is quiet.

Suho lies in the narrow bed, propped up slightly against the raised mattress, his body still and small beneath the too-thin blanket. The monitor beside him emits a soft, rhythmic beep, constant and steady, like a metronome ticking time they’ve all grown too used to hearing.

His face is pale, too pale under the fluorescent ceiling lights. His lashes fan out against his cheeks, dark and unmoving, the sharp cut of his cheekbones more prominent now with the weight loss. Tubes wind gently into his arm, and the faint sound of the oxygen machine hisses in the background.

Baku’s breath catches.

Not loudly. Just enough for his shoulders to tense and his mouth to press into a line. He stands near the doorway, stunned into stillness, his eyes scanning every detail like the room might demand a test afterward. The wilting flowers on the side counter. The folded blanket at the foot of the bed. The untouched bottle of water on the tray table.

And then there’s the small object Sieun places beside the bed.

Something wrapped neatly, a small item, ordinary at first glance. A can of Suho’s favorite juice. Strawberry, Baku thinks. The same brand every time. Sieun doesn’t even look at it as he sets it down next to a modest stack of identical cans, all unopened, quietly gathering.

Like offerings.

Like rituals.

Like hope, stubborn and quiet and desperate, tucked into aluminum and expiration dates.

Sieun moves with calm precision, his motions fluid and familiar. He’s done this a hundred times, maybe more. He knows exactly where to stand, how to shift the chair back without scraping the floor, how to settle into it without making a sound.

He sits.

His gaze doesn’t flicker toward Baku. It rests instead on Suho’s face, unreadable. Still. The same kind of quiet he wore outside, but heavier now. Denser. There’s a stillness in him that feels less like peace and more like surrender.

Baku hesitates.

He hovers in the middle of the room, unsure whether to stay or go, his hands twitching awkwardly by his sides. The weight of the moment presses into his chest, not crushing, but overwhelming in its quietness. Like walking into a shrine. Like intruding on something sacred.

And then Sieun looks at him.

Just a glance, but enough.

He lifts his hand slightly and gestures, an open palm toward the chair on the other side of the bed. Not quite inviting. Not quite dismissive. Just a silent signal that it’s okay.

That Baku can sit.

Baku swallows once and nods, stepping forward with soft, almost reverent footsteps. He moves around the bed and lowers himself into the offered chair slowly, knees brushing the cold metal frame. His eyes flicker from Suho’s face to Sieun’s, trying to read them both.

The silence returns.

Not uncomfortable.

Just… deep.

Measured in breaths, in beeps, in the space between what’s said and what’s endured.

Baku doesn’t speak. Not yet.

He just sits, folding his hands in his lap, and for the first time in what feels like forever, he understands a little more about the gravity Sieun carries like second skin.

The silence stretches for a while.

Only the sound of the heart monitor ticking steadily and the occasional mechanical sigh of the oxygen machine breaks the stillness. Outside the window, the sun has begun to shift lower, casting long shadows across the sterile linoleum floor.

Sieun’s eyes stay on Suho’s face, his own expression unreadable at first, fixed in that careful neutrality he always wears like armor. But then, quietly, his lips part.

“He used to sleep all the time,” Sieun says, his voice low. Controlled. “In class, in the library, even during exams. He said his brain needed the rest since he used it more than most people.”

His tone is dry at the edges, but not cruel. Just matter-of-fact, like reciting something he’s said in his head a hundred times before. Baku turns slightly in his chair, his eyes never leaving Sieun’s profile.

“He was smarter than me,” Sieun continues, fingers loosely laced in his lap. “Smarter than anyone else I’ve ever known. But he never bothered chasing grades. He thought it was all pointless. Said school wasn’t meant for people like him.”

A pause. The fluorescent light hums overhead.

“He won math competitions. Quiet ones. The kind no one pays attention to unless you win something big. He never told anyone, but he always donated the prize money. To the class fund. Field trips. Lunch programs. He did it anonymously, but I knew it was him.”

Sieun’s voice softens as if remembering something far away, behind the fog of memory.

“People loved him. For a while. He was… funny. Not loud, but quick-witted. Gentle. The kind of person everyone liked just by being near him. The kind that made it feel okay to sit in silence.”

Another pause. Longer this time.

“But that changed,” Sieun murmurs. “He started getting picked on. Slowly. Quietly. People don’t notice when it happens that way. He took it. Let it happen. Said he didn’t want them looking at me instead.”

His jaw tightens.

Baku watches him with wide, quiet eyes, heart catching at the edges of Sieun’s voice.

“He said I was soft,” Sieun says with the faintest, bitter smile. “That I shouldn’t have to deal with his problems, that I would only get hurt. So he took it. All of it. And I let him.”

The words hang in the air like dust in sunlight. Heavy, slow to settle.

“I told myself it wasn’t that bad,” Sieun continues, staring at Suho’s unmoving face. “That he was strong enough to handle it. That I’d pay him back somehow. Protect him, maybe. But I didn’t.”

Something catches in his throat then. Just slightly. His voice hitches.

“He didn’t even cry when it happened,” he says, barely above a whisper. “Not once.”

He swallows hard, his fingers curling just slightly in his lap.

“I did.”

That’s when Baku moves, not loudly, not dramatically. Just a quiet shift of his chair closer, a hand placed gently on Sieun’s shoulder. Not pressing. Not gripping. Just there. Steady.

Sieun doesn’t pull away. He doesn’t even flinch.

He just sits there, shoulders tense under Baku’s touch, the tremble in his jaw visible now.

“I didn’t know,” Baku says softly, voice stripped of all its usual energy. “I didn’t know he meant that much to you.”

Sieun still doesn’t say anything. His eyes remain locked on Suho, but something in his face has cracked just slightly. His walls remain up, but thin now, transparent enough to see the grief trembling beneath them.

“You don’t have to carry all of it alone,” Baku murmurs. “You really don’t.”

The silence that follows isn’t empty. It’s full. Full of things unsaid. Full of things too heavy for words. But Sieun doesn’t brush him off. Doesn’t coldly tell him to stop. He just… breathes.

One long, shuddering breath.

And Baku stays.

Quietly. Steadily.

Just there, until Sieun can remember how to carry it all again.

For a long time, Sieun doesn’t move.

The room is still, so still it feels like the world outside has stopped spinning. The soft pulse of the monitor continues its measured rhythm, oblivious to the silence pressing down on the two boys like a slow, invisible weight. Suho lies motionless, his presence both heavy and distant, like the outline of a memory just barely within reach. Sieun’s eyes don’t leave his face. He doesn’t blink. Doesn’t speak. His chest rises and falls evenly, almost too evenly, like he’s forcing himself to keep calm by will alone. But then, without any sound, without warning, his shoulders tremble.

It’s subtle at first. A tiny quiver, like the body’s instinctive response to cold. But then another shiver comes. And another. His arms remain slack in his lap, hands unclenched, but his back curls inward slightly, as if something inside him is folding. And though his expression stays eerily composed, eyes dry and flat, mouth closed in a firm line, a single tear slips down the side of his cheek. Then another.

He doesn’t wipe them away.

He doesn’t acknowledge them at all.

They just fall, quiet, unhurried, as he keeps his eyes locked on Suho’s still form. His face remains carved in the same stoic neutrality, but the tears don’t stop. They trail slowly along the soft curve of his cheekbone, drip silently onto his jeans. His breath hitches, only barely, almost inaudible. It’s the kind of crying that doesn’t make noise. The kind that has no room for sobs. It’s restrained, silent, so deeply buried it feels like watching something sacred crack open in real time.

There’s something devastating about it, how calm his face remains while his body trembles, like he’s spent so long learning not to fall apart that even his breakdown obeys the rules. No heaving breaths. No cries for comfort. Just tears. Steady and raw. Pain, unspoken, sliding past all the defenses he’s built around himself. His shoulders shake again, harder now, and still his hands stay folded neatly in his lap. He looks like someone trying to hold onto the last shred of composure in a storm that’s already washed everything else away.

Baku watches him in stunned silence.

He doesn’t say anything. He doesn’t try to speak or interrupt. He just watches, heart twisting, sitting helplessly in the chair beside him. The sight of Sieun, so still, so controlled, and yet so visibly breaking, is unlike anything Baku’s ever seen. And it hurts. More than he thought it would. Because Sieun is the strong one. The untouchable one. The one who never lets anything show. But now, in this too-white room, under the hum of hospital machinery, he looks like someone completely undone.

Baku’s hand twitches slightly where it rests on Sieun’s shoulder, aching to do something… anything, to make it better. But he doesn’t move. Doesn’t squeeze. Doesn’t offer empty words. He knows better. He knows that Sieun isn’t crying for comfort. He’s crying because he can’t hold it in anymore. Because this room, this boy in the hospital bed, this moment, all of it is too much. And for once, the armor cracked.

Sieun doesn’t speak.

He doesn’t need to.

The tears say everything he’s too disciplined to voice. Grief. Guilt. Anger. Love. The unbearable weight of watching someone kind and gentle fade into a silence they never deserved. He stays like that, unmoving, the tears soaking into the collar of his shirt and the sleeves of his jacket, until eventually… the shaking slows. The tears lessen. But still, he doesn’t wipe his face. Doesn’t hide the evidence.

Baku doesn’t expect to feel it so sharply.

He’s seen Sieun upset before, frustrated, even cold and angry, but this? This is something entirely different. This is grief laid bare. Raw. Unfiltered. And it shakes something loose in Baku, something he didn’t know he was holding onto until now.

He tries not to move, tries to stay quiet, respectful. He knows Sieun needs space. But watching the silent tears fall, watching the way Sieun trembles without making a sound, it does something to him. His heart aches so forcefully in his chest that it feels like it might shatter apart. The strong, unbothered Sieun he knows is unraveling right before him, not in chaos, but in silence. That’s what’s scariest about it.

And suddenly, Baku feels like he can’t breathe.

His throat tightens. His vision blurs. There’s a burning pressure behind his eyes that he can’t blink away. He presses his tongue to the roof of his mouth, like that might hold it back, like that might ground him, but it doesn’t work. His chest feels tight, too tight, and when he sucks in a breath, it comes out shaky and uneven.

Sieun’s crying. Really crying. Not out of weakness, not for attention, but because something inside him is broken, and Baku doesn’t know how to fix it. He’s always been the loud one, the bright one, the annoying presence that clings too tight and talks too much. But now he feels small. Powerless. Watching the person he’s come to care for more than he should fall apart while he just sits there, unsure of what he’s allowed to do.

He looks down, hoping Sieun doesn’t notice the wetness gathering in his own eyes, but he’s too late.

Because Sieun, amidst the quiet wreckage of his own sorrow, finally turns his head.

Their eyes meet.

Brown on brown, but so different, Sieun’s calm and stormy and cracked at the edges, Baku’s wide and glassy, on the verge of spilling over. For a moment, neither of them say anything. It’s like time folds in on itself in that little hospital room, just the two of them and Suho and the weight of everything left unsaid.

And then the first tear slips down Baku’s cheek.

He blinks, stunned by it, as if he hadn’t even realized he was crying. His face twists slightly, helplessly, and he lets out a broken sound, half-laugh, half-sob, and tries to wipe his cheek with the back of his sleeve.

Sieun watches, stunned into stillness.

Baku tries to speak but chokes on it. “I’m sorry,” he says, voice hoarse, cracking right down the middle. “I just… I didn’t think I’d—” His lips tremble. He shakes his head. “You can’t cry like that and expect me to be okay, you idiot.”

He says it with affection, a soft punch of sound that doesn’t quite land as a joke. His body leans forward, impulsive, like it always is, and before he can even talk himself out of it, he wraps his arms around Sieun’s shoulders, hugging him tightly, securely, like he’s trying to shield him from the world.

Sieun stiffens, just for a second.

But then he lets out a breath, a quiet, exhausted sound, and he lets Baku hold him.

Baku’s face presses into the side of Sieun’s neck, warm tears slipping onto the collar of his uniform.

“You don’t have to do this by yourself,” he whispers, voice cracking. “You don’t have to be the strong one all the time, Sieun. You don’t.”

The words hit him harder than they should.

“You don’t have to be the strong one all the time, Sieun.”

Sieun’s breath catches. His shoulders jolt, almost imperceptibly, as if the sentence physically struck something deep inside his chest. His eyes widen, brown irises glossy and rimmed with red, blinking through the wet haze that hasn’t stopped since he sat down. The words linger, echoing in his mind louder than the quiet hum of the machines, louder than the dull ache behind his eyes.

He doesn’t know why it hits so deep.

Maybe because no one’s ever said that to him before, not really. Not in a way that felt sincere. Not like Baku just did. Not with a voice cracked open and teary and trembling. Not with arms around his shoulders and a heart beating so close he could feel it thudding through fabric. It’s like Baku isn’t just offering comfort, he’s offering permission. Permission to be soft. Permission to break.

And Sieun breaks.

A choked sound escapes him, not a sob, but close. His eyes squeeze shut and fresh tears spill down, quicker this time, heavier. He leans forward, burying his face into the crook of Baku’s neck, and lets go. Really lets go. The tears come fast now, ragged and hot, his breathing shaky and uneven as his fingers fist in the fabric of Baku’s uniform. His body trembles, shudders under the weight of everything he’s tried to keep buried… anger, guilt, grief. All of it bleeding out through the arms of someone too kind to walk away.

Baku holds him tighter.

And then he starts crying again, too.

He can’t help it. Seeing Sieun like this, so raw, so human. makes everything inside him ache. Sometimes he forgets that Sieun is a human, he’s too meticulous. Too perfect. His chin wobbles and he presses his face into Sieun’s shoulder, sniffling through his own tears. It’s messy. Ugly, even. Their breathing doesn’t sync. Their tears drip and soak through layers of cotton and linen and neither one of them seems to care.

They just hold onto each other.

Two boys, broken in different ways, clinging together in a sterile hospital room beside a bed that holds too many memories and too much unspoken pain.

The hug deepens,not in motion, but in meaning. Baku’s hand slides up to the back of Sieun’s head, fingers threading gently through his hair, grounding him. His other arm stays locked around his back like he’s afraid Sieun might slip away if he lets go. But Sieun doesn’t move to pull away. He stays right there, in the safety of Baku’s hold, silently crying into him, until the pressure in his chest starts to ease. Just a little.

Not enough to erase the pain.

But enough to feel, for the first time in a long time, that he doesn’t have to face it alone.
————————————————————————
Eventually, the tears run dry.

It doesn’t happen all at once, but in the quiet stillness that follows, their sobs soften into heavy breaths, and then into silence. Sieun pulls back first, only slightly, just enough to tilt his head down and swipe a sleeve across his face. His eyes are swollen, his cheeks flushed, and he still refuses to look anywhere but the floor. But his body feels lighter somehow. Like something that had been sitting on his chest for weeks finally cracked open and spilled out.

Baku sniffles quietly beside him, his arm still draped across Sieun’s back. His hoodie is damp from both of them, and his face is red and blotchy in a way that would usually make Sieun tease him. But not now. Now, they just sit together in the stillness of the hospital room, surrounded by the steady beeping of machines and the low hum of fluorescent lights. There are no more words. Nothing needs to be said.

Time passes like that, quiet, and slow.

Eventually, Sieun leans back in the chair, pressing his knuckles to his eyes for a final wipe. His other hand rests lightly on his thigh, still curled with tension he doesn’t quite know how to release.

That’s when Baku shifts beside him, voice soft and careful but laced with something hopeful.

“…Hey.”

Sieun doesn’t look over, but his brow lifts slightly, acknowledging him.

“I was thinking,” Baku says, nudging him gently with an elbow. “Wanna get something to eat? I mean, just to check. See if you still can’t taste stuff.”

Sieun’s eyes flick over to him.

It’s not a terrible suggestion. He hasn’t eaten much today, not because of his appetite, but because food’s been little more than texture in his mouth since that night. Pointless. Bland. But maybe... maybe he owes it to Baku to try. Or maybe he just doesn’t want to go home yet. Maybe the idea of ramen doesn’t sound so unbearable with Baku sitting across from him.

“…Alright,” he says quietly.

Baku lights up, sitting up straighter. “Really?”

Sieun nods once. Just enough.

Baku grins, wide and boyish, a little breathless. “Let’s get ramen this time. Like, the real kind. Big bowls, steaming hot, with soft-boiled eggs and fatty pork and those curly noodles that bounce when you bite ‘em. Maybe spicy,” he adds, his eyes gleaming with new energy, like the heaviness in the hospital room hasn’t stuck to him the way it has to Sieun. Or maybe it has, and he’s just shouldering it differently. “Bet you’ll taste something then. You’ll be like—‘woah, what is this flavor explosion?’ And I’ll be like, ‘that’s called joy, Sieun.’”

A tiny, almost invisible twitch touches the corner of Sieun’s mouth.

Baku catches it and beams even harder, proud like he just cracked some secret code.

They stand together quietly, and Sieun turns once more to look at Suho before they leave. He doesn’t say anything, but his gaze lingers, a silent promise or maybe a quiet apology. Then he turns and follows Baku out of the room.

The hallway feels brighter on the way out.

And this time, when the breeze catches in Sieun’s hair as they step outside, Baku looks at him again, but he doesn’t feel like he might disappear.

They walk side by side, not speaking, just the sound of footsteps on pavement and the occasional hum of traffic in the distance. The sun is beginning to dip, casting a pale gold hue over everything, softening the edges of the city like a memory in real time.

Baku keeps glancing at him. Not obviously, but enough. Enough to trace the slope of Sieun’s nose, the quiet line of his mouth, the way his eyes stay ahead like he’s always half somewhere else. Even now, after everything, Sieun walks like he’s passing through. Like his feet never fully touch the ground. Like at any moment, he might lift his head toward the wind and vanish without a sound.

That’s how Baku’s always seen him.

Even from the beginning, Sieun felt… temporary. Like a ghost of a boy who acted politely, spoke softly, and existed with this weightless grace that made it hard to tell if he was real or just pretending to be. There was never anything loud about Sieun, no reckless ambition, no rooted stubbornness like most people had. He never made himself a fixture. Never demanded the space he stood in.

It made Baku uneasy.

Because how do you hold onto someone who doesn’t even try to stay?

But now… now, after watching Sieun cry, really cry, and not run from it, after seeing him crack open and sit with that pain, let Baku hold him through it... something’s different.

Baku doesn’t know what shifted exactly. Maybe nothing did on the outside. Sieun’s still walking quietly beside him, hands in his coat pockets, expression unreadable. But Baku feels it. Feels that invisible tether between them stretch and tighten, not like a leash, but like gravity. Like Sieun’s feet are finally touching the ground. Like he chose to stay here, just for a little while longer. With him.

And the weight of that… it roots Baku, too.

He breathes in, then out, and smiles to himself as he gently bumps their shoulders together. Nothing dramatic. Just enough to say I’m here. I see you.

Sieun doesn’t look at him. But Baku sees the small, almost imperceptible nod he gives in return.

The city is more crowded than expected.

Rush hour is bleeding into the early evening, and the streets are teeming with life, couples huddled close under shared umbrellas, students laughing loudly in uniforms, neon signs flickering to life in anticipation of night. Sieun weaves through the throng with practiced ease, small and quiet enough to go unnoticed. But Baku, taller, broader, and completely hopeless with directions, keeps getting jostled from every side.

He curses under his breath, spinning in a slow circle trying to get his bearings. “This map is lying to me,” he mutters, squinting at his phone before nearly walking straight into an elderly man with a shopping bag. “Ah—sorry! I’m just trying to get to the ramen place!”

Sieun watches from a few steps ahead, exhaling softly through his nose. The corners of his lips twitch, just a little.

Eventually, Baku catches up, slightly out of breath, and before Sieun can turn back around, Baku blurts, “Wait… hold on.” Then he reaches out and grabs Sieun’s hand.

Sieun pauses, blinking down at the contact. Baku’s palm is warm, calloused, a little clammy, and his grip is loose enough that Sieun could pull away if he wanted. He doesn’t.

“I mean,” Baku says quickly, ears turning faintly pink. “It’s crowded. And you’re kinda small, y’know? You just, slip through people like steam or something. You’ll get lost if I blink too long.”

Sieun raises an eyebrow at that, but his voice is even. “I’m the one leading.”

“Exactly,” Baku grins. “So I don’t lose you.”

Sieun considers that for half a second. It's not unreasonable. The crowd is dense, and Baku’s already demonstrated his complete incompetence at navigating it. From a practical standpoint, it makes sense. Efficiency over formality.

He nods once and lets his fingers curl properly around Baku’s. “Fine.”

Baku lights up like a sunrise.

They start walking again, hand-in-hand through the crowd, and Baku, unable to contain the quiet thrill building in his chest, gives their joined hands a little swing. Once. Twice.

Sieun doesn’t react.

But Baku’s grin stretches wider.

He swings again.

Still nothing.

And then, as they pass under a line of storefront lanterns, he hears the faintest, softest sound. Barely more than a breath. But it’s there.

A laugh. More like an exhale… but an amused exhale.

So in Baku’s book Sieun had laughed. Quiet, dry, and barely audible, but real.

Baku doesn’t say anything. He just holds his hand a little tighter. And they keep walking.

They arrive at the ramen shop tucked into a side street, the kind of place with worn wooden tables, yellowed menus stuck to the walls, and the low comforting chatter of regulars. A soft clatter of dishes and the occasional sizzle from the open kitchen gives it a lived-in warmth, like something preserved in time. The scent of rich broth and grilled meat clings to the air.

Sieun steps in first. He doesn’t say much, doesn’t react to the atmosphere, just walks to the booth near the back and quietly slides into the seat by the window. The neon from outside throws a muted pink glow over his pale skin, illuminating the shadows under his eyes. His expression is unreadable, passive, but not calm. More like emptied out.

Baku follows a second later, plopping down across from him with a practiced grin, though it falters slightly when he gets a good look at Sieun. His posture is perfect, arms folded neatly in front of him, eyes trained on the water glass in front of him like it might shift or vanish if he blinks. Not in thought, just elsewhere.

Baku grabs the laminated menu and breaks the silence, “Alright, I’m picking for both of us. Don’t complain.”

Sieun doesn’t. He just gives a small, almost imperceptible nod.

Baku watches him for a second longer, something soft flickering across his face, then turns to flag down the server. He orders with easy confidence… tonkotsu for Sieun, spicy miso for himself, gyoza to share. The kind of comfort food that leaves your lips tingling and your belly warm.

When the food arrives, steam curling between them like invisible threads, Sieun doesn’t hesitate. He picks up his chopsticks, clasps them correctly, and begins to eat. Slowly. Methodically. As if he’s not really tasting, just performing a task. His gestures are automatic: scoop, lift, chew, swallow. Not fast, not rude, not awkward. Just… empty.

Baku watches him for a few minutes before frowning and leaning forward, his own bowl still untouched. “Hey,” he says gently, “Try to enjoy it. It’s good, right? This place is, like, famous in this neighborhood.”

Sieun doesn’t look up. He finishes chewing, swallows, then rests his chopsticks on the edge of the bowl.

“…I still can’t taste it,” he says finally, his voice soft and flat.

Baku’s expression darkens.

There’s nothing dramatic in Sieun’s tone, no sadness, no frustration, not even resignation. Just cold fact, delivered like a medical report. It unsettles Baku more than if he had looked upset. Because there’s something deeply wrong about the way Sieun is sitting there, eating food he can’t taste with eyes that seem to stare through the window, not at the world outside but something deeper, darker—something only he can see.

“I see,” Baku murmurs, his earlier enthusiasm dimming. He grabs his own chopsticks now, almost out of guilt, and stirs his ramen halfheartedly.

Across from him, Sieun takes another bite. And another. The steam fogs the window behind him. His profile, lit from the glow of streetlights outside, looks almost ethereal, soft, almost faded, like he’s dissolving into the evening air.

He’s here. Sitting right there. And yet, Baku feels like Sieun is miles away.

So Baku swallows, both his food and his nerves, and tries not to let the ache in his chest show. He tells himself he’ll try again tomorrow. And the day after that. For as long as it takes.

Because if Sieun really can’t feel the flavor of life right now, then Baku will just have to taste it for both of them.
———————————————————————-
The ramen shop door closes behind them with a soft chime, muffled by the hum of traffic and the low chatter of early evening. The air outside is crisp now, cooled further by the breeze that rustles through the rows of flickering neon signs and rusted awnings. The steam and warmth of the meal are left behind, and in its place comes that particular stillness only a city at twilight can bring—the low murmur of life winding down, and the soft rhythm of two sets of footsteps falling in sync.

Sieun walks beside Baku with his hands in his pockets, head bowed slightly, gaze fixed somewhere ahead but unfocused. The heaviness hasn’t left him, it still clings to his limbs, tucked into the corners of his eyes, weighing down his posture, but it’s settled differently now. Like a stone smoothed down by the tide. Enduring, but no longer jagged.

He’s quiet for a long while.

Baku doesn’t rush him. He’s there, like always, walking close, glancing over every now and then with that same mix of concern and steady presence. He doesn't push for conversation. Doesn’t joke or fill the silence. He just walks, matching Sieun’s pace exactly.

After a block or two, Sieun speaks. His voice is soft, but clear.

“…Thank you,” he says, keeping his eyes forward. “For coming today.”

Baku turns to look at him, a little surprised. “Yeah?” he replies, his voice just as gentle. “Well… thank you for letting me.”

Sieun glances over, faintly puzzled, so Baku continues, his tone turning more serious.

“I know it’s not easy. Letting someone see that part of you. Or of him. Suho, I mean.” He scratches the back of his neck. “You didn’t have to let me in, but… you did. So thanks for trusting me with that.”

That word—trust—lands heavy between them, heavier than Sieun expects.

He doesn’t stop walking, but his eyes lower a little. His throat tightens with something he doesn’t entirely know how to name. He isn’t used to people recognizing the weight of the things he doesn’t say. He isn’t used to anyone even trying.

A moment passes.

“You’re a good friend,” Sieun says, plainly.

It’s a simple statement. Honest. No embellishment. No overthinking. And maybe that’s what makes it feel heavier than it should. Because coming from Sieun, someone who measures everything he gives, those four words feel like a confession.

Baku doesn’t reply at first.

He nods, just once, and smiles faintly, though it doesn’t quite reach his eyes.

“Yeah,” he says, voice low. “Friend.”

And they keep walking, the streetlights casting long shadows at their feet, their steps aligned once more.

Neither says anything for the rest of the walk, but the silence doesn’t stretch like distance anymore. It feels more like a pause. A quiet space between breaths, full of everything unsaid, and everything understood.

The soft rhythm of their footsteps lulls the street into stillness, an ordinary sound, one that might’ve gone unnoticed by anyone else, just two boys walking under the early evening sky. The kind of calm that might pass through a moment unnoticed. But then, Baku stops walking.

It’s abrupt, not aggressive, not theatrical, but it carries weight. The absence of his movement is loud in the quiet street. Sieun notices it immediately, his own steps slowing until he stops a pace ahead. He turns slightly, his expression curious, eyes soft with that ever-present veil of indifference.

Baku’s voice cuts through the quiet, low and steady. “Is that all I am to you?” he asks. “Just… a good friend?”

Sieun blinks. The question doesn’t compute right away, and his head tilts a little, brown hair falling into his eyes. “What?”

But Baku is already closing the distance between them, his long legs eating up the space in a few strides. He’s tall—taller than Sieun by more than a few inches—and when he stops just in front of him, his presence feels enormous. Not overwhelming, not threatening—but there, unignorable. Like the heat of a fire pressed close in winter.

His hands come up slowly, deliberately, resting gently on Sieun’s shoulders. His touch is warm but firm, fingers curling in slightly, grounding Sieun in place. He doesn’t shake him or tug—just holds him steady, like he’s afraid that if he doesn’t, Sieun might vanish into smoke.

Baku leans forward just a little, not enough to breach comfort, but enough that Sieun can see every nuance in his face, those dark eyes, suddenly stripped of mischief, intent and focused in a way that makes the air between them feel heavier. Like everything’s shifted.

“Tell me,” Baku murmurs, his voice barely above a whisper. “Am I really just a friend to you?”

Sieun stares back.

He doesn’t flinch. Doesn’t pull away. His eyes are calm, the way they always are… quiet and unreadable, like a deep, still lake. But beneath that stillness, something shifts, something faint, like a tremor under glass. He doesn’t speak. Doesn’t answer right away. Just looks at Baku.

Baku’s breath catches.

Sieun’s silence isn’t cold, and it isn’t cruel—it’s measured. Calculated. Like his mind is running through a thousand thoughts at once, analyzing angles and consequences. Like he’s trying to figure out what this moment means before he decides what to do with it. His face is a mask of logic, but his eyes—his eyes say something else entirely.

Something is breaking through.

They stand frozen in the fading light, the city’s distant hum fading into a quiet backdrop as if the world itself has paused to watch. Baku’s hands remain steady on Sieun’s shoulders, the warmth of his touch lingering like a silent promise. His dark eyes are fixed unwaveringly on Sieun’s calm, measured gaze, searching for something, anything, that might break the stillness between them.

Sieun’s breath is slow, almost imperceptible, his brown eyes reflecting a mixture of thought and restraint. He doesn’t flinch or look away; instead, he holds Baku’s gaze with a quiet intensity that feels like a challenge and an invitation all at once.

Seconds stretch and twist, each one heavier than the last, filled with the unsaid and the almost-said. Baku waits, his heart thudding loud enough to drown out the faint noises of the street around them. He’s not just waiting for words, he’s waiting for the moment when Sieun will let down his walls, when the calm will break and something real will flood through.

Sieun’s lips part slightly again, a breath caught on the edge of something fragile and urgent. The space between them narrows, electric and trembling. It feels like the whole world is leaning in, waiting for the answer that could change everything.

Before the words can come, a gust of wind sweeps through, tousling their hair, scattering the tension like leaves in a storm.

Still, they remain locked in place, eyes locked, breaths mingling, the question hanging like a delicate thread between them, waiting to be pulled taut.

Chapter Text

A few weeks pass, quiet and slow, like leaves drifting downward through the thinning trees. The warmth of late autumn gives way to the sharper edge of approaching winter, and the air starts to carry that crisp bite that reddens fingertips and flushes cheeks. The mornings grow dimmer. The sky more pale. Sieun starts wearing a scarf, loosely wrapped around his neck, and Baku has taken to complaining, loudly and often, about the cold, pulling his hoodie tight over his ears as if it makes a difference.

But despite the chill, something between them has only grown warmer.

They walk together almost every day now, after school, sometimes before, and on weekends when the streets are quieter. It isn’t always intentional. They just happen to end up in the same places, at the same times, with the same kind of easy silence trailing behind them. Baku still talks a lot, sometimes aimlessly, sometimes too much, but Sieun listens. And sometimes, more and more lately, Sieun responds. With short comments, low murmurs, even the rare dry remark that makes Baku grin like he’s just won something.

At school, their closeness has become a quiet constant. Juntae and Hyuntak are the first to start teasing them about it, of course. It starts small, just a smirk from Hyuntak when Sieun walks into class with Baku trailing close behind. Or Juntae raising his brows when he catches the two of them lingering by the vending machine during break, shoulders brushing but neither moving away.

One day, when Baku is dozing with his head on Sieun’s arm during lunch again, Hyuntak passes by and mutters, “Should we leave you two alone or are you past the point of caring?”

Juntae snorts, his voice shy but mischievous. “They’re practically married.”

Sieun doesn’t respond. Baku just hums like it’s a compliment.

But even as things grow more familiar, softer, warmer, neither of them mention that day. The day Baku asked if he was just a friend. The question that Sieun never answered. It still hangs between them, quiet but persistent, like fog that never fully lifts. Not forgotten, just… suspended. Sometimes, Baku will glance at him when Sieun isn’t looking, eyes filled with something careful and wondering. Sometimes, Sieun catches him and says nothing.

It lingers in the back of their minds like an unfinished sentence.
Waiting.

And maybe, just maybe, both of them are afraid of what the answer might really mean.
———————————————————————
The sky is a quiet shade of silver-gray, soft and overcast, the kind of cold that seeps into your sleeves and settles behind your collarbones. Their breath comes out in little white puffs, curling in the air like smoke as they walk side by side down the sloped sidewalk behind the school. A few bare branches overhead creak in the wind, and the last of the autumn leaves scuttle across the pavement like paper-thin whispers.

Baku gives a dramatic shiver, rubbing his hands together exaggeratedly before pressing them to his cheeks. “God, it’s freezing,” he groans. “Why do we even have winter? Who invented this?”

Sieun doesn’t respond. He just glances at him from the corner of his eye, scarf pulled up just high enough to hide the twitch at the corner of his mouth. His hands are tucked deep into his coat pockets, his shoulders drawn close to his ears like a cat in the wind. Baku huffs loudly, clearly unimpressed by Sieun’s lack of sympathy.

“Hey,” Baku says, a little too casually as he suddenly scoots closer, shoulder to shoulder, their arms now pressed together. “You’re warm. Come here.”

Sieun lets out a quiet sigh, but doesn’t move away. He doesn’t shove him off or glare like he used to. He just rolls his eyes and adjusts the position of his scarf, the faintest hint of pink blooming on his ears from either the cold or the proximity. “You’re unbelievable.”

“Thanks,” Baku grins, teeth flashing. “It’s a gift.”

They walk like that for a while, close, bodies brushing, a slow rhythm in their steps, and then Baku tilts his head slightly to look at him, eyes softening. “Hey, wanna get hot chocolate after school?”

Sieun glances up at him, one brow arching in quiet inquiry.

Baku doesn’t wait for an answer. He keeps going, hands now stuffed into his hoodie sleeves, voice more eager than usual. “It’ll be warm. And sweet. And… maybe you’ll actually be able to taste it this time.”

Sieun exhales slowly, eyes shifting away toward the sidewalk ahead. “Probably not,” he says, deadpan, but without the edge he used to carry in his voice.

“That’s not a no,” Baku says brightly, nudging him. “It’s got a shot. Chocolate’s strong. It punches through. You can’t not taste chocolate. Especially if it’s the real kind, with cinnamon or marshmallows or something fancy. Come on.”

Sieun shrugs again, noncommittal, but he doesn’t reject the idea.

And that’s enough to make Baku grin again, a little smug this time. His arm hooks slightly around Sieun’s as they keep walking, tethering them even closer together. “We’ll go after school,” he says with confidence, as if the plan’s already set in stone. “You’ll see. I’ll find you the best hot chocolate in the city.”

Sieun doesn’t answer, but he doesn’t pull away either.

And in the chilled hush of the winter air, that silence is as good as yes.

The school gates swing closed behind them with a soft clang as the two boys step inside, their breaths still fogging in the morning chill. The courtyard is speckled with patches of frost, students dragging their feet toward the front doors while clutching warm drinks or rubbing their gloved hands together. The bell hasn’t rung yet, but the usual hum of voices and footsteps has already started to rise through the corridors like steam off a kettle.

Sieun walks ahead slightly, already pulling out his notebook from his bag with one hand as they move through the hallway. His scarf is snug around his neck, a shade darker than his coat, and a few strands of his brown hair fall into his eyes. As always, he doesn’t bother brushing them away. He slips into the classroom without a word and slides into his usual seat beside the window, the one he’s always had, because of course he’s had it. That’s just how he is. Predictable. Disciplined. Unmoving.

Baku follows after him, plopping down in the desk beside him with far less grace, his body immediately slouching halfway off the seat. He lets out a heavy sigh and rests his cheek on the edge of his notebook, pen twirling in one hand as he watches Sieun settle in beside him.

Midterms are coming up. Everyone’s a little more tense. Pages are already flipping across the room as students cram last-minute notes or stare blankly at practice sheets, but Sieun doesn’t even hesitate. The second his bag hits the floor, he’s already scanning a review packet, eyes darting across formulas and dates, pencil tapping lightly as he underlines something without pause. His brows are drawn slightly, his lips pursed in quiet focus, and he hasn’t even acknowledged Baku since sitting down.

But Baku doesn’t mind.

Not really.

He just watches him, lazily, absently, chin still resting on his desk. His own paper remains blank save for a doodle in the corner of what appears to be a dog in a cape. His eyes drift from the soft curve of Sieun’s jaw to the way his fingers move with practiced ease, then finally settle on his face again.

Sieun’s brown eyes are narrowed in thought, scanning each line of text with relentless precision. They’re rounder when relaxed, naturally wide and soft in shape, and it’s that, more than anything, that Baku finds himself staring at now. Those damn doe eyes. Deep and calm, always watching, always calculating, but never cruel. Sieun is made of quiet strength. He wears it the way others wear armor, without flash or decoration. It’s just there, in the way he moves, the way he thinks, the way he never lets himself fall apart in front of anyone, not if he can help it.

Baku’s gaze lingers on the small, barely-there dimple in Sieun’s cheek when his lips press together in concentration. His lashes are long, almost unfairly so, brushing against his skin every time he blinks, and the way he leans forward just slightly while reading, elbow propped, cheek faintly colored from the cold, makes him look more like a painting than a person.

Baku’s pen stops twirling.

He doesn’t know how long he stares, or if Sieun’s noticed yet, but there’s something quietly magnetic about watching someone so consumed by focus. There’s no performance to it. No show. Sieun is just being, completely and entirely, and Baku finds himself envious of how effortlessly he disappears into his own mind.

And maybe, a little smitten, too.

He taps the pen against his lip, lips quirking slightly.

"You're too pretty when you study," he mutters under his breath, not quite loud enough for Sieun to hear, but maybe loud enough to hope he does.

Just maybe.

The sound of rustling paper fills the air, low and steady, the soft scratch of pencil against textbook margins blending with the quiet murmurs of other students settling in. Outside, the sky has turned a pale blue-gray, clouds unmoving as if suspended in time. Inside the classroom, a different sort of storm simmers, one made of formulas, diagrams, stress, and the silent panic that comes with approaching exams.

Sieun remains still in his seat, pencil steadily underlining key terms as if the world outside his paper doesn’t exist. His breathing is even, his focus unshakeable, the kind of tunnel vision born not just from academic discipline, but necessity. Studying is survival. Studying is control. And in this moment, it’s the only thing keeping him tethered to something solid. He leans slightly closer to the desk, eyes flicking from page to page with quiet determination.

But then, he hears it.

“You’re too pretty when you study,” Baku mutters.

It’s soft, half-mumbled, like an afterthought, but it cuts through the stillness like a whisper dropped in a cathedral.

Sieun’s pencil halts mid-stroke.

His posture doesn’t shift. He doesn’t look over immediately. But the lightest, barely-there blush starts to rise along the tops of his cheekbones, warming the soft skin beneath his eyes. It’s faint—so faint most wouldn’t catch it—but Baku’s seen him enough to know when something breaks through the usual stillness.

Still, Sieun doesn’t give him the satisfaction of a reaction. He clears his throat once, subtly, then continues to study as if nothing was said, flipping the page with the same measured calm. His voice, when it comes, is dry and composed, but there’s a slight hesitation, like he had to make sure his voice wouldn’t betray the flush in his chest.

“Study,” he says quietly. “Or you won’t graduate.”

Baku lets out a dramatic groan and slumps further in his seat, dragging his hands down his face. “I can’t,” he whines. “You’re distracting.”

Sieun blinks, eyes lifting slightly from the page, and finally turns just enough to glance at him. His expression is deadpan, but his lips twitch at the edges, like he’s fighting the smallest of smiles.

“I’m literally not doing anything,” he says, tone clipped, matter-of-fact.

Baku stares at him, dead serious. “Exactly.”

Sieun sighs, exasperated, and returns his gaze to his notebook, shoulders just a little stiffer now, blush refusing to fade. But he doesn’t push Baku away, doesn’t scold him further. He just keeps writing, slower now, less mechanical, as if a part of him, just a small, reluctant part, can’t stop hearing those words echo in his head.

“Too pretty.”

He underlines another word. Refocuses.

But the page in front of him looks a little blurrier than it did before.

Baku perks up suddenly like a spark just lit in his brain, his entire posture snapping from slouched to upright in a way that jolts the table slightly. His eyes widen, dark and mischievous with sudden purpose, and he leans in toward Sieun like he’s about to reveal the meaning of life.

Sieun’s pencil stills again. Warily, he turns his head just enough to glance at him, suspicion already creeping into his expression. Baku only ever gets that specific look on his face when he’s about to say something deeply idiotic, or strangely brilliant. It’s always a toss-up. Usually the former.

“What,” Sieun says flatly, his tone already exhausted before Baku’s even opened his mouth.

Baku beams, too excited to be discouraged by the deadpan delivery. “You should tutor me.”

Sieun blinks once. Then twice.

“No,” he says immediately, and returns to his notes without another word.

But Baku isn’t deterred. He leans even closer now, practically hovering over Sieun’s textbook, grinning like he’s proud of the worst idea imaginable. “Come on,” he pleads, “you’re literally top of the class. You know all this stuff like it’s second nature. Just give me, like, a couple days a week. An hour. Forty-five minutes. Or—” he gasps dramatically, “even just twenty! Come on, Sieun, help a guy out.”

“I already told you to study,” Sieun mutters, flipping a page. “This is you not listening. Again.”

“Yeah, but you didn’t say with you,” Baku shoots back with a smug smile, tapping the edge of Sieun’s desk like that settled it.

Sieun glares at him out of the corner of his eye. “You just want me to do the work for you.”

“No! I swear,” Baku says, holding a hand to his heart as if taking a solemn oath. “I’ll try this time. I’ll take notes and everything. But only if you’re the one teaching me. Otherwise my brain is just gonna rot.”

Sieun’s pencil slows again. He isn’t saying no—not yet. Which Baku picks up on immediately.

“Come on,” he coaxes again, voice a little gentler now, eyes big like a kicked puppy. “Please?”

Sieun exhales heavily through his nose, then turns to face him more directly, giving him a long, unimpressed look. “Fine. But if you don’t improve by midterms, I’m never doing this again.”

Baku’s eyes light up instantly. “Deal! Yes. Yes. Okay… but wait, wait,” he says, snapping his fingers. “One more thing. If my grades do improve, like significantly, notably, impressively, then you have to do one thing I ask.”

Sieun stares at him. “What?”

“Just one thing!” Baku insists, both hands raised innocently. “One request. A wish. Like a reward. Doesn’t matter what it is. Could be big, could be small.”

“That’s the dumbest thing I’ve ever heard,” Sieun replies with zero hesitation.

Baku pouts, nudging his elbow against Sieun’s. “You’re mean. You didn’t even hear the terms.”

“You didn’t say the terms.”

“I don’t know them yet,” Baku grins. “That’s why it’s a wish. It’s supposed to be mysterious.”

Sieun just stares at him again for a long moment, long enough that Baku thinks he might get hit with a pencil to the face, but instead, Sieun looks back at his notes, sighs deeply, and says under his breath, “Fine. Whatever.”

And that’s all Baku needs to hear.

He throws his arms up in silent victory, then catches himself and immediately glances around to avoid getting yelled at by a teacher. A huge grin spreads across his face as he sinks back into his seat.

Sieun’s already writing again like nothing happened, but his ears are a little red.

Baku’s not sure if it’s from the cold or the agreement. But either way, he’s one step closer.
————————————————————————
The final bell rings, sharp and echoing, signaling the end of another long school day. The classroom erupts into a flurry of movement—chairs scraping back, bags zipping up, the clatter of books being slammed shut. Voices rise as students begin to file out, loud and chaotic in the narrow hallway beyond the door.

Sieun doesn’t move. He’s still bent over his notebook, pencil gliding quietly as he finishes a sentence from the lesson, brows furrowed in steady concentration. The clamor of the bell doesn’t faze him. Noise rarely does. It’s habit now—this need to squeeze out every last drop of productivity, every last minute of silence before he gets up.

But then, suddenly, unexpectedly, his collar is grabbed.

Not violently, but firmly enough to yank him upright in his seat.

“What the—” he starts, eyes narrowing in confusion as the front of his uniform shirt bunches in a loose fist.

Baku’s wide grin is already inches from his face. “Nope. You’re done. It’s time.”

“Time for what?” Sieun mutters, voice low with mild annoyance as he’s pulled to his feet. His grip on his notebook remains stubborn, and somehow, despite being dragged, he keeps his pencil perfectly tucked in the spiral binding.

Baku doesn’t answer right away. He just spins him around and marches them both out of the classroom like it’s some kind of mission, weaving past classmates and down the stairs with reckless enthusiasm. His fingers eventually slide from Sieun’s collar to his wrist, tugging him along more gently now, though no less determined.

Sieun doesn’t resist.

Not really.

He sighs again and adjusts the way his bag hangs on his shoulder, notebook still clutched to his chest like a lifeline. He lets himself be hauled along, blinking as the afternoon sun hits them the moment they exit the building.

The next thing he knows, they’re on a bus.

The low hum of the engine rattles through the floor beneath their feet, the city flashing past in a series of blurry storefronts and pedestrians. Sieun is seated by the window, legs tucked in neatly, eyes fixed down on the notes open across his lap. He’s flipping a page when Baku, seated beside him, starts humming some pop song—completely off-key, loud enough to make the middle schooler across the aisle wince.

Sieun doesn’t look up. “You’re tone-deaf.”

“Correction,” Baku says proudly, “I’m emotionally in tune.”

Sieun makes a small sound, something between a scoff and a sigh, but he doesn’t press the issue. Instead, he underlines a phrase in his notes and continues reading. The sway of the bus is rhythmic, lulling, and the outside world blurs past in a wash of grays and pale blues.

Then Baku shifts in his seat and nudges Sieun’s knee with his own.

“I found a place,” he says, with a spark of excitement that bubbles beneath his words. “Cute little hot cocoa spot. Not far. Not chain-store stuff either. It’s got personality.”

Sieun finally looks up, eyes drifting to him with a mixture of fatigue and mild intrigue. “You dragged me out of school for cocoa.”

“Correction,” Baku says again, wagging a finger, “I’m dragging you into a moment. One where we’re not buried in test papers.”

Sieun exhales slowly, gaze drifting back to his notes, but he doesn’t protest again.

The bus hisses to a stop with a sigh of released air, the doors folding open as cold wind snakes inside. Baku is the first to hop up, practically bouncing down the steps onto the curb like he’s just landed in a new country. Sieun follows at a calmer pace, adjusting the strap of his backpack, notebook still in hand, gaze flicking across their surroundings.

The shop is tucked into a quiet corner of the street, its awning striped a soft dusty pink, steam fogging the windows from the inside. A small chalkboard easel sits just outside the door, listing specials in loopy handwriting, spiced dark cocoa, peppermint mochas, cinnamon honey lattes. Warm string lights dangle from the edge of the awning, casting a golden hue onto the cobblestone sidewalk. There are a few outdoor tables, white wrought iron with matching chairs, and a scattering of throw pillows and blankets draped artfully across them.

Baku spins on his heel and gestures dramatically at one of the tables. “Your throne awaits, Your Majesty.”

Sieun raises a brow. “What are you—”

Before he can finish, Baku slips off his blazer with a flourish, folds it in half, and lays it neatly across the cold metal bench. “So you don’t freeze your ass off,” he says, as if it’s the most natural thing in the world.

Sieun stares at him.

He blinks once, twice. His lips part slightly, as if to protest, then shut again. And finally, with a resigned sigh, he sits down, lowering himself onto the makeshift cushion with an air of quiet reluctance. But he doesn’t move the blazer. He doesn’t hand it back.

He just… sits.

Baku grins triumphantly and then bounds toward the entrance of the shop, his hands stuffed into the pockets of his hoodie. He gets in line, immediately bouncing on his toes to the beat of some internal rhythm, probably still humming that same off-key song from the bus. He leans over the counter to peer at the menu even though he already knows what he wants. Every part of him is in motion, unable to be still for more than a breath.

Sieun watches him from the table, quiet and still.

The cold bites at his ears, but the blazer beneath him is warm, and his fingers feel less stiff than before. After a moment, he slips his notebook into his bag, carefully tucking it behind his pencil case, and pulls the zipper shut. The weight of it all, the pages, the effort, the expectation, feels a little lighter somehow. Or maybe it’s just the atmosphere. Or the way Baku moves like the world is something to be explored instead of endured.

Sieun leans back slightly, hands resting on his thighs, and continues to watch Baku through the cafe window, his breath fogging softly in front of him. And even if he doesn’t smile, something in his posture, his loosened shoulders, the way his knees aren’t drawn together quite so tightly, gives him away.

The door swings open with a cheerful jingle, and Baku emerges from the warm haze of the café, both hands full, two cutesy cups cradled like treasure. Steam curls from their lids in delicate spirals, carried off by the breeze as he bounds down the few stone steps like a kid on Christmas morning.

“There he is!” Baku announces, eyes gleaming with pride. “The scholar. The critic. The ice prince! I’ve come to melt your heart.”

Sieun gives him a look, flat, unreadable, but doesn’t say anything as Baku sets one of the drinks in front of him like it’s a peace offering. The sleeve on the cup is soft felt instead of paper, stamped with the shop’s name in delicate calligraphy. It’s warm in Sieun’s hands, radiating a gentle heat into his fingers that seeps up his arms and somehow settles in his chest.

Baku plops into the seat across from him, immediately taking a huge sip of his own drink. There’s a brief moment of silence. Then,

His eyes fly wide open. Comically wide. His whole body goes stiff for a second before he lets out an almost exaggerated gasp, clutching the cup like it’s made of solid gold.

“Oh my god,” he says, eyes darting to Sieun. “Sieun. Sieun. This is life-changing. I’m serious. Try it. Try it right now.”

Sieun lifts the cup, eyebrow arching. “You said that about convenience store tteokbokki.”

“This is different,” Baku insists, practically vibrating with anticipation. “This is art. Just taste it.”

He leans forward slightly, watching him with those ridiculous, imploring eyes, wide, shiny, insistent in a way that completely strips Sieun of any resistance. Sieun sighs, slow and quiet, gaze flicking from the cup to Baku’s stupidly hopeful expression, and back again.

“…Fine.”

He lifts the lid just enough and takes a slow, cautious sip.

The warmth hits his tongue first. Then the richness, dark chocolate, not overly sweet, grounded with a hint of cinnamon and something else floral, maybe lavender, something delicate that lingers at the edges of the flavor.

His eyes widen, just slightly. The faintest shift, like the first crack in still water.

Baku notices instantly. “You tasted it, didn’t you?!”

Sieun doesn’t respond right away. He swallows, then lowers the cup slowly, brows drawn together in something between disbelief and wonder. “...Yeah,” he says, voice quiet. “I did.”

For a moment, the air stills around them. The street noise fades. The cold doesn’t bite quite so sharply. It’s a tiny thing—a taste—but to Sieun, it feels like the first breath after surfacing from deep underwater.

Across the table, Baku lights up like someone struck a match in his chest. His grin is immediate, wide and so full of warmth it could melt the frost clinging to the edges of the café windows. He doesn’t say anything clever, doesn’t tease or boast.

He just leans forward, chin resting in his palm, watching Sieun as if this moment is more satisfying than anything he could’ve planned.

Sieun takes another sip, slower this time.

And for once, the taste stays.

Maybe it’s because Sieun is slowly healing.

Not all at once, he doesn’t believe in miracles, doesn’t expect to wake up one morning and find himself whole. But something subtle has been shifting, like cracks in frozen glass slowly softening under spring light. The numbness isn’t as constant as it used to be. The gray haze that dulled every flavor, every sound, every color, maybe it’s thinning at the edges. Maybe grief, in time, stops suffocating and simply becomes something you carry.

Or maybe his mind is just tired of being senseless. Of being dull. Of feeling like a passenger in his own body while the world moves around him. Studying has always been his way of holding onto control, a discipline that never asked him to feel, only to function. But lately… the corners of that structure have frayed. There’s Baku now, bright and loud and unapologetically messy, and somehow Sieun’s learned to let that noise in.

And maybe—just maybe—it’s because Baku wanted him to taste it so badly.

Because when Baku looked at him, when he placed that warm cup between them like a shared secret, it wasn’t just about chocolate or sweetness or even recovery. It was about connection. About wanting Sieun to have something. And in that moment, a small part of Sieun wanted to taste it too, not for himself, but for Baku. To give him that joy. To not be a locked door. To feel, even for a moment, like he could stand beside someone and share something simple and warm and real.

To be present.

He takes another sip, quiet and unhurried, and the taste is still there, bittersweet, rich, clinging to the back of his tongue like the last traces of a dream he doesn’t want to wake from.

Across the table, Baku watches him like he’s witnessing something precious.

And for once, Sieun doesn’t look away.

They sit in silence for a while, the last remnants of hot cocoa cradled between their palms like shared warmth. The shop’s soft golden light glows behind them, casting long, cozy shadows across the sidewalk. Steam no longer rises from their cups, it’s cooled to the point where even the sugar has settled. But neither of them rushes to finish. There’s a rare stillness between them, peaceful and undemanding, like the world has slowed just enough for them to breathe in it.

Sieun drinks slowly, unhurriedly, letting the faint traces of sweetness linger on his tongue, savoring not just the flavor but the fact that it exists at all. Across from him, Baku tilts his head back, eyes closed for a second as if he’s absorbing the warmth through memory, trying to bottle it before the cold swallows it again.

Eventually, they both drain the last of their drinks and stand. The chairs scrape gently against the pavement as they rise, empty cups tossed in the nearby bin. The breeze cuts sharper now, the sun lower, the air colder, biting with a new intensity.

Baku visibly shivers, rubbing his arms through his shirt sleeves. “Ugh, why is it always colder when you’re standing?” he complains through chattering teeth, hopping a little in place. “My bones are offended.”

Sieun eyes him for a beat, unreadable as always. Then, without a word, he shrugs out of his blazer, setting down his backpack and patting off the one Baku had placed on the bench before lifting it gently into his arms.

“Here,” he says simply, handing over his own blazer and sliding Baku’s onto himself in the same motion.

Baku blinks, wide-eyed. “Wait… what? But mine is wet now, won’t you be cold?”

Sieun adjusts the sleeves, which are slightly too long on him, the cuffs falling past his wrists. “I’m not that cold,” he replies, his tone cool but not dismissive. “You’re shivering.”

Baku takes the blazer, holding it like it’s some sacred artifact, staring at Sieun with what could only be described as puppy dog eyes. He shrugs it on slowly, burying his hands into the sleeves, which are a bit snug at the shoulders and tight across his back. His movements are awkward, but he doesn’t complain.

Sieun, on the other hand, looks mildly ridiculous in Baku’s oversized one. The hem nearly hits his thighs, and the sleeves bunch around his fingers. The fabric swallows his narrow frame, and for a second, he looks less like the usually composed, untouchable Sieun and more like a boy playing dress-up in someone else’s armor.

Baku looks him up and down, trying and failing to suppress a grin. “You look like you’re hiding inside it.”

Sieun rolls his eyes and pulls the front tighter. “You’re one to talk. Mine looks like it’s trying to survive on your body.”

They both stand there for a moment, awkward, amused, and warm in a way that has nothing to do with the fabric on their backs. Then Baku bumps Sieun’s shoulder lightly, still grinning. “Thanks,” he says, voice softer now. “For this. And coming with me to get hot cocoa. And, you know… today.”

Sieun doesn’t say anything in return. But the way his gaze lingers on Baku’s face a second longer than necessary, the way his shoulders relax ever so slightly beneath the oversized fabric, that’s answer enough.

Baku watches him as they walk, hands tucked into the warm sleeves of Sieun’s blazer, shoulders hunched slightly against the wind. He should be cold still—his nose is pink, and his hair’s ruffled from the breeze—but there’s a glow in him now that has nothing to do with the borrowed warmth. His gaze keeps drifting sideways, toward the boy walking beside him.

Sieun, quiet and composed, looks even smaller than usual swallowed in Baku’s too-large blazer. The hem brushes his thighs with every step, the sleeves slipping past his fingertips, and the collar bunches slightly around his neck like he’s hiding in it.

He looks soft. Out of place in a way that tugs at something in Baku’s chest.

He’s so cute, Baku thinks, without hesitation. Unfairly cute.

He bites his lower lip, smiling to himself like he’s got a secret he’s not ready to say out loud.

They’re only a block from the bus stop when he slows down a little, turning toward Sieun with a gleam in his eyes. “Hey,” he says, voice breezy but trying too hard to sound casual. “I was thinking…”

Sieun glances at him, skeptical. “Always dangerous.”

Baku ignores that. “You don’t want to go home alone, right?” he says, already setting the trap. “It’s Friday.”

Sieun narrows his eyes slightly. “...So?”

“So,” Baku says, sliding a step closer, “what if we had a sleepover at your place?”

Sieun stops walking.

Freezes, just for a second, blinking at Baku like he didn’t quite hear him right.

Baku fills the silence immediately, waving his hands like he’s painting a picture. “Just us! We can study, well, you can try to make me study, and I’ll bring snacks. I’ve got this new movie I’ve been meaning to show you, and we could just... hang out. You know, like people do. Be normal teenagers for a night.”

Sieun just stares, expression unreadable, a little wary.

Baku softens, grin fading into something more earnest. His voice drops. “I don’t wanna leave you yet,” he says, quieter now. “You’re kind of my favorite person right now. That’s not weird, right?”

Sieun lowers his eyes for a moment. His grip on the strap of his backpack tightens a little. That warmth from earlier, the fleeting peace, the sweetness of cocoa still lingering on his tongue, it hasn’t left him, not really. And maybe, in this rare moment of stillness, he realizes he doesn’t want it to.

Maybe, for once, being with someone, letting them in, might not be the burden it used to be.

He lifts his head slowly, brown eyes steady. “...Why not,” he says, and there’s the faintest trace of a smile tugging at his lips. “It might be fun.”

Baku practically lights up like a Christmas tree. “Yes! You won’t regret this, I swear.”

Sieun just keeps walking, a touch faster now, trying to hide the warmth rising to his face.

But Baku sees it anyway.

As they near the familiar split in the road, the one where their paths usually diverge for the day, Baku suddenly stops in his tracks, turns on his heel, and grips Sieun by both shoulders with the urgency of someone about to deliver groundbreaking news.

“I’ll be at your house soon,” he declares with the seriousness of a soldier heading to war. “I just gotta run home and pack. Clothes. Toothbrush. All that stuff.”

Sieun raises an eyebrow. “You make it sound like you’re going on a week-long expedition.”

Baku ignores the jab completely. “Don’t start without me! I’m bringing snacks. And my charger. And maybe a blanket, wait, should I bring extra socks? I’m bringing extra socks. I’ll be quick!”

Before Sieun can even reply, Baku’s already taken off, bounding down the opposite street, backpack bouncing against his back, one arm raised in a dramatic wave.

“Don’t lock me out!” he shouts without looking back.

Sieun watches him vanish, his footsteps echoing for a few seconds more before silence settles around the street once again. The sky above has dimmed into soft hues of lavender and gray, the early evening chill curling around his ankles. Sieun stands there for a moment, unmoving.

Then, without meaning to, he lets out a quiet laugh. Just a soft, breathy sound that escapes before he can stifle it, his lips curling at the corners despite himself.

Baku really was something else.

He adjusts the strap of his bag and pulls the blazer tighter around his frame, Baku’s blazer, slightly warm now, sleeves heavy and long on his arms. It smells faintly of cheap cologne and something bright and clean, like citrus shampoo and open air. It shouldn’t be comforting, but it is.

The wind picks up slightly, brushing his bangs back from his face, and Sieun ducks his head down a little, gripping the edges of the oversized blazer more tightly around himself as he walks.

And for once, he’s not thinking about Suho, or guilt, or pain, or trying to block the world out.

He’s just thinking about how fast Baku was running, and the way it made his chest feel light.
————————————————————————
The apartment is quiet when Sieun steps through the door, the familiar soft creak of the hinges echoing in the stillness. He toes off his shoes neatly by the entrance, the hum of the refrigerator the only sound in the dim space. Everything is clean and orderly, of course it is. Sieun keeps it that way, even if he’s the only one left living in it. He places his bag down gently on the table, loosening the tie at his neck as he walks into the living room, Baku’s oversized blazer still draped around his shoulders like a lazy hug.

And then—ding dong!

The doorbell rings in three cheerful bursts, rapid and impatient.

Sieun doesn’t even need to check. He exhales slowly through his nose, lips twitching faintly at the corners as he turns back toward the door.

He opens it, and Baku barrels in before he can even speak.

“Let’s goooo!” Baku yells, practically bouncing off the walls as he kicks off his shoes and strides into the apartment like he owns it. He’s got a backpack slung over one shoulder, overstuffed and bulging at the zippers, and he tosses it onto the couch with a loud thump that makes Sieun flinch.

“You’re going to tear the seams,” Sieun mutters, stepping back in and locking the door behind him.

Baku turns with all the enthusiasm of a kid at a sleepaway camp. “Okay! First rule of a sleepover, pajamas on. Now.”

Sieun stares at him.

“It’s five,” he says flatly. “In the afternoon.”

“And?” Baku retorts without missing a beat, hands on his hips. “Sleepover protocol. You get comfortable. Pajamas. Blankets. Snacks. It’s the law.”

“You’re an idiot,” Sieun mutters, brushing past him.

“And you’re stalling,” Baku calls after him as Sieun walks down the hall. “I better hear your closet opening. I want maximum pajama energy when you come back!”

Sieun doesn’t respond, but the door to his bedroom closes with a soft click.

Baku grins and flops onto the couch like he’s been here a thousand times. And maybe, in some quiet way, it already feels like he has.

When Sieun finally opens the door and steps back into the living room, his pajama shirt slightly wrinkled and hanging loose over his frame, he pauses for just a beat. The warmth of the apartment touches his cheeks, but it’s not the temperature that makes his face feel warm, it’s the sight waiting for him.

Baku is standing dead center in the living room, arms outstretched like he’s presenting himself on stage, wearing the most ridiculous pajamas Sieun has ever seen. Bright yellow with little cartoon eggs printed all over them, half cracked, some sleeping, one with sunglasses for some reason. The fabric is oversized, the sleeves slightly too long, and the pants sag at the ankles where thick fuzzy socks peek out.

“What…” Sieun says, blinking slowly, “...are you wearing?”

Baku beams proudly. “Gudetam—”

“I know what it is,” Sieun cuts in, rubbing his temple. “Why.”

“Because it sparks joy,” Baku says without hesitation, his grin widening.

But then he catches sight of Sieun, and everything in him stutters for a second.

Sieun’s pajamas are much more understated, simple navy cotton, clean lines, soft fabric that looks well-worn and comfortable. But somehow, maybe because of how natural it looks on him, maybe because of the quiet way he enters the room with his hands tucked into his sleeves, Sieun looks... soft. And unfairly cute. Baku feels his face burn.

He tries to recover quickly, too quickly, and ends up reaching out on instinct, stepping closer and ruffling Sieun’s hair like he’s trying to distract himself from how hard he’s blushing.

“Why are you always this cute, huh?” he mumbles, still flustered.

Sieun makes a quiet, disgruntled noise and ducks away from his hand, smoothing his hair back down with a little scowl. “Stop touching me,” he mutters, but there’s no real edge to his tone. More resigned than anything.

He walks past Baku and sinks down onto the couch with a sigh, tucking his legs beneath him. The material of Baku’s oversized blazer from earlier is still folded over the couch arm. He doesn’t move it, just rests his elbow on it and leans slightly to the side, watching as Baku scampers into his room to drop off his bag.

Baku returns in record time and throws himself onto the couch right next to Sieun with absolutely no respect for personal space.

“So!” he says, eyes gleaming. “What should we do first?”

His whole body practically hums with excitement. His knees knock gently against Sieun’s. He’s already halfway through ideas in his head, study, eat, watch something dumb, maybe sneak a game of cards, maybe talk until late like people do when they’re not overthinking everything.

Sieun turns his head slightly, gazing at Baku’s expectant expression. His lips part slightly like he’s about to protest, or maybe ask why are you like this, but instead, he just rests his chin on his hand and says, “You’re the one who dragged me into this. You decide.”

And that’s all the permission Baku needs.

Baku’s face lights up the second Sieun speaks, that boyish kind of excitement that doesn’t need to be loud to be infectious. His grin spreads slow and wide, and he practically bounces where he sits, legs crisscrossed now on the couch as he leans in a little closer, like proximity might help his brain work faster.

“Okay, okay,” he says, eyes darting upward as he thinks aloud, fingers tapping against his knee. “We could study for like… ten minutes and then reward ourselves with something dumb. Or! We could watch a movie while we study, like background noise. Or…” He trails off dramatically, drawing a long breath. “We could play a game. A stupid game. Like twenty questions or truth or dare, but not the middle school version. The serious, ruin-your-life kind.”

Sieun gives him a sidelong glance, unimpressed but clearly not stopping him. “You’re going to forget about studying the second we start anything else.”

Baku shrugs, completely unapologetic. “Probably. But your pajama logic agreed to this sleepover. That means tonight is about balance.”

Sieun rolls his eyes but doesn’t protest. He sinks further into the couch, arms folding across his chest as he lets his body ease into the cushions. His expression is unreadable, but his posture isn’t as rigid as usual, his shoulder brushes against Baku’s more easily now, not recoiling from the contact.

Baku watches him for a second, noticing that shift. How even in silence, Sieun’s presence is different tonight—softer around the edges, less like glass and more like something pliable. It stirs something warm in Baku’s chest, like watching frost melt off a window one slow bead at a time.

He leans his head back and lets it rest against the top of the couch, eyes still on Sieun. “We could just talk, you know,” he says more quietly now, the excitement dialed back to something gentle. “We’ve never really had a night to just... be people.”

Sieun’s gaze flicks toward him at that, caught off guard by the softness in Baku’s voice. For a second, neither of them speaks. The only sound is the hum of the heater, the muted city noise seeping in through the closed windows.

Then finally, Sieun exhales, slow and deep, like something inside him just loosened. “Talking’s fine,” he says, voice low but steady.

And just like that, the energy between them shifts. Baku doesn’t push. He just sinks into the cushions a little more comfortably, his socked feet brushing against Sieun’s as he stretches them out, no longer trying to fill the air with noise.

“Okay,” he says. “So talk to me.”

And for once, Sieun considers it.

Sieun stares ahead at the muted television screen, the remote untouched on the table, the soft glow from the living room lamp casting a warm circle of light around the two of them. His hands are folded loosely in his lap, and his posture is relaxed—but there’s hesitation in his silence, a slowness in the way he blinks, like he’s sorting through everything inside his mind just to find a single thread to tug on.

“I don’t know what to say,” he murmurs eventually, voice low and quiet like a confession he’s not sure matters.

Baku turns his head to look at him, blinking slowly like Sieun just said something he doesn’t quite understand. “What do you mean you don’t know what to say?” he says, scooting a bit closer. “Talk about something you’re passionate about.”

Sieun gives him a skeptical glance. “I’m not passionate about anything.”

Baku frowns at him like he’s just heard blasphemy. “That’s not true. You’re passionate about studying.”

Sieun scoffs under his breath, looking down at his hands. “I’m not passionate. I’m just... good at it. That’s all.”

But Baku isn’t letting him off that easily. “That’s what people who are passionate say when they don’t want to admit they care,” he says knowingly, one brow raised. “C’mon. Teach me something. I’m dumb and impressionable. Mold me.”

Sieun sighs through his nose, but there’s a small tug at the corner of his mouth that betrays the fact that he’s not really annoyed.

“You’re not dumb,” he says, but the way he says it is matter-of-fact, not patronizing.

“You’ve seen my test scores.”

“I’ve seen your study habits. The test scores are just the aftermath.”

Baku chuckles and leans his cheek into his palm. “Okay, professor. Gimme some tips. Best brain-boosting methods. What do I gotta do to get at least a B on our midterm?”

Sieun pauses like he’s considering whether or not this is worth taking seriously. But eventually, something softens in his expression. His voice shifts, subtle, but noticeable. A calm clarity that settles into his words.

“Start reviewing little by little every day, don’t cram,” he begins, voice even and smooth. “Study in short bursts, twenty-five minutes on, five-minute breaks. Use active recall. Don’t just read your notes, test yourself. And avoid studying with music with lyrics. Instrumentals only.”

Baku nods slowly, eyes narrowed like he’s trying to take it all in. “What about that mint thing? Does chewing mint gum actually make you smarter?”

Sieun side-eyes him. “No. It just helps you stay alert. Cold stimulation, basically. Like splashing water on your face. It doesn’t make you smarter, just keeps you from zoning out.”

Baku grins like Sieun just handed him a secret weapon. “Noted. So mint ice cream before every test?”

Sieun shakes his head, deadpan. “You’ll just end up with a stomachache and a sugar crash.”

“I like living on the edge.”

Sieun huffs softly, amused, but still composed, and leans further into the couch, eyes drifting to the ceiling for a moment like he’s allowing himself to settle into the quiet.

It’s small, but Baku notices it: how Sieun’s words came easier once he was in his element, how there was something oddly grounding about being asked to explain something instead of feel. And even if it’s not exactly an open wound spilled across the floor, it’s still a piece of him. Still honest.

Baku grins mischievously and pulls a small, bright green mint from his pocket, holding it out like a peace offering. “Try this,” he says, voice full of playful challenge.

Sieun wrinkles his nose and eyes the mint suspiciously. “You know I can’t taste anything, right?” he replies dryly, but with a small twitch of amusement at Baku’s persistent optimism.

Rolling his eyes, Sieun finally takes the mint and slips it into his mouth. He chews slowly, hoping for some miraculous spark of flavor. But nothing comes. No burst of cool freshness, no sharp sweetness, just the faintest hint of texture that reminds him of chewing gum.

Baku watches closely, frowning slightly as he studies Sieun’s face. When it’s clear Sieun tastes nothing, his cheeks flush a deep, almost embarrassed red, and his eyes widen with a mix of frustration and determination.

“I’ve got an idea,” Baku blurts out, barely able to contain his excitement. “But you have to promise me you won’t laugh.”

Sieun arches an eyebrow, skepticism rolling off him in waves. “This sounds stupid already.”

“No, seriously,” Baku insists, voice dropping conspiratorially. “I can try... to give you my taste buds.”

“What?” Sieun’s calm exterior cracks into disbelief. “How would you even—”

Baku cuts him off with a grin, reaching into his pocket again and pulling out another mint. “Here,” he says, placing it carefully on his tongue. “I’ll let you... taste me.” He grins sheepishly. “Or at least, it’ll be like I’m sharing my taste buds with you.”

Sieun stares at him, eyes narrowing but curiosity flickering behind the calm. “You’re insane,” he mutters, but there’s a flicker of warmth beneath the words.

Baku leans in just a little closer, his breath mingling with Sieun’s, and says softly, “If you don’t like it, push me away. I promise.”

There’s a brief pause, tension crackling in the air, the kind that hums just beneath the surface when two people inch closer to something unspoken.

Sieun’s lips part, hesitant, as the mint’s coolness spreads from Baku’s tongue to his own, a strange mingling of heat and chill that feels oddly intimate. He catches the flicker of nervousness in Baku’s eyes, and for a moment, the world shrinks down to just the two of them and that shared, impossible connection.

As their lips meet, the peppermint flavor dances across both men's tongues, a fleeting yet intimate exchange. Baku savors the sensation of Sieun's mouth, warm and firm against his own. His large hands find purchase on Sieun's shoulders, fingers digging in gently as if to anchor himself in this moment.

Sieun, initially stiff from surprise, begins to relax into the kiss. He tilts his head, deepening the connection, and explores the contours of Baku's mouth with growing curiosity. A low hum of pleasure vibrates through him as he tastes the sweetness of the mint mingled with Baku's unique essence.

With a tender squeeze, Baku guides Sieun back onto the couch, settling his weight beside him. Their bodies press together, the heat building between them as they lose themselves in the rhythm of kissing.

Panting softly, Baku gazes down at Sieun with wide, beseeching eyes, his hunger palpable. "Please," he whispers, his hoarse voice tinged with desperation. Sieun, lost in a haze of arousal, responds with a curt nod, urging Baku onward.

With a groan, Baku hitches a thigh over Sieun's hips, aligning their straining erections. He rolls his hips, grinding insistently against Sieun's crotch, relishing the exquisite friction. A moan tears from both men's throats as sparks of pleasure ignite along their lengths.

With deliberate slowness, Baku slips his hand inside Sieun's pants, fingertips brushing the sensitive skin of his inner thigh before seeking out the hard length nestled within. He strokes Sieun with reverence, marveling at the velvety texture and the pulsing heat emanating from him.

Sieun's reaction is immediate and intense… a soft and breathy moan rips from his throat as his hips buck involuntarily into Baku's touch. His fingers dig into the cushions of the couch, knuckles white with tension. Baku watches intently, drinking in every flicker of emotion crossing Sieun's face, ensuring his every caress brings only pleasure.

Emboldened by Sieun's responsiveness, Baku increases the pressure of his grip, pumping the rigid shaft with increasing speed and intensity.

As Sieun's orgasm overtakes him, his back arches off the couch, chest heaving with labored breaths. A torrent of hot semen spills from his twitching length, painting Baku's hand and forearm with sticky proof of his release.

Baku continues to stroke Sieun through the aftershocks, milking every last drop from his spent member. When the final tremors subside, he gently eases Sieun free from his grasp and leans in to capture his lips in a deep, lingering kiss.

The taste of Sieun's desire still lingers on Baku's tongue, fueling his own escalating need. With a low growl, he breaks the kiss and sits up on the clock, fumbling with his pants. "My turn now," he rasps, his voice rough with anticipation.

Sieun slides gently off the couch, his movements slow and deliberate, the soft fabric of his pajamas rustling quietly in the stillness of the room. He lowers himself down, the faintest flicker of determination in his calm brown eyes as his lips brush lightly against the top of Baku’s pants. The touch is delicate, tentative, but there’s a quiet strength in it, like he’s claiming a small, meaningful space between them.

Baku’s cheeks flare a deep crimson, his breath hitching slightly as he looks down at Sieun, eyes wide and vulnerable. “You don’t have to do that,” he murmurs, voice hushed but earnest, as if trying to pull Sieun back gently from the edge of something new and unknown.

But Sieun’s gaze doesn’t waver. There’s a steady resolve in the way he moves, a silent promise that this moment is his to claim too. Without words, he leans in again, the quiet determination lingering as soft as a whispered secret between them.

“I’m only returning the favor”

Sieun’s touch is careful and deliberate, each movement gentle yet charged with quiet intent. As he continues, Baku feels a warmth spreading through him, a sensation both new and overwhelming. His breath catches, and without thinking, his fingers thread themselves into Sieun’s soft hair, gripping lightly as if to anchor himself in the moment.

The room seems to shrink around them, the air thick with a shared electricity that neither wants to break. Baku’s eyes flutter closed, lips parting slightly as he breathes out Sieun’s name, soft, reverent, over and over, each whisper a testament to the pleasure coursing through him, to the trust and connection blooming in the quiet between their touches.

Eventually, Sieun lowers Baku’s pants and gently swirls his tongue around the top of his heat. This earns a choked moan from Baku and Sieun continues to do it. Baku’s eyes are half lidded in pleasure and he pants out

“I can’t wait for much longer Sieun-ah”

Sieun decides to take more of Baku but it’s not what he was expecting. Sieun's efforts to take more of Baku's substantial length prove challenging, his lips stretching taut around the thick girth. Despite the strain, he persists, hollowing his cheeks to create suction and sending jolts of ecstasy coursing through Baku's veins.

Baku's head falls back, a low, guttural moan escaping his parted lips as he succumbs to the blissful sensations. His fingers tighten in Sieun's hair, guiding him deeper, coaxing him to take more of his throbbing erection.

"P-please..." Baku stammers, his voice strained with pleasure, "you're going to make me..."

He tries to finish slamming but Sieun's relentless oral assault leaves him unable to form coherent thoughts, his mind clouded by the overwhelming pleasure. Baku's hips twitch, his body drawn taut as his impending climax approaches.

Baku's orgasm hits with the force of a tsunami, his vision blurring as his cock pulses violently in Sieun's mouth. A primal yell tears from his throat, Sieun’s name falling from his lips as Sieun swallows every drop of Baku's release.

For a moment, Baku is lost in the aftermath, his senses reeling from the intensity of his climax. Then, panic sets in as he realizes Sieun hasn't pulled away, hasn't spat out the essence coating his tongue. "S-Sieun!" he gasps, his voice shaky with concern. "You should've...ahh!"

But it's too late… Sieun has already swallowed, his Adam's apple bobbing as he swallows again and again until no trace of Baku's seed remains. Baku's heart races, a mix of relief and awe washing over him.

Baku’s chest rises and falls with unsteady breaths, his fingers still tangled loosely in the air where Sieun had just been. The flush on his cheeks hasn’t faded, and a dazed, breathless smile tugs at the corners of his lips. He looks down at Sieun, now seated quietly again, hair slightly tousled, cheeks faintly pink.

“Thank you,” Baku murmurs, his voice soft and sincere, rough around the edges from everything he’s feeling. “Seriously… I’ve never felt that good before.”

Sieun glances away quickly, his blush deepening as he reaches up to smooth his hair back into place with uncharacteristic awkwardness. He stands without looking Baku in the eyes and clears his throat softly.

“I’m going to go wash up,” he says, calm but clearly trying to keep his cool.

Baku only nods, too stunned to say anything more. As Sieun disappears down the hall, the door clicking shut behind him, Baku slumps back into the couch, both hands dragging down his flushed face. His heartbeat is still quick, his mind spinning as he stares up at the ceiling, lips parted in stunned disbelief.

“What the hell just happened,” he mumbles to himself, eyes wide, voice full of awe, and maybe just a little wonder.

When Sieun finally emerges from the bathroom, his face is freshly washed, hair still damp at the ends, and he’s wearing a new shirt that hangs comfortably off one shoulder. He hesitates near the hallway, eyes briefly scanning the room as if unsure how to reenter the space they’d just transformed. His usual composed demeanor has returned, but there’s a subtle shift in his posture, like he’s more aware of himself, of them, than before.

Baku glances up from where he’s sprawled out on the couch with his phone, the screen already filled with open food delivery apps. His eyes light up like nothing happened, like everything’s just normal, except the grin on his face is too lazy, too satisfied, for it to be just casual.

“I’m starving,” Baku declares dramatically, holding up his phone like a torch. “We just burned like, a thousand calories. Minimum.”

Sieun scoffs, folding his arms and shaking his head. “You’re ridiculous.”

“And hungry,” Baku repeats, already scrolling through menus like it’s a life-or-death mission.

Sieun walks over with a half-resigned sigh and plops down beside him. “Fine. Order something. But go wash up first, you slob.”

Baku gasps like he’s been gravely insulted but obeys immediately, springing to his feet. “Yes, sir!” he salutes, then bolts toward the bathroom, calling over his shoulder, “Don’t you dare order without me!”

Sieun doesn’t answer. He just leans back against the couch, quietly exhaling through his nose, the faintest smile tugging at the corner of his lips as he listens to the sound of running water and Baku’s off-key humming echoing down the hall. Everything is still uncertain, awkward, even, but somehow, the air feels a little lighter. Less burdened. Warmer.

The bathroom door swings open with dramatic flair, steam trailing faintly into the hallway as Baku bursts out freshly cleaned and radiating boyish energy. His damp hair sticks up in a few stubborn tufts, and he’s changed back into his ridiculous pajamas, socks mismatched but clean. Without a moment’s hesitation, he charges straight toward the living room with the force of a hurricane.

“Sieun!” he calls out like a kid returning from battle.

Before Sieun can process what’s happening, Baku tackles him onto the couch, arms wrapping tightly around his torso and sending them both sprawling across the cushions in a mess of limbs and startled laughter. Sieun stiffens immediately, caught off guard, his back pressed into the cushions as Baku clings to him like a weighted blanket.

“What are you doing?” Sieun asks, exasperated but not quite irritated, breath puffing against Baku’s shoulder.

Baku shifts just enough to look down at him, his face inches away, flushed from the shower, eyes bright and sincere. “I dunno,” he says with a careless shrug, voice muffled slightly by Sieun’s shoulder. “Just because.”

There’s no teasing in his tone, no clever line, just a simple, earnest truth. The kind of affection that doesn’t need a reason.

Sieun lets out a quiet sigh, but his body relaxes underneath Baku’s, arms eventually moving just enough to accommodate the contact, not fight it. It’s a quiet surrender. Not romantic, not dramatic, just soft.

After a beat, Baku rolls off him enough to sit beside him again, flopping half-over Sieun’s lap as he grabs the phone from the coffee table.

“Okay,” he says, breathlessly. “Food. I think we earned it.”

Sieun straightens his sweatshirt, brushing off invisible dust from Baku’s ambush. “You always think we earned it.”

“That’s because we did,” Baku insists, already scrolling. “Let’s see… spicy rice cakes? Fried chicken? Ramen?”

Sieun doesn’t respond at first, just watches Baku’s excited expression flicker through each menu option before pointing silently at one of them.

Baku grins and starts ordering. And for the first time in a long while, everything just feels... normal. Strange, tangled, and maybe a little undefined, but still, good.

Chapter Text

The apartment is bathed in the soft golden hue of the early evening, the muted rustle of pages the only sound besides the distant hum of the city outside. Sieun sits on the couch, legs folded neatly beneath him, textbook balanced on one thigh and highlighter in hand. His brows are slightly furrowed in focus, brown eyes scanning each line with the precision of someone who finds quiet comfort in structure, even if the day has been anything but structured.

Beside him, however, is chaos incarnate.

Baku is curled against Sieun’s side like a particularly affectionate oversized cat, one arm slung over Sieun’s stomach, his chin resting on Sieun’s shoulder. He’s not so much cuddling as he is clinging, like Sieun might float away if he didn’t anchor him down. His fingers idly toy with the edge of Sieun’s sleeve, and every few seconds, he shifts slightly, not because he’s uncomfortable, but because he just can’t sit still.

“You’re fidgeting,” Sieun mutters without looking up.

“I’m soaking in your essence,” Baku replies dramatically, eyes closed and a peaceful smile playing on his lips. “It fuels me.”

Sieun pointedly highlights another line without responding.

Just then, the doorbell rings, a sharp chime that cuts through the calm and makes Baku lift his head like a startled dog. His eyes widen. “The food!”

But instead of springing up immediately, he hesitates, gaze shifting back to Sieun as if weighing his options. He nestles closer for a second, sighing with a tragic sort of melodrama. “Ugh. But I don’t want to move. What if you miss me too much while I’m gone?”

Sieun turns a page with surgical precision. “You’re going five feet to the door.”

“Exactly,” Baku huffs, pulling away only slightly and giving Sieun the most pitiful puppy-dog eyes he can muster. “Anything could happen in five feet. I could trip. Fall into another dimension. Get abducted by a food delivery cult.”

“You’re insufferable.”

“I’m not…” Baku points at him with exaggerated flair. “I just can’t get enough of you.”

“Unfortunately.”

With a final, melodramatic sigh that could rival a Shakespearean death scene, Baku rises from the couch and pads barefoot to the door. “Don’t forget about me while I’m gone!” he calls over his shoulder, voice trailing dramatically.

Sieun doesn’t even glance up from his book. “Take the tip money on the counter.”

Baku grumbles something unintelligible but can’t help the grin tugging at his lips as he opens the door, the aroma of hot, delicious food already wafting into the apartment. He might be ridiculous, and Sieun might never say it out loud, but somehow, this strange, uneven rhythm between them feels more like home than either of them expected.

The door swings open, and within seconds, Baku barrels back into the apartment like a whirlwind, the scent of fried goodness trailing in behind him. He’s practically bouncing on his toes, arms filled with plastic bags and takeout containers that rustle noisily as he kicks the door shut with his heel. His expression is bright and boyish, cheeks still flushed from the cold, a gleam of triumph in his eyes like he just completed a heroic quest.

“I bring sustenance!” he declares proudly, rushing over to the small table by the couch and setting the bags down with unnecessary flair. “And napkins. And extra pickled radish. You’re welcome.”

Sieun doesn’t look up from his textbook immediately, calmly finishing the sentence he’s highlighting before glancing over the edge of the page. Baku is already unpacking the food like an overexcited child on Christmas morning, peeling open lids, arranging dishes with theatrical precision, even laying out chopsticks with a flourish.

“Sieeeuuun,” Baku groans, dragging his name out like a petulant child. “You’re still studying? We’re supposed to be having fun, remember? Sleepover, snacks, maybe a movie? Definitely not test prep.”

Sieun closes his book slowly, exhaling like someone who knew this moment was inevitable. “You’re very demanding for someone who’s freeloading off my couch.”

“And your heart,” Baku adds smugly, wagging his brows. “Don’t forget that.”

Sieun shoots him a withering look but sets the book aside, folding his arms and shifting on the couch. “Fine,” he says, voice low and unbothered. “Let’s eat.”

Baku practically beams, already handing him a pair of chopsticks like it’s a trophy. He settles next to Sieun on the couch, sitting close, always close, and begins piling food into both their trays. Chicken, rice cakes, dumplings, kimchi pancakes. It’s the kind of indulgent, late-night meal that warms the belly and the chest, something loud and messy and full of comfort.

But as they start eating, Baku’s usual chatter softens.

He keeps sneaking glances at Sieun. Not sly ones, open, honest, almost awed. His eyes shine like he’s looking at something he doesn’t quite believe he’s allowed to have. Every time Sieun reaches for a bite or chews thoughtfully, Baku just watches, mesmerized by the small, ordinary motions that, to him, seem extraordinary. Like Sieun, sitting next to him on a couch, wearing pajamas and eating late-night takeout, is something precious.

Sieun finally notices the stare, pausing mid-bite. He quirks a brow, half-lidded eyes settling on Baku. “What?”

Baku blinks like he’s been caught daydreaming, a sheepish grin curling on his lips. “Nothing,” he murmurs, eyes sparkling with something deeper. “You just… look nice.”

Sieun stares at him a moment longer, then shakes his head and mutters under his breath, “Eat, Baku.”

Baku laughs quietly, digging back into his food. “Yes, sir.”

Baku chews thoughtfully on a piece of rice cake before slowly, almost imperceptibly, scooting closer, just a little at first, then a bit more, until his shoulder is pressing flush against Sieun’s. It’s a tentative gesture, but one heavy with meaning. The kind that betrays a craving for warmth, closeness… maybe even reassurance. His thigh brushes against Sieun’s, and he pretends to be focused on the food, eyes fixed on his tray, but the creeping red across his cheeks tells a different story.

Sieun, ever observant, doesn’t miss a beat. He shifts his gaze sideways, lazily taking in Baku’s flustered expression, the nervous twitch of his fingers on his chopsticks, the way his posture stiffens like he’s just realized he’s breathing too loud.

“You’re blushing,” Sieun says flatly, dipping a dumpling in sauce without looking away.

Baku fumbles a little with his chopsticks. “I—I’m not!”

Sieun raises one unimpressed eyebrow, calm as ever. “You’re practically steaming.”

“I-it’s the food. Spicy,” Baku insists, even though they both know he barely touched the spicy stuff.

Sieun turns slightly, angling toward him with the quiet authority of someone who’s already dissected the whole situation in his head. “You weren’t this shy earlier,” he says plainly, his tone mild, his lips quirking faintly like he’s half-amused, half-curious. “You were very… confident for someone who's now struggling to make eye contact.”

Baku groans, dragging his hand down his face. “That was different, okay? I was caught up in the moment, there were emotions and adrenaline and… stuff. Now I’m just me again and you’re you, and it’s like—ugh, I dunno. It’s embarrassing.”

Sieun lets out a quiet scoff, taking a sip of water before replying. “So all it takes to break you is proximity and a couch? Noted.”

Baku sinks deeper into the cushion, face burning. “Stop teasing me.”

“I’m not,” Sieun says, tone still cool and composed, but there’s a dry humor under it now. “You’re just amusing when you’re not being a brute.”

Baku’s head snaps toward him, scandalized. “A brute?”

Sieun shrugs, eyes drifting lazily back to the television. “Mm. Rough, shameless, emotionally erratic…”

“I was gentle!”

“I didn’t say it was bad,” Sieun adds offhandedly, as if talking about the weather. “Just accurate.”

Baku groans again and drops his head against Sieun’s shoulder in defeat, muttering something about how cold and cruel Sieun is, while Sieun merely continues to eat like nothing unusual is happening.

Once the last bits of fried food have been devoured and the empty takeout containers tossed into the trash, the apartment settles into a quieter sort of chaos. The couch cushions are rumpled, their legs are tangled in a shared blanket, and Baku, buzzing with a kind of giddy energy, nudges Sieun’s knee with his foot.

“Game time,” he announces, already reaching for the controllers.

Sieun lifts an eyebrow, hesitant. “I’m not good at those.”

“That’s okay,” Baku replies cheerfully, tossing him a controller with way too much confidence. “I am.”

That statement turns out to be painfully true.

Within minutes, Baku is steamrolling Sieun in every match. Whether it’s a fighting game, a racing game, or some chaotic multiplayer free-for-all, Baku dominates effortlessly, his reflexes sharp and instincts annoyingly precise. Each win is met with a dramatic whoop, a triumphant laugh, or—worse—a smug, playful shoulder bump.

Sieun, in contrast, is mechanical and too precise. He tries to approach each round like a test, analyzing patterns and controls instead of feeling the game. It results in awkward, stiff movements and embarrassing losses. He pouts, just slightly, brow furrowed as he loses again, the defeat screen mocking him in bright, celebratory letters.

Baku throws his head back laughing, victory pose exaggerated, arms flung up in the air. “That’s another win for me! Man, I’m unstoppable!”

Sieun side-eyes him, jaw tight with mild irritation. “You’re obnoxious.”

Baku turns his head, still flushed from excitement, and catches the expression on Sieun’s face. His breath hitches. Sieun’s pout is subtle but real, his narrowed brown eyes focused on Baku with a faint, annoyed glare, and for some reason, Baku’s face erupts in heat.

“I—uh,” Baku stammers, blinking rapidly. Then with a grin, he leans in slightly. “Keep glaring at me like that.”

Sieun jerks his gaze toward him fully, startled. “What?”

Baku bites his lip, trying not to laugh. “I’m serious. You’re kind of… cute when you’re mad.”

Sieun flushes, ears turning pink. “You’re a perv,” he mutters, looking away, but there’s no venom in the words. His voice is softer now, like he’s unsure what to do with the warmth creeping up his neck.

And Baku… oh, Baku sees that, and it only makes him more smug. “Come on, just admit you like losing to me.”

Sieun shoots him another look, half warning, half exasperation.

“You’re enjoying this way too much,” he says dryly.

“I’m enjoying you way too much,” Baku shoots back, leaning dramatically over Sieun’s lap until he’s practically upside-down, his head resting across Sieun’s thighs as he flashes a playful grin.

Sieun freezes, glaring down at the ridiculous boy in his lap, and lightly, reluctantly, pushes his head away. “Get off.”

But the corners of his mouth twitch. Just barely. And Baku sees it. And if possible, he grins even wider.

Baku doesn’t waste a second. Before Sieun can react, his arms slide around Sieun’s waist, fingers curling gently but firmly as if to tether himself in place. Without hesitation, Baku buries his face into the soft fabric of Sieun’s pajama pants, his breath warm and steady against Sieun’s skin. A long, contented sigh escapes him, quiet but full, the kind of exhale that carries the relief of finally feeling anchored.

Sieun sits still, momentarily frozen by the unexpected intimacy. His calm brown eyes soften as he looks down at Baku’s tousled hair pressed against his lap. There’s no rush, no awkwardness, just a steady, grounding presence. His hands rest lightly on Baku’s back, fingertips tracing small, absent-minded circles that soothe both of them. For once, Sieun doesn’t feel the need to analyze or detach; he simply lets himself be there, quietly present.

Time stretches in the hush of the room, soft breathing, the faint rustle of fabric, the subtle rhythm of their shared heartbeat. Eventually, Baku shifts just enough to peek up at Sieun through eyelashes heavy with tiredness, a gentle smile tugging at his lips.

“I’m sleepy,” he murmurs.

Sieun nods, finally rising and offering a hand to help Baku up. They move toward the bedroom with an easy familiarity, the silence between them comfortable rather than strained.

When they reach Sieun’s bed, Baku immediately offers to take the couch. “You’ve got the bed,” he says earnestly, voice low but sincere. “I don’t want to be in your space.”

Sieun shrugs, settling onto the mattress and patting the space beside him. “It doesn’t matter,” he replies calmly, voice quiet but steady. “You’re here. That’s enough.”

Baku’s face lights up with a shy, grateful smile. Without hesitation, he slips under the covers beside Sieun, careful not to crowd him but close enough that their shoulders brush. They lie side by side, the faint scent of Baku’s shampoo mixing with the softness of the sheets.

Sieun closes his eyes first, breathing in the moment, the quiet, the warmth, the fragile peace between them. Baku follows, his hand finding Sieun’s in the darkness, fingers entwining in a silent promise.

The two eventually fall asleep, fingers interlocked and side by side.
————————————————————————
Sieun is avoiding Baku.

From Baku’s perspective, the world has gone cold, and not just because winter’s sharpening its teeth outside.

It’s been a few days since that night, the soft laughter, the quiet touch, the way Sieun didn’t pull away when they fell asleep barely inches apart, and Baku’s been floating ever since. Or at least, he was, for a moment. But lately, something’s shifted. Subtle, maybe even invisible to most people, but to Baku it feels like trying to hold onto something that's always slipping just out of reach.

They still sit together in class. That hasn’t changed. Sieun still gives him a mild glare when he talks too loud or makes a dumb comment during lecture. They still eat together, side by side like always, and they still walk home sometimes when the sun starts to set and the sky turns soft with dusk. They’re practically glued at the hip, so technically, nothing’s changed.

And yet, to Baku, it feels like everything has.

Because Sieun’s in full-blown study mode, and when that side of him emerges, the rest of the world doesn’t just fade into the background, it disappears. His eyes, usually calm and searching, are buried in textbooks. His hands, which once brushed against Baku’s so easily, now flick pages, take notes, shuffle flashcards like clockwork. Even his voice, which used to cut through the quiet in unexpected, dry remarks, is now mostly reserved for quizzing formulas and muttering under his breath in academic concentration.

In Baku’s mind, this is the cruelest form of avoidance. It’s not that Sieun’s pushing him away, it’s that he’s pulling him in, only to turn his attention elsewhere. It’s like being allowed into someone’s home only to have the door closed in your face once you’re standing inside.

Baku tries everything. He nudges Sieun’s foot under the desk. He sends dumb doodles across the table during lunch. He dramatically flops onto Sieun’s desk in the middle of breaks just to force some kind of reaction. But every time, Sieun just sighs and says something like, “You’re wasting time,” or “If you spent half as much energy on studying as you do on bothering me, you might pass midterms.”

And okay, yeah, he should be studying, but that’s not the point.

The point is… something happened between them. Something real. Something Baku can’t stop replaying in his mind every time he sees Sieun absently tuck his bangs behind his ear or frown thoughtfully at a textbook margin. And now, it’s like Sieun’s pretending none of it mattered. Like he doesn’t matter.

So yes. In Baku’s eyes?

Sieun is absolutely avoiding him.

They’re at it again… Sieun’s apartment, the familiar scent of tea lingering faintly in the air, textbooks sprawled across the low coffee table, and the two of them nestled on the floor with cushions pressed against their backs. Outside, the city buzzes faintly through the window, but inside, it’s quiet save for the occasional rustle of paper or the mechanical tick of Sieun’s pen as he underlines another formula.

Sieun sits cross-legged, posture straight and focused, his brow lightly furrowed as he peers down at Baku’s worksheet. His hair falls a little over his eyes, brown and soft and just long enough to obscure his expression if you’re not looking closely, but Baku is looking. In fact, he hasn’t stopped.

His chin rests in one hand, elbow propped lazily on the table, but his eyes are fixed solely on Sieun—not the book, not the notes, not the math problem halfway finished on his page. Just him. His gaze is heavy with something wistful, something half-lost and half-hoping, like he’s trying to memorize the quiet curve of Sieun’s features, the way his lips purse ever so slightly when he’s annoyed.

Sieun notices.

Without even looking up, he says, dry as bone, “You’re not paying attention.”

Baku blinks, startled out of his reverie, then slowly grins. “Im not paying attention” he admits, tone soft and painfully honest.

Sieun’s eyes lift toward him, expression unreadable. “Then why are you wasting my time?”

Baku groans and leans back dramatically against the couch behind him, tossing his pencil onto the table like it offended him. “I’m not wasting your time. I’m just…” he trails off, then mutters, “Distracted.”

Sieun scoffs, though not without amusement. “By what? There’s nothing interesting on that worksheet.”

“You, obviously.”

Sieun rolls his eyes, but there’s a small twitch at the corner of his mouth, like he’s trying not to smile. “Be serious for once.”

“I am serious,” Baku says, suddenly sitting upright again. He points at the notes, then sighs deeply, slumping forward as if the weight of the world has been placed upon his broad shoulders. “Fine. I’ll study. But only because you promised me a wish if my grades improve.”

Sieun doesn’t look up, just turns the page with surgical precision. “That was meant to be motivational, not a legally binding contract.”

“Too late. I already wrote it in blood.” Baku holds up a blank finger and mimes a dramatic oath. “You swore, oh wise tutor. A wish. Any wish.”

“Don’t be ridiculous,” Sieun mutters, finally glancing his way again. “You still haven’t even passed question seven.”

“I was on my way there, but then I got distracted… by you, might I remind you.”

“You’ve already used that excuse.”

“And I’ll keep using it until it works,” Baku says, but he picks up his pencil anyway, grumbling under his breath. “You’re lucky you’re cute when you’re condescending.”

Sieun doesn’t respond, only leans slightly closer, tapping the tip of Baku’s pencil against the margin of his worksheet. “This line. Try again. You’re solving for the wrong variable.”

Baku lets out an exaggerated sigh but does as instructed, the pencil dragging slowly across the page in his large hand. He mumbles equations under his breath, occasionally shooting glances at Sieun as if checking to make sure he’s still real, still right there next to him.

And he is. Close enough to touch, but a little distant still. Focused. Calm.

Baku tries not to overthink it. Not right now. For now, he just pretends the space between their knees is enough.

Baku stretches his arms over his head with a triumphant groan, pencil clattering onto the table as he leans back against the couch and grins. “Done,” he declares proudly, as if he’s just conquered a mountain. He kicks out his legs and yawns like a man who’s put in a long day’s work, even though most of that time had been spent complaining, sighing dramatically, and sending sneaky glances at the boy beside him.

Sieun, unfazed as always, calmly reaches for the worksheet without a word. His expression is unreadable as he begins scanning Baku’s answers with that sharp, unflinching precision of his. Pen in hand, he marks the paper quickly but meticulously, his brow slightly furrowed, lips pressed into that same neutral line he always wears when he’s focused. Baku watches every movement like a hawk, eyes flicking between Sieun’s hand and his face, looking for some kind of reaction.

The silence stretches, and Baku grows restless. “Well?” he asks, inching forward like a dog waiting for a treat. “Did I do good? I studied, didn’t I? C’mon, give me some hope here.”

Sieun doesn’t answer immediately. Instead, he finishes the last question and places the paper down with a deliberate slowness. His brown eyes lift, meeting Baku’s with a subtle gleam, one that makes Baku sit up straighter, excitement bubbling up in his chest.

“You really surprised me,” Sieun says, voice calm and even.

Baku beams. “Really?!” His eyes sparkle. “See! I knew—”

“You got every single question wrong,” Sieun finishes smoothly, folding his arms and tilting his head slightly, like he’s trying to figure out how such a feat is even possible.

Baku freezes, blinking. “...What?”

“Every. Single. One,” Sieun says again, slower this time, as if Baku might need the words repeated to fully understand the gravity of his academic catastrophe.

There’s a long beat of silence.

Then Baku groans, collapsing sideways onto the cushions, face buried in his hands. “Nooooo, I was trying so hard! You tricked me!”

“I didn’t trick you. I graded your test,” Sieun replies, cool as ever.

Baku lets out a muffled sound of despair. “You’re evil. You’re literally evil. You gave me hope just to crush it.”

And then it happens… soft and fleeting.

Sieun laughs.

It’s quiet. Barely audible. Just a short, dry chuckle that escapes before he can catch it. But it’s real. His shoulders shake slightly, and the corners of his mouth lift, not in a smirk or some sarcastic twitch, but a laugh. Honest. Light. Unburdened.

And Baku freezes.

His misery evaporates in an instant, swept away like dust in sunlight. He turns slowly, lifting his head, and stares wide-eyed at Sieun, utterly stunned. His heart skips a beat, and his mouth falls open.

“You just… you laughed,” Baku whispers, as if saying it too loudly might scare the moment away. “You laughed because of me.”

Sieun, clearly realizing his mistake, looks away and clears his throat, schooling his expression back into that familiar stoic mask. “Don’t be dramatic.”

But Baku’s staring at him like he’s just discovered something sacred. His face is flushed with disbelief and awe, eyes searching Sieun’s as though he’s trying to commit every detail of that rare moment to memory.

“Holy crap,” Baku says softly, almost reverently. “You do smile. You actually have emotions. I’ve witnessed a miracle.”

Sieun grabs the worksheet and slaps it against Baku’s face. “Study harder.”

But Baku’s still grinning like an idiot, because the sound of that soft, rare laugh is now echoing in his mind, and no wrong answer on a test could make him feel like he’s lost.

The next few days blur into a rhythm neither of them fully expected.

Baku, usually one to groan and complain his way through anything vaguely academic, shocks everyone, especially himself, by locking in. Truly locking in. Each day after school, he heads straight to Sieun’s apartment with a focused sort of determination, textbooks tucked under his arm, the familiar cadence of his complaints now replaced by a kind of nervous energy. Sieun, always composed and efficient, adapts quickly. He doesn’t praise Baku outright, but there’s a noticeable shift in how he teaches him, more patient, more precise, as though he’s finally acknowledged that Baku can improve if given the right structure. And Baku, in turn, soaks up every bit of that subtle approval like sunlight.

At school, the change is impossible to miss.

During breaks, while other students are chatting or dozing off, Baku is hunched over his notes, lips moving silently as he mutters formulas and dates under his breath. His brows are furrowed, a pencil tucked behind one ear, and every so often he nudges Sieun to quiz him on something again, just one more time, just to make sure.

Hyuntak, naturally, has things to say about this transformation.

"Wow," he says one afternoon as he drops into the seat beside them. "I didn’t know you joined a cult, Baku. You blink twice if Sieun’s got you under some kind of study hypnosis.”

Juntae tries to hide a smile behind his sandwich, but Baku just rolls his eyes and flips to the next page of his notebook. “I’m gonna pass midterms and rub it in your face,” he mutters, scribbling down a mnemonic device Sieun taught him the night before.

Sieun doesn’t say anything, he rarely does when Baku’s trying to prove something, but there's a faint, approving glance in his direction before he turns back to his own notes. That tiny gesture is enough fuel to keep Baku going for hours.

And then, just like that, midterm week arrives.

The classroom is eerily quiet, the usual buzz of energy dulled by anxiety and tension. Students shuffle to their seats, clutching pens and pencils like lifelines, eyes darting nervously around the room as test packets are passed out row by row. Outside, the wind rattles gently against the windowpanes, a stark contrast to the tense stillness inside.

Baku sits beside Sieun as always, but for once, he isn’t distracted by the closeness. His palms are slightly damp with sweat, and he forces himself to take a deep breath, eyes locked on the crisp pages of the test paper in front of him. Behind him, someone coughs. In the front of the room, the teacher gives final instructions, but Baku only hears the muffled thud of his own heartbeat.

Sieun doesn’t even flinch. He’s already picked up his pen, eyes scanning the first question with clinical ease, posture straight, expression unreadable. Baku catches the faintest glimpse of his profile and steadies himself.

He can do this.

He’s studied. He’s prepared. Sieun believes in him, even if he doesn’t say it outright.

He writes his name across the top of the page, exhales slowly, and dives in. Question by question, he tackles the exam, some answers coming easier than others, some requiring a little more thought, but the panic doesn’t creep in like it used to. There’s a quiet confidence blooming in his chest now. A memory of Sieun’s voice correcting him gently. The echo of soft laughter that still replays in the back of his mind.

He presses on, pencil scratching steadily against paper, and for once, he’s not trying to chase Sieun’s shadow, he’s running beside him.

And maybe… just maybe, he’ll catch up.

The exam is brutal.

The kind of brutal that settles into the back of your skull and throbs like a bad dream. The kind that makes even the most confident students glance around nervously, fingers twitching as they chew on the ends of their pens or scribble frantic equations in the margins. The clock ticks like it’s mocking everyone, and the silence is so sharp it feels like even breathing too loud might cause a ripple across the entire room.

Baku feels like he’s melting into his chair.

The questions blur together after a while, words swimming across the page, math problems morphing into abstract art. His pencil hovers midair more often than it moves, and every time he thinks he’s figured something out, the next part of the question hits him like a slap in the face. His leg bounces beneath the desk, nerves catching up to him. Focus. Focus. He scratches the back of his head roughly, ruffling his hair in irritation, before dropping his hand back down to the desk and muttering under his breath. "Who wrote this? Satan?"

And yet, directly beside him, calm and collected as if this were a worksheet during a slow class period, sits Sieun.

Baku notices it even before the soft rustle of paper announces it. Sieun’s pen stills. He leans back slightly, his posture somehow more elegant than rigid, and closes the exam packet with a smooth, assured motion. His eyes don’t reflect stress, just quiet conclusion, like finishing a long walk you knew the path to by heart. He gathers his things with practiced efficiency and, without so much as a glance to the rest of the room, stands and walks to the front.

There’s no dramatic exit. No satisfaction written across his face. Just quiet resolve.

But to Baku, it might as well be a dagger to the chest.

He watches, jaw slightly slack as Sieun hands in the paper and strides out the door, the pale morning sunlight casting his silhouette through the glass as he disappears into the corridor beyond. Gone. Free. Finished.

Baku groans softly, dragging his hands down his face before glaring back at the test like it’s personally offended him. “Unbelievable,” he mutters. “Of course he finishes first. Of course he just—leaves.”

Halfway. He’s barely halfway through.

He eyes the unfinished problems like they’re enemies in a final boss battle, and his brain feels like it's made of static. Still, he huffs, resets his pencil grip, and pushes his irritation down. If Sieun can waltz out of here without breaking a sweat, then he can at least finish this damn test.

Grumbling to himself, he leans in and attacks the next question with all the stubborn energy he can muster.

He’ll survive this. He has to. If only for the chance to look Sieun in the eye afterward and say, “I told you I could do it.”

The final stretch of the exam is a blur of desperation, half-remembered formulas, and sheer force of will. Baku scribbles down his last answer with trembling fingers, heart pounding like he just ran a marathon, not sat through two hours of academic torture. His brain feels fried, like his neurons gave up halfway through the test but his stubbornness carried him across the finish line. He doesn’t even double-check his answers—he knows if he looks at them again, he’ll convince himself they’re all wrong. Instead, he pushes himself up from his seat with the grace of a dying man, stumbles toward the front of the class, and hands the test in with a dazed, thousand-yard stare.

The moment he’s out the door, it’s like a switch flips.

Sieun. He needs to find Sieun.

Baku spins in place like a man possessed, eyes darting down the hallways, toward the stairwells, past vending machines, even into nearby classrooms. Nothing. His chest tightens with frustration. Where the hell did he go? He paces toward the windows, breath coming in shallow gasps, hair tousled and sticking out in odd directions from all the times he ran his hands through it during the test. His blazer is unbuttoned, one of his shirt tails half-untucked, and he looks like a wild thing set loose in the school building.

Then… there.

Outside, through the second-floor corridor window, he catches a glimpse of brown hair and a figure bathed in soft afternoon light.

Sieun is sitting on a bench in the small courtyard beside the school, posture relaxed, shoulders slightly slouched like all the weight he carries has been temporarily set down. His legs are crossed loosely, a small plastic bag resting beside him on the bench, probably some sort of snack or drink, maybe something he brought for Baku without saying so. His face is turned upward, eyes squinting faintly as he stares into the pale winter sky, the kind that’s bleached out but still serene, with a few stray clouds floating across like silent thoughts.

Baku stops dead in his tracks, fingers curling against the windowsill.

The sight of Sieun, so still, so calm, so soft in that moment, robs him of breath in a way no exam ever could. The world slows around him. He doesn’t rush immediately. He just… watches. Absorbs. Something about Sieun like this, completely unaware of being observed, hits Baku right in the chest. It’s not the usual composed and cool Sieun who walks through school hallways like a ghost of logic and self-control. No, this Sieun looks real. Present. Like someone who’s let himself just exist for a second. As if he’s granted himself a small, rare moment of peace, and Baku has stumbled into it.

Baku’s chest rises and falls with his lingering exhaustion, but his gaze doesn’t move. He takes a quiet breath, trying to steady the rapid beat of his heart as he watches Sieun in stillness.

And for the first time that day, Baku forgets all about his test, his score, and the ache in his wrist from all that frantic writing. All he can think is:

God, you’re beautiful.

Baku finally pulls himself away from the window and begins making his way down the hall, down the stairs, and through the empty corridor leading to the courtyard, each step shedding some of the stress he’d carried through the exam. His legs still feel like lead, muscles sore from sitting tense for too long, and his head is fogged with the aftermath of a mental war, but the second he steps outside, the crisp air hits his face, sharp and clean, and all of that fades just a little.

Sieun doesn’t move.

He doesn’t turn, doesn’t glance over his shoulder, doesn’t even shift his gaze from the sky. He simply says, with the same calm certainty that made Baku fall a little harder every day, “Took you long enough.”

Baku lets out a soft, tired laugh, more air than sound, but real. There’s something grounding in that deadpan greeting, something familiar and steady that cuts through all the noise in his head. He slowly approaches and lowers himself onto the bench beside Sieun, sinking into the worn wood like it’s the only place he wants to be.

“I’m glad you waited,” Baku murmurs, brushing his bangs from his eyes. His voice is low, his usual energy subdued, replaced by something quieter and warmer. He’s still a little breathless, not just from the run down but from the way Sieun always manages to make things feel right without even trying.

They sit in silence for a while.

The breeze dances past, tugging lightly at their hair and clothes, bringing with it that winter scent of dry leaves and cold stone. Overhead, the sky is a dull silver streaked with faint clouds, the kind of sky that doesn’t promise snow but feels close enough to it, gray, heavy, but oddly peaceful.

Then, without a word, Sieun reaches into the small plastic bag beside him and pulls out a pair of convenience store ice creams. He extends one to Baku, not looking at him, his hand casual and his gaze still fixed on the clouds above.

Baku blinks at the offering, lips curling into a soft, amused smile. “Ice cream? In the middle of winter?”

Sieun barely turns his head. “Never mind.”

He begins to retract his hand, but Baku snatches the ice cream from him with exaggerated speed, grinning in triumph. “No take-backs. You already gave it to me.”

The faintest smirk twitches at the corner of Sieun’s mouth, like he expected exactly that reaction.

Baku peels open the wrapper, holding the cold plastic between his fingers, and leans back slightly, their shoulders just barely touching as they sit on that lonely bench with melting frost beneath their feet and the muted winter sky above them.

The moment is small. Simple. But to Baku, it’s everything.

Chapter Text

The air in the classroom is buzzing, not with chatter, but with a heavy, collective anticipation. Desks are more cluttered than usual, backpacks halfway unzipped, papers peeking out like white flags. The light filtering in through the windows has that brittle post winter sharpness to it, casting crisp lines across the floor and sharpening the tension that hangs between students like invisible wires. Everyone’s bracing for it: the verdict. The dreaded midterm results.

It’s been a few weeks since the test, and in that time, the pressure has eased just enough for life to feel normal again. The holidays offered a brief reprieve, a pause in the chaos, and somehow, in that lull, Baku and Sieun had only grown closer. The two spent most of their break in each other’s presence. Days were filled with Baku dragging Sieun to different adventures that allow him to relax. Evenings at Sieun’s apartment had become routine, filled with warmth and quiet conversations, the clink of spoons on bowls, and casual arguments over which ramen place had the best broth. Sometimes they’d try new desserts, Sieun chewing slowly with a focused expression, pausing, waiting… and then shaking his head. “Almost,” he’d say. His taste was coming back, just not all at once.

And yet, somehow, even that felt like progress.

Now, as homeroom begins, the teacher enters with a stack of report cards in hand, and the class collectively holds its breath. The sound of shuffled papers and names being called feels unbearably slow.

Baku is practically vibrating in his seat. His knee bounces beneath the desk, fingers drumming an erratic rhythm against the wood. He leans forward every time a name is called, groaning when it’s not his. “They’re doing it alphabetically, right?” he mutters, mostly to himself. “Right? Shouldn’t I be next? Come on…”

Beside him, Sieun sits in perfect stillness, brown eyes focused but disinterested, like the results are already known to him, and they are. When his name is called, he stands up smoothly, takes the report card from the teacher with a nod, and returns to his seat without ceremony. He flips it open for a second, gives a small satisfied nod, and tucks it away into his folder. Full marks, of course.

Baku slouches dramatically in his seat. “Must be nice to be perfect,” he whispers, trying to peek at Sieun’s expression. “You didn’t even look surprised.”

“I wasn’t,” Sieun replies calmly.

Baku’s about to retort when finally—finally—his name is called. He bolts upright like someone lit a fire beneath him, practically sprints to the front of the room, and snatches the paper with a hurried bow. His hands tremble as he walks back to his seat, the edges of the report card crinkling slightly in his grip.

He doesn’t sit right away. He just stands there for a second, staring at the folded slip of paper like it might explode.

Sieun watches with mild curiosity as Baku finally lowers himself into the seat beside him, slowly, like he’s about to open an ancient scroll rather than a midterm report.

He opens it.

His eyes scan the numbers.

Silence.

Then—

“I PASSED!” Baku bursts out, way too loud for a classroom, drawing half the students’ attention as he slams the card on the desk and beams at Sieun with the pride of a man who just climbed Everest.

Sieun blinks, unimpressed. “Barely.”

“But I passed,” Baku says, pointing at the grades with wide, triumphant eyes. “Look at that! Not a single subject failed! You said I wouldn’t pull it off!”

“I said the odds were against you,” Sieun corrects.

Baku leans in, grinning wide. “You helped me beat the odds. That means you owe me.”

Sieun raises an eyebrow. “Owe you for what?”

“Our deal,” Baku says smugly, tapping the desk. “Remember? If I passed, you’d grant me one wish.”

Sieun sighs, already regretting letting Baku convince him into that nonsense.

But he doesn’t say no.

Sieun turns to him slowly, resting his chin in his hand with a skeptical arch of his brow. “So?” he says plainly. “What’s this wish of yours?”

Baku grins like he’s been waiting his entire life for this question.

He leans in slightly, eyes glinting with mischief, and crooks a finger. “Come closer.”

Sieun rolls his eyes. “You’re being dramatic.”

“Closer,” Baku insists, voice dropping into a stage whisper, lips already twitching with barely-contained excitement.

With a sigh so heavy it could’ve cracked the windowpanes, Sieun leans in, resting his elbow on the desk and tilting his head toward Baku’s. Their faces are inches apart, Baku’s breath warm against the shell of Sieun’s ear. The classroom fades into background static.

“I want…” Baku whispers, drawing it out just to be annoying, “…to go to the beach. With you.”

Sieun blinks. He leans back slowly, studying Baku like he might’ve misheard. “The beach?”

Baku nods, already grinning like an idiot.

“In case you haven’t noticed,” Sieun says flatly, “it’s still cold. The water’s probably freezing. You’ll get pneumonia.”

“But spring is already here!” Baku protests, waving his report card like it’s a legal contract. “Technically! It’s gonna warm up soon, within the next few weeks, you’ll see. You promised, remember?”

Sieun sighs, dragging a hand down his face. “I promised to grant a wish. I didn’t realize you’d wish for hypothermia.”

“You’ll come though, right?” Baku leans in again, eyes wide and pleading now, like a very large, overly excitable golden retriever. “You have to. You said a wish. No take-backs.”

Sieun stares at him for a long moment, and then, reluctantly, inevitably, he gives a small, defeated sigh. “Fine.”

Baku’s whoop of victory earns him another round of stares from the class, but he doesn’t care. “It’s gonna get warmer in a few weeks, I know it! We’ll plan it, beach snacks, stupid sunglasses, the whole thing!”

“You’ll regret this” Sieun mutters.

“Nope,” Baku beams. “You’re the one who’s gonna love it the most, just wait.”

Sieun doesn’t respond. He just turns back toward the window, but Baku catches the way the corners of his mouth twitch slightly upward, almost a smile. Almost
————————————————————————
The afternoon sun is beginning to tilt, casting long shadows across the school courtyard as students trickle out through the gates in scattered clusters, chatter and laughter rising into the late-spring air. Sieun walks with the same quiet grace he always does, shoulders slightly hunched from his heavy bag, his hands tucked in his pockets, steps precise and measured like he’s walking along a line only he can see. Beside him, as always, is Baku, bouncing with energy and talking a mile a minute, his voice animated as he waves his arms around, illustrating some absurd idea about what they should eat today.

“I’m telling you, it’s science,” Baku insists, jabbing a finger into the air like he’s unveiling a grand theory. “If we get tteokbokki and ice cream it balances each other out, spicy, sweet, hot, cold. Yin and yang. Perfect harmony.”

Sieun doesn’t say anything, just glances sideways with a slightly raised brow like he’s questioning Baku’s very existence.

“I saw it on a cooking show once,” Baku continues, completely unbothered. “And the guy won the competition so it must be true. I mean, we already know you can’t taste stuff well yet, so technically, this is the ideal test—”

Sieun’s phone rings.

He pulls it out without breaking stride, expression neutral, gaze flicking to the screen. A single glance, and something shifts. Subtle at first—his posture straightens, his steps falter. He brings the phone to his ear, and for a moment he’s silent, listening.

Then, slowly, his eyes widen.

The color drains from his face in an instant, the cool mask of indifference cracking as his mouth parts wordlessly. His entire body goes still, like someone’s hit pause on the world around him. And then, without warning, his hand goes slack and the phone slips from his fingers, tumbling toward the ground.

“Whoa, hey!” Baku stumbles forward and snatches it mid-fall with a surprised noise, clutching it protectively. “Dude, what—”

But when he turns to scold him, Sieun is already gone.

He’s running.

Sprinting.

His bag thumps against his back, feet pounding the pavement hard enough to echo, his brown hair flying behind him as he tears through the gate and down the sidewalk with a speed that startles everyone nearby. He doesn’t look back. Doesn’t call out. Just moves with the kind of frantic desperation that makes Baku’s blood go cold.

“Wait…. wait, what?!” Baku squawks, barely processing what’s happening as he clutches the dropped phone and bolts after him. “Sieun?! Sieun, wait up!”

He runs without knowing why, feet scrambling against the pavement as he tries to keep up, panic starting to claw at his chest. Sieun never runs. Not like this. Not like something’s wrong.

The phone still clutched in his hand, Baku barrels down the street after him, heart hammering, legs burning, mind racing with questions.

What the hell happened?

Sieun runs like his mind has disconnected from his body, like he’s no longer controlling his limbs but being dragged forward by something deeper, something feral, raw, unshakable. The wind bites at his face, pulling tears from his eyes, but he barely feels it. His heart pounds in his ears, drowning out everything else. The thudding of his shoes against pavement echoes off the buildings around him, but he hears only one word over and over again in his head.

Suho.

His thoughts are erratic, flickering like static. He doesn’t remember when he started running. He doesn’t remember hanging up the call, or if he even did. All he remembers is the sound of the nurse’s voice, the barely-contained joy in it, the words that sent something cracking wide open inside him.

He runs faster.

Baku’s voice is a faraway thing behind him, calling his name, confused and desperate, but Sieun can’t turn back. His legs threaten to give out beneath him, his lungs burning with every ragged breath, but he doesn’t stop. He won’t stop. His body knows where to go without needing direction, how many times had he walked this path, how many nights had he stood in front of that hospital building wondering if he’d ever get to see Suho open his eyes again?

When he reaches the familiar lawn in front of the hospital, he finally stumbles to a halt, breath catching in his throat. His vision swims, not from exertion but from the overwhelming weight of what if.

And then, he sees him.

There, under the soft afternoon light, nestled beneath a light blanket in a wheelchair near a budding tree just beyond the concrete path… Suho.

His hair is longer, a little messy from the breeze. His skin is pale but flushed faintly pink from the fresh air. His eyes are open, lazily scanning the scenery, as if he’s taking in the world for the first time in years. A nurse stands nearby, speaking gently to him, and Suho smiles—smiles… at something she says.

Sieun can’t move. He stands frozen in the middle of the lawn, chest heaving, a sharp ache blooming in his throat. The tears blur his vision now, warm and unstoppable. He doesn't realize he’s taken a step forward until the sound of his shoes crunching the grass jolts him. His breath catches as Suho’s head slowly turns toward the sound.

Their eyes meet.

Sieun’s legs nearly give out. His hand instinctively covers his mouth, as if the sight is too much, too sacred to witness. For a second, neither of them says anything.

But Suho’s smile widens, weak, small, but unmistakable.

“…Sieun?”

His name is spoken like a sigh, a breath, a prayer.

And Sieun feels something inside him shatter.

Sieun doesn’t move. He stands like a statue on the lawn, chest still rising and falling with uneven breaths, eyes locked onto Suho like he might vanish if Sieun blinks. The scene in front of him feels unreal, so gentle, so absurdly normal that it unsettles him. Suho is sitting in a wheelchair with a hospital-issued blanket tucked over his legs, his posture slouched, his body thinner than Sieun remembers. But he’s upright. He’s awake. His eyes are open, and they are alive.

Sieun’s knees threaten to buckle beneath him, and his fingers tremble at his sides, but he stays frozen. His eyes, those soft, doe-brown eyes, glimmer with unshed tears, holding entire galaxies of longing, pain, and something else too fragile to name. His lips part slightly, but no words come. He looks like he wants to say a thousand things and yet can’t even form one.

Behind him, Baku comes to a stumbling stop a few paces away, doubled over slightly as he tries to catch his breath, sweat sticking strands of hair to his forehead. He opens his mouth to say something—anything—but then he sees what Sieun is staring at, and his voice falters. His gaze lands on Suho, and his eyes widen in quiet disbelief. But Baku, for once, doesn’t push. He doesn’t speak. He simply lingers there at a respectful distance, watching the moment unfold, a silent figure in the background of something much more intimate.

Suho’s voice carries across the soft breeze, casual, unhurried, almost teasing in its lightness. “You’re staring,” he says gently, the smallest smile curling at his lips. “Have you been well, Sieun?”

That smile.

That smile.

Sieun feels like something crumbles inside him just seeing it. That soft, crooked grin Suho always gave when he was poking fun without malice, when he was too tired to laugh but still wanted to make Sieun feel at ease. It had haunted Sieun’s memory, too painful to recall clearly, too precious to forget.

And now it’s here, real, framed by afternoon light and the sound of rustling leaves. It undoes him.

His eyes shimmer like glass on the verge of shattering, his expression unreadable except for the intense emotion brimming behind his lashes. His body trembles from the weight of it all, fear, relief, guilt, disbelief, all of it crashing into him like a wave. His throat works around words that won’t come.

He can only nod, barely, slowly.

And then, softly, barely a breath, barely a sound, he lets out a quiet “mm.”

It’s the only sound he can make.

But it carries everything.

Suho lets out a breath of laughter, dry, soft, and brittle at the edges like his voice hasn’t remembered how to be used yet. “Don’t just stand there,” he murmurs, his smile curling ever so slightly, a shadow of his old playfulness lingering in the corners of his mouth. “You look like you saw a ghost.”

Sieun startles at the sound of Suho’s voice again. There’s warmth in it, a weak tease, something familiar and sharp that slices through the haze in his head. But before he can move, Suho’s eyes drift just past him, and narrow.

Sieun, still blinking like he hasn’t caught up with reality, follows Suho’s gaze, and realizes who he’s looking at.

Baku, standing just a few feet away, straightens slightly under the scrutiny but doesn’t say a word, letting the weight of the moment hang.

“That your friend?” Suho asks, his voice lighter but his brow slightly raised.

Sieun opens his mouth, hesitant at first, as if the word doesn’t come easily. “...Yeah,” he finally says, voice barely above a whisper. “He’s my… friend.”

Suho hums, noncommittal, skeptical, but amused. “Huh,” he says dryly, like the idea of Sieun making friends is something he hadn’t accounted for. “Didn’t think you had it in you.”

That makes Baku finally step in with a grin. The tension’s not entirely gone, but he moves like someone who’s used to coaxing the air back into a suffocating room.

“Well, rude,” Baku jokes, striding over casually before slinging an arm over Sieun’s neck like he’s been doing it forever. He leans in just a little, tugging Sieun close in a half-headlock, half-hug, grinning like he’s trying to physically pull him back into the moment. “You finally wake up from your princess nap and that’s how you greet us? He’s been dying to see you, y’know.”

Sieun stiffens under Baku’s touch for only a second before the pressure loosens him, grounding him again in the now. His pulse slowly begins to settle.

Baku nudges him gently. “Come on, say hi properly. You’ve waited this long.”

Sieun’s lips part, dry, slow, and this time, when his voice comes, it’s clearer, steadier.

“…Hey, Suho.”

And Suho, despite everything, smiles.

There’s a stillness that settles in the air as the three of them remain in a triangle of quiet glances and unsaid thoughts. Sieun, though usually composed, is visibly caught in the web of his emotions, his eyes flicker between Suho and Baku like he’s trying to balance two halves of a life that were never supposed to meet. His lips part slightly before he gathers himself enough to speak.

“Suho,” Sieun says finally, voice even, controlled, calm like always, but there’s a tenderness there now. “This is Baku.”

He doesn’t offer anything else. No context, no explanation. Just the name—because in his world, that already holds weight.

Baku straightens up, hand falling from Sieun’s shoulders as he gives a polite, if slightly awkward nod. “Hey. Good to finally meet you.” He’s trying to be casual, but there’s a flicker of nervousness in his voice that doesn’t go unnoticed. He scratches the back of his neck, as if trying to shake it off.

Suho turns slowly, surveying Baku with eyes that have seen far too much for someone their age. His gaze is sharp despite the lethargy clinging to his body from weeks, or months, of sleep. There’s a strange sort of clarity in him, like someone who’s been watching the world from a distance and is just now stepping back into it.

Baku shifts slightly under the weight of that stare, shoulders tensing. He’s used to being loud, playful, larger than life, but Suho doesn’t say a word. He just studies him with a raised brow, the corner of his mouth twitching in vague amusement.

Sieun watches them silently, his eyes flicking between their faces. There’s something strange about seeing them in the same frame, his past and present in quiet confrontation, one sizing up the other.

The moment lingers, tense but not hostile, more curious than anything.

Then Suho breaks it with a light sigh, shrugging his shoulders faintly under the blanket. “I’m hungry.”

His tone is flat, a little whiny, and completely unaffected by the quiet judgment hanging in the air. As always, he’s direct, saying what he wants with that carefree bluntness that used to drive Sieun mad.

Sieun exhales, almost a laugh, but softer. A quiet puff of air through his nose. His lips curl, barely visible, into a small smile. It’s faint, fleeting, but unmistakable.

“Alright,” Sieun murmurs, stepping behind the wheelchair. “Let’s get you back to your room. I’ll order something.”

He places his hands gently on the wheelchair handles, his movements careful but familiar. The chair squeaks faintly as he begins to push Suho across the grass and toward the hospital doors. Baku follows, just a step behind, still watching them with wide, searching eyes.

As they move, Suho leans his head back just slightly to glance at Sieun.

“You better not pick that bland soup again.”

Sieun doesn’t miss a beat. “You’re not allowed spicy food yet.”

“I’m starving, not fragile,” Suho mutters.

“You’re both,” Sieun replies dryly, and Suho just rolls his eyes.

Behind them, Baku watches, quiet for once, noticing how easily they slip into old rhythms, like nothing had ever interrupted them. And still, Sieun’s expression stays soft, his eyes flicking down to Suho like he’s memorizing him all over again.

And without realizing it, Baku clutches the strap of his bag just a little tighter.

Baku trails after them, his usually springy steps now uneven and heavy, dragging slightly as if the hallway has grown twice as long. He keeps his gaze on the back of Sieun’s head, watching the way his hair bounces faintly with each step, the gentle way his shoulders tilt as he pushes Suho’s wheelchair forward. There’s a quiet comfort between Sieun and Suho that Baku hadn’t accounted for, like muscle memory, like returning to a place that had always been waiting for him.

A strange tightness coils in Baku’s chest, subtle at first, then pressing. He blinks, rubs his sternum once, twice, as if it’s a cramp or he’s just winded from the running earlier. That has to be it. He laughs to himself softly, under his breath, yeah, probably just winded. It’s definitely not because Sieun hasn’t looked at him once since Suho reentered the picture. That would be childish.

By the time they reach Suho’s hospital room, Sieun slips into autopilot, wheeling Suho smoothly to the edge of the bed. He steadies the chair with his foot and helps Suho up with practiced ease, his arm sliding behind his back, supporting him gently. Suho leans into it without comment, the faintest grunt escaping as he settles into bed, clearly still weaker than he lets on.

“I’ll order something,” Sieun says, brushing invisible dust from his sleeves as he pulls out his phone.

He moves toward the small table by the window, the screen lighting up his face in soft blue glow. Baku follows, quietly plopping into the chair beside him and leaning over to peek at the phone.

“What are we getting?” Baku asks, voice pitched in his usual cheer but a little too loud in the sterile quiet of the room.

Sieun doesn’t look up. “Haven’t decided.”

Baku immediately crowds closer, arm brushing against Sieun’s, his chin almost on his shoulder now as he peers at the food delivery app. “Ooh! get the tteokbokki from this place. It’s got good reviews. Oh, wait, no, the mandu from this one was better, I think.” He taps at the screen uninvited, the tip of his finger warm against the back of Sieun’s hand.

Sieun doesn’t flinch. He doesn’t even react, just calmly shifts the phone away slightly so Baku can’t press anything by accident.

“I’m choosing,” he says, voice flat but not annoyed. “You’re too indecisive.”

Baku huffs. “Only because I have good taste and a refined palate,” he says, grinning, pressing closer still, now practically draping himself on Sieun’s side. “You should appreciate it. I’m helping.”

“You’re interfering,” Sieun replies, still scrolling with calm precision.

Across the room, Suho watches the scene unfold from his bed. His eyes are half-lidded, face resting lazily against the pillow, but there’s a twitch in his brow. His gaze flicks between the two of them, Sieun, whose expression remains placid and focused on the phone, and Baku, who is fully wrapped around him like some oversized, overeager housecat.

Suho tilts his head, just slightly, his lips pursing as his eye twitches again.

He doesn’t say anything.

Not yet.

But it’s clear something in him is sizing Baku up again, this time with less amusement and more pointed calculation.

And Sieun, ever composed, ever detached, doesn’t notice at all.

The food arrives in the quiet that follows their reorientation, like a return to routine after the quake. A nurse wheels in a collapsible tray and sets down the plastic bags with practiced efficiency before slipping out, leaving the door ajar behind her. The warm, savory smell fills the small hospital room almost immediately, steamed dumplings, mild tteokbokki, japchae, white rice, side dishes in little plastic containers. It’s a modest feast, haphazard in presentation but comforting in its familiarity. The kind of meal cobbled together in a rush, more about presence than perfection.

Sieun pulls the tray toward Suho’s bedside, unfolds it, and begins laying everything out with quiet efficiency. He unwraps each container, setting them in order like a ritual: rice here, broth there, sauce packets torn and neatly placed. He doesn’t speak. His hands know what they’re doing. Suho watches him, back propped up with pillows, a blanket still tucked around his waist. His body is sluggish, still catching up to the present, but his eyes track Sieun’s movements like a hawk.

Baku, seated on the other side, is quick to jump in. “You got too much,” he says, though he’s already digging through a bag to pull out utensils. “There’s no way you two are finishing all this without me heroically stepping in.”

“You ordered half of it,” Sieun replies without looking up, deadpan.

“Exactly,” Baku says, cracking his chopsticks with a grin. “So technically I’m just eating my own contributions.”

He sets to work opening containers a little too eagerly, reaching across the tray to arrange them as if he’s lived here, as if he’s done this a hundred times before. He has. With Sieun, at least. He doesn’t acknowledge Suho directly, but his body language shifts, bigger gestures, exaggerated reactions, a grin that burns just a bit too wide. There’s an edge to it, subtle but present, like he’s performing just slightly.

Sieun finishes organizing the food and passes Suho a spoon. “Start slow,” he says quietly, glancing at the stew. “It might be too hot.”

Suho scoffs but takes the spoon, stirring the surface of the broth idly. “You always act like I’m seconds from dying,” he mutters.

“You were,” Sieun replies flatly.

That quiets Suho. Just for a second. Then, with a soft exhale, he nods once and takes a small bite of rice, not pushing the point.

The room settles into the soft rhythm of shared silence, filled only by the clatter of utensils and the gentle hum of air conditioning. Baku picks up a piece of mandu, blows on it, and without asking, holds it up to Sieun’s mouth.

“Here. Try this one.”

Sieun blinks, glances at it like it’s a trap. “You eat it.”

“I am, but I need your opinion.” Baku leans in, grinning. “Scientific inquiry, remember? You’re my control group.”

“I can’t taste most things.”

“Which makes your rare opinions all the more valuable,” Baku insists. “Come on. Mandu doesn’t just eat itself.”

Sieun sighs, long-suffering, patient, familiar, and leans forward to take the bite. His chewing is mechanical, contemplative, and when he swallows, he tilts his head slightly. “Overcooked.”

Baku’s face crumples into mock heartbreak. “What? No! You wound me. That was the perfect dumpling.”

“You asked.”

Suho watches all of this with his chin propped on one hand, his expression unreadable. At first, he just eats, slowly, like someone rediscovering the act. But his eyes flick between them, lingering on the way Baku nudges Sieun’s elbow when he passes a napkin, the way Sieun doesn’t flinch when Baku rests his chin briefly on his shoulder to inspect a side dish. It’s easy, practiced, almost domestic. And loud. Suho doesn’t remember it being this loud around Sieun. This tactile. This… open.

He sets his spoon down. “So,” he says, slicing through the moment like a wire. “What happened?”

Sieun pauses mid-reach for a side dish, his hand hovering over the kimchi. His face doesn’t change, but Baku notices the way his fingers tighten ever so slightly.

Suho tilts his head, eyes sharp but voice casual. “I assume something happened. While I was gone.”

Sieun finally speaks, his tone still and cool. “It’s done.”

“That’s not an answer.”

“I handled it,” Sieun says, not looking at him.

For a moment, Suho just watches him, eyes narrowing slightly. He wants to ask more, he’s always known how to push Sieun until he breaks, but something in the way Sieun’s gaze stays on the food, in the way his posture sharpens with practiced control, warns him off.

“Okay,” Suho says softly, retreating.

Baku clears his throat, almost too loudly. “Hey, try this one,” he says to Sieun, brandishing a spoonful of japchae now. “This might be the one that awakens your tastebuds. The Chosen One.”

Sieun doesn’t respond, but he opens his mouth obediently for the bite.

“You’re such a good patient,” Baku says, tone syrupy. “If Suho gives you any trouble, I’ll train him too.”

That earns a snort from Suho. “He lets you feed him like that all the time?”

“Lets me?” Baku says, mock-offended. “He needs me. He’d forget to eat if I didn’t keep shoving food at him like some underfed raccoon.”

“He’s not a raccoon,” Suho says dryly, clearly unconvinced.

Baku leans across the table just slightly, shooting him a grin. “I mean he’s grumpy and kinda cute in a scary way. He had these eyes that talk for him.”

Suho chuckles under his breath, but his smile doesn’t quite reach his eyes. “And you’ve been around long enough to see that, huh?”

The words are light. The subtext isn’t.

Baku’s grin twitches, falters for a second. “Yeah,” he says, voice a little quieter now. “Guess I have.”

The air shifts. Just a little. A new kind of weight settles between the three of them, not heavy, not hostile, but undeniably present.

Sieun doesn’t comment. He’s focused on stacking empty containers on one corner of the tray, methodical and mute. It’s a subtle retreat, one Suho notices immediately.

“So what else did I miss?” Suho asks, shifting tactics. He leans back in bed, spoon cradled between his fingers like a question mark. “How’s school?”

“Boring,” Sieun says.

“Still top of the class?”

Sieun nods once.

“And you?” Suho asks, glancing at Baku.

“Me?” Baku blinks. “Uh, I’m… surviving. I’m not in competition with this guy. It’s like trying to race a calculator.”

Sieun hums, noncommittal.

“I’m good at other things,” Baku adds quickly, sitting up straighter. “Like conversation. And eating contests. And, you know, being emotionally available.”

Suho raises an eyebrow. “Is that a jab?”

“Not at all,” Baku says, overly cheerful. “I’m just saying, not everyone can be Sieun’s emotional support dummy.”

There’s a beat of silence, then a puff of air that might be a laugh from Sieun. It’s small, nearly inaudible. But Suho catches it. And for the first time, something tightens in his chest.

They keep eating. The food dwindles. The room feels smaller now.

Suho joins in when he can, but something about the rhythm between Sieun and Baku throws him. He expected awkwardness. He expected quiet reverence or distance. But what he’s getting is something warmer. Closer. Messier. It’s not the Sieun he remembers. Not entirely.

Baku feeds Sieun again, this time a piece of radish, too sour by Sieun’s faint wince. They argue over flavor profiles. Baku touches Sieun’s wrist to emphasize a point. And Sieun lets him. Doesn’t recoil. Doesn’t shift away. It's the kind of ease that only time allows, and Suho feels it down to the bone.

He picks at the last few bites of rice, appetite dulled, but says nothing.

When they finally start clearing up, Baku stretches with a satisfied sigh, flopping dramatically back into his chair. “Full. Spiritually and physically.”

“You ate more than half,” Sieun says.

“Because I love you,” Baku replies without thinking.

Silence.

It lands strangely in the room. A little too loud. A little too soon.

Sieun doesn’t respond. He just finishes wiping his hands and turns away to toss the napkin in the trash. Baku blinks, suddenly unsure if it was a joke or something else. Suho watches the whole exchange with unreadable eyes, quiet now, his fingers gripping the edge of his blanket.

The moment passes.

But it doesn’t leave.

Sieun’s lips curl into a quiet, almost imperceptible smile. It’s small, but real, soft at the edges, something unspoken nestled in the curve of it. He reaches out without a word and flicks Baku lightly on the forehead.

Tap.

Baku recoils like he’s been struck by lightning. “Ow!” he squawks, immediately rubbing the spot with both hands, face crumpling into an exaggerated pout. “You psycho! Why are you like this? This is abuse in front of a patient!”

Sieun exhales through his nose, the scoff barely audible but undeniably amused. “You’re too loud,” he says flatly. “We’re in a hospital.”

Baku grumbles something about tyrants and cruel affections under his breath, but Sieun’s already turning away, his expression shifting as he faces Suho again. The fond exasperation fades into something quieter, something gentler.

He takes a step closer to the bed.

Sieun’s eyes linger on Suho, soft and solemn, the way they used to whenever he was trying to memorize him, like he was afraid that if he looked away, Suho might disappear again. His gaze, warm and deep and impossibly expressive, settles on Suho’s face with a careful, searching kind of attention. His chocolate-brown eyes are wide and unreadable, rimmed in something fragile.

Suho shifts under the weight of that look. His shoulders tense slightly. He averts his gaze but only for a second before glancing back up, dry amusement flickering across his face.

“You’re staring again,” he says, voice hoarse and casual, but it doesn’t quite land. There’s something brittle under the humor.

Sieun doesn’t blink. “You need to rest.”

Suho frowns. “I’ve been resting. I was literally unconscious for—what—weeks? Months?” He leans back against the pillows dramatically. “I think I’ve fulfilled my lifetime quota. I should be exempt now.”

“Don’t joke about it.” Sieun’s voice is quiet, but firm. His brow furrows slightly. “You’re still weak. I’ll come back tomorrow.”

Suho stares at him, jaw tightening. “Sieun—”

But Sieun is already moving, gently pulling the blankets up and around Suho’s chest with careful hands, tucking him in like it’s muscle memory. His movements are precise, almost reverent. Then, without thinking, he reaches out and smooths Suho’s hair back from his forehead, his fingers brushing lightly through the strands. His touch lingers for a second too long, like he doesn’t want to let go.

Suho’s breath hitches faintly at the contact. His eyes flutter closed for half a second before opening again, heavier now. He says nothing.

Sieun finally pulls back, face unreadable once again.

“I’ll see you tomorrow,” he says quietly, and steps away.

“Yeah,” Suho replies, voice low. “...Okay.”

Baku, unusually silent during all of this, straightens up and gives Suho a sheepish wave, a little less spark in his smile this time. “Sleep well, Sleeping Beauty.”

Suho just gives him a look. Not hostile. Not warm. Somewhere in between.

Sieun places a hand on Baku’s shoulder and turns him gently toward the door, guiding him with silent insistence. Baku goes without resistance, glancing over his shoulder once before they step into the hallway.

“Bye, Suho,” Sieun says, just before the door closes.

And then they’re gone, the room falling back into its quiet rhythm, the hum of machines, the low murmur of distant footsteps. Suho lies still in the bed, staring up at the ceiling. His fingers flex faintly against the blanket.

And in the silence, his lips curl into the faintest shadow of a smile. Exasperated.
————————————————————————
The door clicks softly shut behind them, sealing the sterile air of the hospital room away, and for a moment, there’s only the hush of the hallway and the sound of their footsteps. Baku exhales slowly, the sigh tumbling out of him in a way he doesn’t try to mask. Not frustrated, not sad, just… full. Too full.

Sieun walks beside him, steady and quiet as always, hands in his pockets, expression unreadable. But Baku doesn’t need a smile or a laugh to know the truth.

Sieun is happy.

There’s something looser in his shoulders, something unburdened in the way he moves. His eyes, though still calm and half-lidded, have a softness in them that wasn’t there this morning. A subtle shimmer, like something finally set right. For once, he doesn’t seem haunted.

And Baku can’t help but look at him, really look at him, in the dim hallway light, in this quiet pocket of time between past and present, and marvel. He’s beautiful like this. Not because of the way the light catches on the edge of his cheekbone or the way his hair shifts slightly with each step, but because of what’s behind his stillness: the unspoken relief, the long-awaited exhale.

Without thinking, Baku reaches over and threads his fingers through Sieun’s.

His hand fits perfectly, warm and slightly rough, unmoving at first. But he doesn’t pull away.

Baku swings their joined hands gently between them, his voice light. “I’m really glad he’s awake.”

Sieun nods, not looking at him. His voice is quiet, low like it might break if he raised it. “Feels like I’m alive again.”

That sentence sits heavy between them, heavier than the air, heavier than the weeks of unspoken fear and quiet grief that Sieun had been dragging behind him like a shadow. Baku swallows, squeezing Sieun’s hand a little tighter, just to remind him he’s still here. Just to tether him to now.

Sieun doesn’t say anything else. But he doesn’t let go either. Their arms swing gently, lazily, in sync. The movement is subtle, but full of permission.

They walk side by side like that for a while, letting the silence carry them. Then, as they exit the hospital and step into the fading late-afternoon light, Sieun turns slightly toward Baku.

“You want to come over?” he asks, voice calm, like it’s not a seismic shift in their pattern. “I was just going to do nothing anyways.”

Baku blinks.

He almost trips.

He stares at Sieun for a second, mouth half-open, processing it. Not because he’s never been to Sieun’s place, he practically lives there some weeks, but because Sieun never asks. Sieun tolerates. Accepts. Rolls his eyes and lets Baku in with a grumble. But this, this is new.

This is an invitation.

“You mean, like… you want me to come over?” Baku says, still grasping for confirmation like he’s dreaming.

Sieun’s lips twitch. “That’s what I said.”

Baku beams, eyes going wide with delight. “Yes. Obviously, yes. I would be honored. I would be delighted. I would be—”

“—Quiet, maybe?” Sieun offers, dry as ever.

“No promises,” Baku says, nearly bouncing in place.

And he really does almost skip. He’s grinning from ear to ear as they walk, hand still warm in Sieun’s, tugging him just a little faster down the familiar sidewalks. His steps are springy, energized, like a balloon with its string wrapped around Sieun’s wrist. And Sieun… well, he lets him. He doesn’t complain. Doesn’t let go.

They head toward Sieun’s place hand in hand, two silhouettes against the pink-washed sky, one beaming bright and the other unreadable but undeniably lighter than he’s been in a long, long time.

The door clicks shut behind them, and Sieun barely has time to toe off his shoes before Baku launches.

“Wha—Baku—!” Sieun stumbles back, caught off guard as Baku barrels into him with all the subtlety of a flying tackle. They crash onto the couch in a graceless heap, the cushions groaning beneath them. Sieun lands flat on his back, limbs pinned beneath warm, grinning weight.

Baku props himself up on his elbows, straddling Sieun’s waist, grinning down at him with an expression so open, so adoring, it makes Sieun blink once in alarm. Baku’s eyes are bright, his cheeks faintly flushed from the walk, or maybe the fall, but there’s something different in his expression now. Something quieter beneath the usual teasing.

“I meant it, y’know,” Baku says, voice softer than usual, eyes locked onto Sieun’s. “Back at the hospital. I wasn’t joking.”

Sieun stares up at him, his face unreadable, breath evening out beneath Baku’s weight. He doesn’t speak right away. His brows draw slightly together, not in annoyance, but like he’s trying to parse the seriousness of it, weighing the words against the boy who always speaks in firecrackers.

“I love you,” Baku says again, this time barely above a whisper.

Sieun exhales, long and slow through his nose, head tipped slightly to the side against the couch cushion. “You’re a lot,” he mutters.

Baku blinks.

Sieun looks up at him, those soft, heavy-lidded eyes impossibly calm despite the situation. “But... you’re okay.”

Baku’s heart does something traitorous in his chest. “Okay? That’s it?”

Sieun sighs like this is exhausting, like it’s deeply unfair that he has to spell out the obvious. “You’re… okay to love.”

Baku grins so hard it almost hurts.

“Good enough for me.”

And before Sieun can flick him again, Baku buries his face in Sieun’s neck, nuzzling in like he belongs there. His breath is warm against Sieun’s skin, muffled laughter vibrating faintly with each exhale. His arms slip around Sieun’s torso, hugging him close, still half on top of him, refusing to move.

Sieun groans low in his throat, more embarrassed than annoyed. His hands hover awkwardly for a second before one of them comes to rest on the back of Baku’s head. He pats his hair, half placating, half resigned, but his fingers curl just a little in Baku’s strands.

“God, you’re clingy,” Sieun murmurs, but there’s no bite to it.

Baku just hums contentedly, tightening his arms like he’s anchoring himself to something solid. “Mmhm. Yours now, though.”

Baku shifts just slightly, still nestled against Sieun, and presses a soft kiss to the curve of his neck—innocent at first. Then, in a split-second decision, he drags his tongue across the sensitive skin just beneath Sieun’s jaw.

Sieun stiffens instantly. “What the hell—?” His voice jumps, caught between alarm and disbelief. “You’re so weird.”

But Baku just grins, pleased with himself. “You like it.”

“I don’t,” Sieun lies.

In response, Baku grins wider, then, without warning, bites him. Not hard enough to bruise, but sharp enough to make Sieun yelp and jolt under him.

“Ow—! Are you serious?!” Sieun’s voice pitches up, affronted.

Baku just hums, entirely unbothered, and leans in again, tongue soothing over the sting in a warm, wet pass that makes Sieun shudder involuntarily. The air between them tightens for a second.

Sieun groans, somewhere between exasperated and scandalized. “You’re like a dog with rabies.”

At that, Baku finally leans back, sitting up just enough to admire his handiwork with absolute shamelessness. “I am passionate,” he declares proudly, eyes sparkling. “And ungoverned by law.”

Sieun slaps a hand over his face. “Why are you like this.”

Baku immediately collapses back onto him, arms wrapping tighter than before. “Because you let me be,” he mumbles into Sieun’s shirt, smug and affectionate and absolutely immovable.

Sieun groans again, dramatic now, but his hand finds Baku’s back, fingers pressing there, not pushing him away, just… holding.

“Unbearable,” he mutters.

The minutes stretch out in quiet hums and gentle breaths. Baku, still draped over Sieun like an oversized blanket, shifts only enough to get comfortable, one leg hooked over Sieun’s, his cheek pressed to the curve of Sieun’s shoulder.

Sieun had stopped grumbling a while ago.

His chest rises and falls in slow, steady rhythm now, and his features, normally calm and distant, have softened even more in sleep. His lashes rest against his cheeks, lips slightly parted, and for once, the weight he always seems to carry has melted from his face.

Baku blinks down at him, stunned by the rare sight.

He hadn’t meant to lull him to sleep, not really, but now that he has, something in Baku settles with smug satisfaction. It’s almost ridiculous, how proud he feels, like coaxing a wild cat into curling up in your lap.

He shifts carefully, mindful not to wake him, and snakes his arms around Sieun more securely. “You’re really asleep, huh?” he murmurs, lips barely moving, his voice barely audible.

Sieun, of course, doesn’t respond.

Baku smiles to himself, pressing a feather-light kiss to Sieun’s temple. “I knew I was cozy.”

The room is quiet now, warm, dusk slipping in through the windows, painting the walls in soft oranges and purples. The hum of the fridge, the distant city sounds, and the rhythmic beat of Sieun’s heart beneath his ear are all Baku hears.

And maybe for the first time all day, his energy fades to something still and full.

With one last deep breath, Baku lets his eyes flutter shut, letting the warmth of Sieun’s body lull him into sleep too. Curled around him like something protective. Something claiming.

They fall asleep like that, entwined, quiet, peaceful, two mismatched souls finally at rest in each other’s arms.

Chapter Text

Sieun stirs slowly, his mind groggy, breath deepening before his eyes crack open.

The first thing he registers is the weight pressed upon him. It’s not suffocating, but heavy and warm and settled across his chest and side. It makes it harder to move, but not in a way that feels constricting. Instead, it roots him, tethers him to the here and now. As his vision adjusts, shapes start to form. The ruffled mop of dark hair spread out messily on his chest, the slow rise and fall of a body draped partially over his own, and far too close is Baku’s face, pressed against the crook of his neck.

Sieun blinks.

His body is still for a moment, his mind suspended somewhere between sleep and realization. Baku’s breath is warm against his collarbone, his lips just barely parted, muttering something incomprehensible as he burrows deeper like a dog seeking more warmth. One of his arms is thrown over Sieun’s waist, the other tucked beneath himself, and his legs are tangled loosely with Sieun’s as if they had naturally drifted together sometime during the night.

There’s no alarm in Sieun’s expression, only a slow, contemplative stillness. He raises a hand, slender fingers brushing up through the mess of Baku’s hair, smoothing down the strands gently, like combing through silk that’s been slept on too long. The gesture is quiet, absent-minded almost, but there’s a deliberate tenderness to it, as if Sieun is taking a small moment to memorize the texture, the closeness.

Baku shifts with a soft, unconscious sigh at the touch, his nose nudging against the fabric of Sieun’s shirt. He instinctively presses in closer, his body curving toward the warmth without waking, like a boy lost in a dream he doesn’t want to leave. His brow smooths out and his breathing deepens again, content, relaxed.

Sieun exhales slowly, his eyes soft, unreadable. This isn't unfamiliar at all. Baku’s touch, his affection, his tendency to gravitate toward Sieun like he’s a gravity center is something that Sieun has gotten used to, maybe even enjoys now. But like this, in the early hush of morning with nothing demanded of them, the intimacy feels heavier, more grounded. Less a joke or a tease. More real.

Sieun shifts slightly beneath the weight draped over him, careful not to jolt Baku too suddenly. His hand, still tangled loosely in Baku’s hair, slides down to his back. He pats it gently…tentatively at first, then a little firmer like he’s coaxing a cat out of a nap. The contact is light, almost unsure, but enough to stir Baku from the depths of sleep.

“Wake up,” Sieun murmurs quietly, voice still husky with sleep, barely above a whisper.

Baku groans softly in response, the sound more a breath than a word. His lashes flutter, and his eyes crack open, bleary and unfocused. It takes him a moment to register where he is, who he’s with, and the position they’re in, but when he does, his arms instinctively tighten around Sieun’s waist in a sleepy embrace, cheek nuzzling lazily against Sieun’s chest.

“Mmm,” he hums, eyes slipping shut again for a second, “Waking up to your voice… that’s a nice surprise.”

Sieun clicks his tongue but doesn’t shove him off, only sighs as Baku gradually peels himself away. The two sit up slowly, their school uniforms are rumpled and creased from their position. The soft rustle of fabric and the golden light filtering through the curtains make the room feel almost dreamlike, faintly suspended in time. They sit there for a moment longer, side by side on the edge of the couch, neither saying much as the quiet morning stretches between them.

Eventually, Baku runs a hand through his own messy hair and lets out a yawn. “I’ll make you breakfast,” he announces with exaggerated determination, trying to shake off the last remnants of sleep. “You go get ready, genius boy.”

Sieun glances at him, one brow raised skeptically. “Don’t burn anything.”

Baku flashes a tired grin, already shambling toward the kitchen like a determined soldier. “No promises.”

Sieun stands, stretching subtly before heading to the bathroom. The cold floor against his feet wakes him further, and he moves through his morning routine with his usual mechanical precision, washing his face, brushing his teeth, combing his hair. The mirror reflects a face that is still, but no longer empty. Something softer lingers around the edges of his features. Something human.

From the kitchen, he can hear the clinking of pans, the faint sound of Baku muttering under his breath as he fights with eggs and tries to remember where Sieun keeps the seasoning. The domestic sounds fill the apartment in a quiet, comforting way that Sieun has never truly experienced before… at least not like this.

He pulls on a new uniform piece by piece, moving with calm efficiency. But behind every movement is a creeping warmth. A sense of groundedness. A fragile thread of something building, something that doesn’t have a name yet, but exists undeniably.

By the time he emerges from his room, fully dressed, the apartment smells faintly of toast and eggs, and Baku is proudly arranging the most lopsided plate of food Sieun has ever seen. The sight makes something unspoken flicker in Sieun’s chest.

Maybe he won’t say it aloud.

But he likes this.

“I have prepared a feast for you my darling” Baku proclaims exaggeratedly. He sets the plate on the counter as Sieun slides into a seat. Sieun raises his eyebrow at Baku’s gesture and sighs but starts to eat.

“There’s a pair of clothes in my drawer from when you left them. You can change into a new uniform.” Sieun informs Baku softly, while in the middle of chewing the eggs that Baku prepared for him.

Baku disappears into the bedroom in a blur of energy, humming some off-key tune as he yanks open the bottom drawer of Sieun’s dresser. Sieun watches him go with quiet amusement, the clatter of a belt buckle and rustling fabric echoing faintly from the other room. Moments later, Baku re-emerges looking fresh and alert, his hair still a little damp from a quick rinse, uniform slightly wrinkled but passable. It’s typical Baku, rushing through things but somehow making it all work.

“Food’s getting cold,” Sieun says dryly, watching Baku plate a portion for himself with a self-satisfied grin, like he’s just served up a gourmet meal instead of slightly uneven eggs and toast that were dangerously close to burning.

They settle down at the small table, side by side, knees bumping once or twice without either of them pulling away. The apartment is quiet save for the soft clinks of cutlery and the low hum of the city waking up outside. It’s the kind of silence that doesn’t beg to be filled, just soft and present, like the comfort of sitting beside someone you know won’t demand more from you than you’re willing to give.

Midway through his toast, Baku looks over, eyes curious and warm. “So, what are you doing after school?”

Sieun doesn’t look up right away, taking his time to chew and swallow before replying with his usual calm. “Visiting Suho.”

Baku stills for a fraction of a second. It’s subtle but Sieun catches it. The way his shoulders slacken just slightly, how his eyes drop to his plate, how the motion of bringing his fork to his mouth slows down like his appetite’s dimmed a notch. He doesn’t say anything right away, but Sieun sees through it with quiet precision.

“After that,” Sieun says, his voice soft but resolute, “we can hang out.”

Baku blinks, caught off guard. He looks up at Sieun, then cracks a sheepish smile, one that doesn’t quite reach his eyes. “Yeah? Well… I’ll probably be at the shop helping my dad anyway, but I’ll finish up early if you want.”

Sieun nods once, the motion small but meaningful. “Okay.”

They lapse back into silence, this one slightly heavier but not uncomfortable. They eat side by side, shoulders occasionally brushing. Baku eventually finishes the last bite of his food and leans back with a dramatic sigh like he’s just finished a ten-course meal. Sieun rolls his eyes, takes their plates, and efficiently rinses them in the sink, and Baku helps by tossing the trash and wiping the counter with a little too much flair.

Once they’re both ready, bags slung over shoulders and jackets zipped up, they head out the door. The morning air hits their faces with a crisp bite, sharp enough to jolt the sleep from their limbs. As they fall into step together on the familiar path to school, Baku stretches his arms overhead, yawns exaggeratedly, and complains about how early it is.

Sieun just walks quietly beside him, hands in his pockets, listening to the wind, the distant sounds of students ahead of them, and Baku’s familiar voice weaving through the chill of morning.

The walk to school is quiet, but not empty.

Their arms brush now and then. It’s soft, subtle contact that’s been happening more often lately. Baku talks a little at first, about the chicken shop, about how cold the morning is, about what he thinks they should eat after school. But his words start to thin out, and Sieun can sense it, the way Baku’s fingers twitch at his side, the way he glances over now and again but doesn’t say what he wants to say.

So Sieun, who has never been one to make the first move unless absolutely necessary, does just that.

Without a word, he reaches out and grabs Baku’s hand.

Baku immediately stiffens, like someone had just thrown a bucket of ice water on him, except it isn’t unpleasant. His hand is warm and rough in a way that contrasts Sieun’s cool, delicate grip. The contact is grounding, and yet Baku feels like he might actually float off the sidewalk. He looks over at Sieun, who’s staring straight ahead with his usual neutral expression, as if he hadn’t just initiated something that makes Baku’s heart stumble in his chest.

They keep walking, fingers loosely but securely interlocked. Baku doesn’t even try to hide the grin threatening to break across his face, and it’s so ridiculous that by the time they pass through the school gates, he’s barely processing anything around him.

Hyuntak walks up, greeting them with a casual, “Yo—” before his eyes narrow at Baku’s face. “What’s with the stupid look?”

Baku blinks, half-dazed. “Huh?”

Hyuntak waves a hand in front of his face. “You good? You look like someone just told you that you won the lottery.”

Baku just shrugs with the goofiest grin, unable to form a coherent excuse. Sieun, on the other hand, keeps walking without pause, completely unfazed.

They make it to class and take their seats, the morning shuffle of bags and scraping chairs filling the room. Sieun lets go of Baku’s hand naturally as he settles at his desk, already pulling out a notebook like nothing happened. Baku sits down beside him, suddenly aware of the cold absence where their hands had been joined.

His hand rests on his desk for a moment too long, as if waiting for Sieun to take it back.

But of course, class is starting. And Sieun is Sieun.

So Baku sighs softly and leans on his arm, stealing a glance at Sieun’s profile… calm, unreadable, and beautiful. He doesn’t say it out loud, but the touch lingers in his memory like an afterglow.
————————————————————————
For the rest of the day, Baku drifts through classes like he’s moving on autopilot, suspended in a dream. Not the kind of dream where everything is foggy and vague but one where each detail is painfully vivid, etched into his senses with startling clarity. The brush of Sieun’s sleeve against his. The way Sieun turns slightly toward him when he speaks, actually listening, giving him the kind of quiet attention that makes Baku feel like the only person in the world. The calm nods, the shared glances, and when they walk between classes… the casual, practiced way Sieun’s fingers slip between his, like it’s second nature now.

And then there’s the smile.

Not the sharp-edged smirks Sieun sometimes gives when he’s being clever or the small hum of amusement when Baku’s being ridiculous. No, this one is soft and barely there but unmistakable. A subtle quirk of his lips paired with his brown eyes warming just slightly at the corners. It’s the kind of smile that’s so rare, Baku feels like he’s won something sacred every time he sees it.

By the time the final bell rings, Baku is buzzing with something he can’t name. His face is warm, his fingers twitch with leftover energy, and Sieun walks beside him like always, their steps in sync. The sun hangs low, casting long shadows, and there’s a quiet hum of contentment between them until Baku blurts out.

“You’ve been really affectionate today.”

Sieun blinks once, glancing at him out of the corner of his eye with a raised brow. “Have I?”

“Yeah,” Baku says, half-defensive, half-flustered. “You held my hand. You smiled at me. You’ve been talking more. It’s… different.”

Sieun slows his pace slightly, thoughtful. “We’ve been like this for the past few days.”

Baku opens his mouth, then pauses because Sieun’s right. The hand-holding, the studying together, the sleepovers, the meals, the way they orbit each other like gravity’s pulling them closer… it’s not new. They’ve been doing all of it. But something about today feels different. Like a thread snapped and re-tied in a new way.

“Still,” Baku insists, eyes turned down now, a faint flush on his cheeks, “It feels different. Today it just… hits different.”

Sieun scoffs quietly, not in a mean way, just amused. “So you’re only noticing it now?”

Baku groans under his breath, dragging a hand down his face. “Don’t say it like that. I—I don’t know. It just feels more real today. Like something changed and I didn’t notice until now.”

Sieun says nothing for a beat. Then, in his usual calm tone, he responds, “Nothing changed. It’s the same as before.”

Baku falters, staring at him. “Huh?”

Sieun doesn’t clarify. He just keeps walking, hands tucked into his coat pockets, his expression unreadable, but Baku sees the corner of his mouth tug upward, just slightly.

Baku opens his mouth, lips parting like he’s about to say something important, or at least something honest, raw, and clumsy in the way that only he can be, but his phone starts buzzing in his pocket. He groans before he even pulls it out, already knowing what it’s going to say. Sure enough, it’s a message from his dad.

“Come help. Big order just came in.”

Baku slumps, fingers tightening around his phone as he sighs loudly, dramatically. “Ugh. The chicken shop’s summoning me again.”

Sieun looks at him, calm as ever, a quiet glint of something unreadable in his brown eyes.

Baku gives him a sideways smile, trying to shake off the frustration. “You should go visit your friend. We can meet after. Just text me when you’re done.”

He says it lightly, casually, but it’s clear from the way his voice dips at the end, from the way his hand fidgets at his side, that he doesn’t actually want Sieun to go. Not yet. Not when the quiet warmth between them is still lingering, fragile and unspoken.

But he doesn’t say it.

Because Baku never wants to hold Sieun back. And maybe a small part of him is scared that if he says how much he wants Sieun to stay, he’ll sound selfish.

Sieun watches him for a moment, his gaze steady. Then he nods. Just a small movement, but there’s a slight pause before he turns.

And in that pause, something clicks.

Sieun leans in. Quick, almost mechanical. A motion too fast to be graceful, but too meaningful to be mistaken. His lips brush Baku’s cheek, not lingering, not practiced, just a brief press of warmth. It’s so sudden that for a moment Baku freezes, wide-eyed, as if his entire system has rebooted.

And then it’s over.

Sieun steps back and clears his throat like he regrets it immediately. His eyes dart anywhere but Baku’s face, and his voice is taut when he mutters, “We’ll talk later.”

Before Baku can respond, Sieun’s already turning. Walking quickly, stiffly, like he’s trying to escape the weight of what just happened. Baku stands there, stunned, one hand touching his cheek like it’s the most delicate thing in the world.

And then, of course, he trips.

Not on anything specific, just his own feet, tangled by the haze of flustered thoughts and overheating emotions. He stumbles forward, nearly catching himself, and ends up laughing breathlessly at how absurd he must look. A few nearby students glance over, confused, but Baku doesn’t care.

His heart is hammering too hard. That kiss wasn’t nothing. Not to him.

Meanwhile, Sieun walks with his head down, shoulders tense, staring at the pavement like it might offer him clarity. The wind tousles his hair gently, but he doesn’t feel the cold. His mind is a whirlpool of spiraling thoughts… I should be allowed to do that, he seemed down just now, hopefully I can cheer him up after…

Sieun sighs, and despite the quiet panic knitting itself into the back of his mind, there’s something else too.

A strange calmness. A thread of something warmer winding between his ribs.

He adjusts the strap of his bag and keeps walking, the hospital coming into view in the distance. Suho is waiting.

The hospital room is quiet except for the gentle beeping of a monitor and the soft rustle of bed sheets as Suho shifts into a more comfortable position. The sun filters through the half-closed blinds, washing the room in a warm, late-afternoon glow that softens the sharp corners of the sterile walls. Sieun sits in his usual place beside Suho’s bed, his posture composed, legs crossed at the ankle, as he sets the meal tray within reach.

“Eat,” Sieun says plainly, gesturing toward the tray of hospital food.

Suho lets out an exaggerated groan as he eyes the lukewarm rice and overly-boiled vegetables. “Ugh, it’s criminal what they feed us in here. Are they trying to heal me or punish me?”

Sieun gives him a long, pointed look. It’s not angry, just flat, disapproving. A quiet warning embedded in a single glance.

Suho chuckles under his breath, caught. “Alright, alright. Don’t look at me like that,” he mutters, and reluctantly picks up the spoon. “You’re worse than the nurses, I swear.”

Sieun leans back in the chair, arms loosely crossed, his expression unreadable. He watches as Suho begins eating slowly, the exaggerated dramatics softening as he gives in to hunger. The silence between them is comfortable now, familiar in the way it always was.

After a few bites, Suho peeks over at Sieun and smirks. “So… where’s your little shadow?”

Sieun’s brow raises slightly. “Baku’s working. At his dad’s shop.”

“Ah, right,” Suho says with a lazy nod, as if that somehow answers all the questions he hasn’t even asked yet. “I’m honestly shocked you managed to make a friend at all.”

Sieun doesn’t rise to the bait. He merely shrugs, eyes flicking to the corner of the room, his tone calm. “Baku’s easy to get along with.”

Suho hums, chewing slowly, clearly amused. “Is that so? That’s one way to put it. He talks like someone gave him a lifetime supply of sugar and dared him to never slow down. You’re really something, attracting the human version of a border collie.”

Sieun’s lips twitch faintly, almost imperceptibly, a ghost of a smirk. He doesn’t deny it. He doesn’t need to.

Suho studies him more closely than he lets on. There’s something restrained in Sieun’s voice, something thoughtful. Not dismissive, not indifferent, just… carefully measured. And it’s the kind of answer that tells Suho more than a paragraph could. He chews slowly, then sets his fork down, eyes lingering on Sieun.

“You must really like him,” Suho says softly, not teasing now, but quiet. Observant.

Sieun doesn’t shift or look surprised. He simply nods, his voice as steady as ever when he replies, “I do.”

The response is simple, unadorned, but it lands heavily in the room. Suho doesn’t say anything at first. He just presses his tongue to the inside of his cheek, jaw tightening a fraction as he looks down at his tray again. The smile he offers is light, but there’s something slightly bitter behind it, an emotion left unspoken, swallowed before it can form.

“Well… good,” Suho says, keeping his tone level. “He seems to make you happy.”

Sieun’s eyes soften, just slightly. “He does.”

Suho stabs at a piece of steamed broccoli with theatrical disappointment, as if the vegetable personally insulted him. The room is quiet again, with the low hum of distant chatter in the hallway filtering in through the half-open door. Sieun sits beside him, his posture relaxed but attentive, eyes occasionally drifting between Suho’s meal and the soft light spilling in through the window.

Then Suho pauses mid-chew and turns his head slightly, expression unreadable.

“Hey,” he says, voice casual… too casual. “Do you like Baku better than me?”

Sieun blinks once. Then again. He turns to Suho slowly, visibly processing the question. “What?”

Suho shrugs, leaning back against his pillows as if the weight of the question hadn’t shifted the entire mood of the room. “I mean… I used to be your favorite, didn’t I? Now you’ve got someone else following you around, laughing at your dry comments, looking at you like you hung the damn moon.” He looks away, his smile lopsided and laced with something wistful. “Thought I might be getting replaced.”

Sieun stares at him for a long second, his expression unreadable. Then, without warning, he leans forward and flicks Suho sharply on the forehead.

“Agh!” Suho yelps, recoiling and grabbing his forehead with exaggerated betrayal. “What the hell, Sieun?!”

“You’re an idiot,” Sieun replies dryly, but there’s no malice behind it, only fondness, and a thread of exasperation that’s been there since they were kids. “I love you. But not like that. It’s not the same kind of love, so you can’t compare them.”

The words are steady, without hesitation. They drop into the space between them with quiet finality, not a dismissal but a clear line drawn with care and sincerity.

Suho’s pout softens as he looks at him. His fingers rub at his forehead as if still expecting a bruise, but the smile creeping back onto his lips is genuine now. “Well,” he says, “I guess I’ll allow it. Since you put it so sweetly.”

Sieun huffs a soft laugh and leans back in his chair.

Suho watches him for a moment longer, then asks, more gently this time, “Are you two together now?”

Sieun meets his gaze, and for the first time, there’s a brief but unmistakable glimmer of something tender in his eyes. He doesn’t blush or avert his gaze. He just gives a small nod.

“Yeah,” he says. “We are.”

Suho lets the words settle, lets the warmth of them wrap around the cold corners of his heart. He smiles, small, sincere, with the kind of ease that’s rare for someone who’s spent weeks in a hospital bed. “Good,” he says softly. “That’s really good, Sieun.”

Suho’s fingers drift over the edges of the tray as he pushes the remaining scraps of food around, his appetite dulled by the steady beat of his thoughts. He watches Sieun out of the corner of his eye, how he sits so effortlessly beside him, posture straight but relaxed, expression unreadable as ever. It’s still strange, sometimes, to look at Sieun like this…older, calmer, a little more withdrawn, and yet somehow more open, too. Especially now, when his brown eyes soften just slightly at the mention of Baku.

Suho leans his head back against the pillow and lets out a long breath through his nose. The fluorescent lights cast a pale glow over the ceiling tiles, and for a moment, he lets himself wonder.

If he had reached out more…

If he hadn’t just protected Sieun but really seen him…

If he’d paid attention to the way Sieun looked at the world through those sad, sharp eyes, and maybe tried a little harder to hold his hand through the mess of their adolescence…

Would Sieun have been his?

The thought rises like a bubble and lingers there. It’s soft, wistful, and undeniably foolish. Because even if they were soulmates, even if their hearts had once been tethered tightly enough to carry each other through the worst of it, it wasn’t that kind of tether. It never had been. In another life, maybe. In this one, it was friendship. Lifelong. Platonic. And irreplaceable.

He blinks, pulls himself from the thought, and turns back toward Sieun with a familiar gleam of mischief returning to his eyes.

“So… does Baku know you’re dating?”

Sieun blinks, caught completely off-guard. “What?”

Suho raises an eyebrow, eyes gleaming with mischief. “I asked if your boyfriend knows you’re his boyfriend.”

Sieun stares at him blankly. “Why wouldn’t he know?”

That’s all Suho needs and he laughs. Loudly. Without shame. The kind of open laugh that bounces off the hospital walls and makes Sieun’s expression curl into a deep frown. Suho actually clutches his side a little from how hard he’s laughing, only calming down when he sees the rare flicker of annoyance flash across Sieun’s otherwise unbothered face.

“Oh my god,” Suho says, wiping a tear from the corner of his eye. “Sieun. You haven’t actually told him, have you?”

Sieun frowns deeper, expression unreadable now. “…Told him what?”

“That you’re together,” Suho says, exasperated but still amused. “That you’re dating. That he’s not just your extremely affectionate study partner or personal heater or food delivery boy or whatever he thinks he is.”

Sieun opens his mouth, then closes it again. A beat passes.

Suho watches as the realization slowly, painfully begins to dawn in Sieun’s expression. There’s the slight widening of his eyes, the subtle tension that pulls into his jaw. He turns his face slightly away, blinking as the obvious fact settles into place like a brick on his chest.

“…He doesn’t know,” Suho says flatly, practically wheezing now.

Sieun rubs at the back of his neck, clearly rattled. “I thought it was obvious.”

“Sieun,” Suho says, struggling to keep a straight face, “you’re shit at expressing yourself.”

“I’m not.”

“You absolutely are.”

Sieun gives him a look, but it’s less defensive and more… embarrassed. Like he’s just now realizing the way his silence, his small acts of care, his slightly-more-than-friendly touches may not have communicated what he thought they did. Of course he thought it was obvious. After all they hold hands, they spend every moment together, they sleep in the same bed sometimes, they have even kissed before, but Baku never heard the words. Maybe Baku thought it was just moments, not a relationship.

Sieun's face twists in something like mild horror. “…I’ve never actually said it.”

Suho watches with a self-satisfied smirk, arms crossed as if he’s watching a particularly entertaining drama unfold in real time.

“Well,” he says, sipping from the juice box Sieun brought him earlier like it’s a glass of wine, “better figure that out before your boyfriend goes and gets snatched by someone else.”

Sieun frowns, eyes narrowing, but he doesn’t say anything. Because the realization stings.

He’s been in a relationship in his head this whole time. But Baku… might not even know he’s part of it. He really is shit at expressing his feelings.

Sieun lets out a long, frustrated sigh, the kind that carries the weight of all the unspoken words and awkward silences between him and Baku. His shoulders slump slightly as Suho’s laughter rings out again, light and teasing, cutting through the tension in the room. “Seriously,” Suho says between chuckles, “you should go clear it up with him before things get even more complicated.”

Sieun nods gratefully, a small relief settling in his chest at the simple, direct advice. “I will,” he says quietly, the determination in his voice stronger now. He looks down at Suho, who smiles weakly back, exhaustion and pain lingering in his eyes. “Try to get to sleep at a reasonable time tonight, alright?”

Suho offers a soft, tired smile, the kind that barely masks the ache in his chest. “You better,” he says, voice gentle but teasing. “Next time, bring and introduce your boyfriend to me properly, I want to get to know him. Can’t just have you sneaking around like this.”

Sieun’s lips twitch upward in a genuine smile for the first time in a while. “Deal.”

He helps Suho shift carefully beneath the covers, making sure he’s comfortable before standing up. There’s a heaviness in the room now, something fragile and bittersweet, but Sieun feels it too, a quiet gratitude that despite everything, Suho remains his friend. That some connections don’t break, even when the past feels like spilled milk.

Sieun opens the door slowly, careful not to disturb the fragile peace before stepping out. As the door closes softly behind him, Suho lies back against his pillow, and lets out a quiet breath, telling himself there’s no use crying over what can’t be changed. He’s grateful Sieun is still in his life, that Sieun waited all this time for him to wake up. Suho smiles, he can’t wait to get out of here.
————————————————————————
The phone rings twice before Baku picks up.
“Sieun?” His voice is warm, familiar, and tinged with quiet excitement.

Sieun swallows. He didn’t think it would be this hard. “Hey. Can we meet?”

A pause. Then: “Of course. Just tell me where.”

They end up at a small Korean street food joint tucked near the edge of a park, where fairy lights dangle from the awning and the smell of hot tteokbokki and fried mandu fills the air. Baku’s already waiting by the time Sieun arrives, seated on the curb with two takeaway menus in hand. His eyes light up the moment he spots him, like the whole evening just got better. He stands quickly, brushing nonexistent dust from his pants, and walks over.

“Hey,” Baku says softly, that familiar half-smile on his face. “How was Suho?”

Sieun’s mouth tugs upward in the faintest curve. “He was… in rare form.”

“That bad, huh?” Baku chuckles, but there’s something else beneath the sound, something pensive, a subtle tilt of his head, like he’s trying to read between Sieun’s few, cryptic words.

“No,” Sieun says, shaking his head with more warmth than he usually lets show. “It was fun.”

Baku’s gaze lingers on him a moment too long, fond and bright and completely unguarded. “I’m glad,” he says, but it’s slightly off. His voice doesn’t quite match his expression, a shadow flickering behind his eyes. His smile wavers, not in any dramatic way, but like it’s balancing on a tightrope.

They order without much fanfare… tteokbokki, odeng, some corn cheese, and a pair of iced drinks, and carry the steaming bags to a nearby bench that faces the dusky sky. The sun is dipping behind the city skyline, leaving everything bathed in gentle gold and lavender hues. It’s peaceful. It’s intimate.

Baku opens the container of tteokbokki and sets it between them, picking up a rice cake with his chopsticks before holding it out toward Sieun. “Here.”

Sieun hesitates for a breath, startled more by the gesture than the food itself. “I can feed myself.”

“I know,” Baku says, the smile returning, soft and teasing. “But I want to.”

Sieun opens his mouth slightly, letting Baku feed him the bite, the spice and sweetness coating his tongue while something warmer blooms in his chest. He chews slowly, not just from the heat but from the quiet realization that maybe this is one of those moments he’s always taken for granted. One of those things he thought spoke for itself.

“Can you taste it?” Baku softly asks Sieun, his dark eyes hopeful. Sieun gives a hum in confirmation and Baku grins.

They eat like that for a while, in comfortable silence broken only by the occasional shared glance or low chuckle. Baku brushes a bit of sauce from the corner of Sieun’s lip with his thumb at one point, casual, almost unconscious, but Sieun’s entire body tenses for a second before he forces himself to relax.

Eventually, Baku sets the food down and leans back on his palms, gazing out at the darkening horizon. “You always light up a little when you talk about him, you know,” he says suddenly, voice even, but softer than before.

Sieun’s chopsticks pause in mid-air.

Baku doesn’t look at him. “Suho, I mean. It’s okay. I get it. You guys go way back.”

Sieun sets the chopsticks down carefully, then turns toward Baku, his heart tightening. “That’s not—”

“I’m not mad,” Baku says, finally turning to face him again. His eyes are clear, but not unguarded. “Just… it made me wonder sometimes. If I was imagining this. Us. Whatever this is.”

Sieun goes quiet.

He stares at Baku for a long time, really stares, taking in the tired curve of his smile, the hopeful sheen in his eyes that’s dimmed just a little, and the way his hand, resting beside Sieun’s on the bench, is close but not touching.

Sieun shifts on the bench, fingers brushing unconsciously against the edge of the takeout box. His ears burn before the rest of his face catches up, a deep blush coloring his cheeks in a way he can’t quite hide under the fading lavender light. He mumbles, half into his sleeve, “Here I thought my boyfriend would have a little more confidence in me.”

Baku opens his mouth immediately, the instinct to apologize already forming, but then… he freezes.

There’s a sharp flicker in his eyes, like a fuse catching a spark.

“…Wait.” He stares at Sieun, brows knitting together in slow, stunned confusion. “Did you just say boyfriend?” His voice pitches up ever so slightly, barely above a whisper, like the word might vanish if he says it too loud. “Me?”

Sieun groans. It’s not exasperated, not really, more like the sound of someone realizing they’ve forgotten to lock a door and only noticed after the house is already halfway flooded. He tips his head back, eyes closing for a second. “Oh my god,” he mutters under his breath. “Suho was right. You really didn’t know.”

Baku blinks rapidly. “Suho was right about what?”

“That I suck at saying things directly,” Sieun mutters, turning to look at him again. “And that you’re somehow even denser than I am.”

Baku stares, still frozen in place like his brain is buffering. His mouth opens, closes, opens again.

And then, without thinking, without letting himself hesitate, Sieun reaches forward and grabs Baku’s face between his hands. Not gently, not aggressively either, but with a kind of desperate tenderness that says look at me, listen to me, this matters.

“Baku,” he says, his voice firmer now, eyes locked onto the wide, startled ones in front of him. “Darling.” He stresses the word deliberately, almost like a challenge. “We’ve been dating. For a while. Right?”

Baku’s breath catches, his face turning scarlet, eyes so wide they might as well fall out of his head. He stammers, absolutely flustered now. “I—wha—w-we—dating—you mean like—you and me—I—since when?!”

“Since forever, apparently,” Sieun says flatly, but there’s a flicker of a smile tugging at the corner of his lips now. “At least in my head. But I guess I forgot to clue you in.”

Baku’s blush deepens until it colors the tips of his ears, his shoulders curling slightly inward like he’s trying to physically hide from the weight of Sieun’s words. His lips part, but nothing comes out. At least not right away. His brain is still scrambling to catch up with the sudden shift in reality, like he’s been walking around in a fog and someone finally handed him a flashlight.

Sieun watches him, his usually guarded expression softening with something close to guilt. His fingers fidget slightly with the hem of his sleeve, then he speaks quietly, but deliberately. “I’m sorry,” he says, voice low and steady. “I’m… bad at expressing my feelings. I thought I was being clear, but I didn’t realize I had to say it for it to count.”

Baku’s eyes flick up to meet his, wide and searching.

Sieun presses on. “I’ve never loved anyone like this before. Not like I love you. And I didn’t know how to… deal with it. It scared me. It still does, sometimes. I thought if I showed you that it would be enough. I’m sorry I didn’t respond to you in a nice way, I was flustered. But I should’ve said it.”

He takes a breath, like he’s gathering the weight of the words from the base of his chest, and then he looks straight at Baku, eyes steady, open in a way they rarely are.

“Park Humin,” he says, voice firmer now. “I love you.”

Baku freezes. The full name drops like a stone in his chest. His face goes bright red, mouth falling open again in stunned disbelief. He lets out a breathless laugh, somewhere between overwhelmed and awed. “Sieun,” he says weakly, voice cracking with incredulity, “you should’ve told me that sooner.”

Sieun raises an eyebrow, folding his arms with mock annoyance. “We spend every second together,” he says flatly. “We fall asleep together. We hold hands. We talk all the time. You feed me.”

“I just thought we were being really good friends!” Baku protests, waving his arms slightly like he’s trying to justify the sheer level of intimacy they’d somehow bypassed.

Sieun stares at him. “Baku,” he says, deadpan. “We kissed.”

“That was… that was in the heat of the moment!” Baku exclaims, eyes wide and frantic as he reaches for the most rational explanation his brain can provide. “It was dark, and it was late at night, and we were emotional! I thought it just happened! You didn’t say anything afterward!”

“You touched me… we were all up on each other and you—“ Sieun adds calmly, a subtle shift in his voice, measured, but meaningful.

Baku chokes. His entire face lights up like a warning sign, hands flying up to cover Sieun’s mouth. “O-okay! Okay, I get it!” he yelps, mortified. “I get it! You’ve made your point!”

Sieun’s expression softens immediately. The teasing melts away and what remains is something tender, sincere. “I wasn’t trying to embarrass you,” he says, voice low. “I just… thought you knew. I really thought we were on the same page.”

Baku drops his hands slowly, still flushed, but now his eyes are filled with something gentler, affection, understanding, maybe even a little regret. “I guess I was too scared to assume,” he murmurs. “I didn’t want to mess things up. I’ve liked you for so long, Sieun. I didn’t think I could handle it if I was wrong.”

Sieun leans in slightly, his hand brushing over Baku’s as if to anchor him to the moment. “You weren’t wrong,” he says simply. “You were just waiting for me to say it.”

They finish eating slowly, letting the food grow lukewarm in its paper containers, neither one really paying attention to the last few bites. Sieun pokes at a piece of corn cheese with his chopsticks, not even tasting it anymore, while Baku leans back against the bench, his gaze fixed almost unblinkingly on him. It isn’t subtle. Baku isn’t even trying to be subtle anymore.

His eyes trace every small motion… how Sieun wipes his fingers clean with a napkin, how he exhales quietly through his nose like the weight of this conversation is still sitting in his chest, how his lips purse just a little as he thinks. Baku can’t stop staring. The butterflies in his stomach have turned into something softer now, something warm and giddy that he doesn’t even try to contain.

“You know,” Baku says at last, voice light but intent, “I’ve decided.”

Sieun glances up, suspicious. “Decided what?”

Baku grins. “We’re officially dating. Starting now. Like… actually dating. You can’t back out.”

Sieun blinks. Then, slowly, he nods, lips curling upward with a rare trace of vulnerability. “Okay.”

Baku’s grin deepens as he reaches over and laces their fingers together, the movement fluid, like it’s something they’ve done a hundred times before, but this time, it feels different. There’s weight to it now. Meaning. Sieun’s hand fits against his perfectly, a quiet warmth grounding him to the moment.

For a while, they just sit like that, letting the world blur around them. The city noise hums in the background, distant and unimportant. All Baku can think about is how soft Sieun’s hand is in his, how still he’s sitting now, and how badly he wants to kiss him… really kiss him, like a boyfriend would.

Baku licks his lips, breath stuttering slightly. “Can I…” he starts, then laughs quietly at himself. “God, I sound like I’m in a drama or something. But seriously, can I kiss you?”

Sieun’s eyes dart toward him, then just as quickly away, and for the first time in a while, his expression shifts into something unsure, something almost shy. A faint flush rises in his cheeks. “I…” He clears his throat, not quite meeting Baku’s eyes. “We should go back to my place first.”

Baku stares at him for a beat, caught off guard. “Wait, seriously?”

Sieun nods, still not looking at him. “It’s just… there’s people around. And I—” He falters, then mumbles, “I’d rather it be just us.”

The admission is quiet, but it hits Baku with the force of a confession. His chest tightens, not with disappointment but with an overwhelming affection for the boy sitting beside him, his awkwardness, his restraint, the quiet care behind every hesitation. Sieun wants this. Just not here. Not in front of the world.

Baku’s smile softens. He squeezes Sieun’s hand and stands, tugging gently. “Okay,” he says easily. “Let’s go, then.”

Sieun looks up at him, something grateful in his gaze, and lets himself be pulled up. Baku doesn't let go of his hand. Instead, he starts walking forward, their fingers still tangled between them, tugging Sieun along with a kind of eager determination.