flower boys

Posted originally on the Archive of Our Own at http://archiveofourown.org/works/52246318.

Rating: Not Rated

Archive Warning: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Category: M/M
Fandom: 약한영웅 Class 1 | Weak Hero Class 1 (TV)
Relationships: Ahn Soo Ho/Yeon Si Eun (Weak Hero Class 1), Ahn Soo Ho & Yeon Si
Eun (Weak Hero Class 1)
Characters: Ahn Soo Ho (Weak Hero Class 1), Yeon Si Eun (Weak Hero Class 1),
Young Yi (Weak Hero Class 1), Original Female Character(s)
Additional Tags: Angst, Fluff, Idiots in Love, Not Actually Unrequited Love, Jealousy,
Pre-Relationship, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Mutual
Pining, Friends to Lovers, Angst with a Happy Ending, Feelings
Realization, Everyone is jealous and bad at feelings, Internalized
Homophobia, Eventual Smut
Language: English
Stats: Published: 2023-12-14 Completed: 2024-02-18 Words: 48,149 Chapters:
9/9
 flower boys
by yeonsiieunn

Summary

Sieun didn't think Suho liked the quiet, bookish types. But Sarang is pretty. It makes sense.
Of course it makes sense.
So why does he feel like vomiting all over his shoes?

Or, Suho has a new girlfriend but there's one problem:

She's a carbon copy of Yeon Sieun.
 wanting was enough (for me, it was enough)

“This is my girlfriend,” Suho says, “Cho Sarang. Say hello.”

Today, the casual arm Suho slings around Sieun's shoulders feels like a weight bearing down
on his neck.

“Hello.” Sieun mumbles, tipping his chin towards the girl in front of him.

Cho Sarang is short, perhaps an inch or two shorter than Sieun, with long dark hair that she
wears tied up in a high ponytail. She has bow-shaped lips and large, cat-like eyes that
glimmer behind wire-framed glasses.

Sieun didn't think Suho liked the quiet, bookish types. But Sarang is pretty. It makes sense.
Of course it makes sense.

So why does he feel like vomiting all over his shoes?

“You must be Sieun-ssi, right?” Sarang says, holding her hand out for him to shake, “Oppa
talks about you all the time. It's nice to finally put a name to a face.” Her voice is soft but
clear, like a bell.

Oppa.

She gets to call Suho that. They're dating, so why wouldn't she?

Sieun takes her outstretched hand.

She has soft, delicate hands. Smaller than even Sieun's.

“He's a man of few words, but you'll get along great,” Suho says, ruffling Sieun's hair so that
it sticks up in the back, “You two are just alike. Crazy bookworms.”

Sarang rolls her eyes.

You two are just alike. He doesn't know why but the words chafe badly. Sieun's skin crawls
everywhere Suho touches. He can’t take it anymore. He steps out of the circle of Suho's arms
and fixes his hair with an agitated brush of his fingers.

Everything is wrong. Up is down, down is up. The collar of his shirt suddenly feels too tight,
like it’s choking him. Sieun unfastens a button.

It doesn’t help.

Out of the corner of his eye, he sees Suho shoot him a questioning look but he keeps his gaze
trained on the floor. Sieun doesn’t even understand why he’s behaving so strangely, so how
can he explain it to Suho?

Sarang watches him closely.

She has an unnerving stare.

She sees right through you, he thinks. Right down to the marrow.

“Hey, I need to go take a leak,” Suho says suddenly. “I’ll be right back.”

His stomach drops as he watches Suho go. Sieun can feel the girl’s presence next to him. She
smells sweet, almost familiar.

The girl.

Sarang.

Love.

He can’t tell if her name is ominous or serendipitous.

Just as Sieun starts to consider going to the bathroom too, Suho pokes his head back around
the corner, “Don't stand around in silence like weirdos. Talk. Get to know each other.”

Then he’s gone again, and the silence is back.

Sieun is content with being a mute weirdo.

Next to him, Sarang fidgets. She pushes her glasses up the bridge of her nose, then smooths
the edge of her pleated skirt over and over. She must feel pressured to get along with her
boyfriend's strange friend. He wishes she wouldn't.

“So.” Sarang says, clearing her throat. “Suho tells me you're top of your class. What's your
favorite subject?”

“Math.” He says.

“Mine too.” Sarang’s expression brightens. “I want to be a professor one day.”

Sieun nods.

Another beat of silence.

This is the part where Sieun opens his mouth and continues the conversation. But he can't.
His jaw is wired shut. Sweat gathers underneath his arms and beads at his hairline, even
though the AC in the school is blasting.

“You know, Galileo Galilei once said that “mathematics is the language in which God has
written the universe.” Sarang says in that quiet, even tone, “I think that's a perfect
description. It doesn't matter if you're Korean or German or American. Equations and
formulas always stay the same. It's like a universal language.” She has the hesitant, nervous
energy of someone who is obviously talking about their favorite thing but doesn't want to
nerd out about it in front of a stranger.

Sieun is still nodding like a bobblehead. Normally, he'd find this conversation fascinating. He
loves math. But he can't think of a single interesting thing to say except,

Why?

Why?

Why?

Why Suho?

Why are you here?

Why didn’t he tell me about you?

Sieun glances in the direction of the bathroom. It's taking a long time for Suho to come back.
A whole two minutes and thirty-one seconds have passed since he left. Did he drink a liter of
water or what?

He exhales through his nose, finally turning towards Sarang, “So how did you and Suho
meet?”

She blinks owlishly, “Oppa didn't tell you?”

Oppa.

There it goes again.

Sieun shakes his head. Suho told him nothing, actually. And It’s not like he’s been
particularly distant or MIA recently. If anything, they’ve been hanging out more than ever. It
makes Sieun wonder how Suho finds the time to meet up with her.

“We met at the grill restaurant he works at. I was studying alone like usual when he
approached me out of the blue,” She explains, “We've been hanging out here and there for the
past few months.”

The past few months? She might as well have just driven an ice pick through his chest.

Sarang peers up at him. It's a strange sensation--Sieun isn't used to looking down at people.
“Suho really didn't tell you any of this?” She asks.

“No. Nothing.” Maybe they weren't as close as Sieun thought.

“That boy,” She huffs, “He's so bird-brained.”

There’s a familiar warmth to the insult. It reminds Sieun of, well-–himself. He talks about
Suho the same way. It makes him hate Sarang, just a little bit.
“Hey, are you two bad-mouthing me already?” Suho is back and looking totally at ease. His
shoulders are relaxed and he has the usual swagger in his step. As if he didn’t just drop the
nuclear bomb of all introductions on Sieun’s head like it was nothing.

Sieun hates him a little bit too.

He hates himself even more for acting like such a brat. It’s not like him at all.

“Yes.” Sarang says.

Suho chuckles, “Well, at least you’re honest. I just thought of a great idea while I was in the
bathroom. Let's take a picture together. All three of us.”

Sieun can think of about a million other things he'd rather be doing than squish up next to
Ahn Suho for a stupid photo.

Like walking over hot coals barefoot.

Or getting struck by lightning. Twice.

Suho looks at Sieun then at Sarang.

Then he bursts out laughing. He laughs so hard Sieun could count all the teeth in his mouth if
he wanted to.

“What?” He says impatiently.

“You two made the exact same face.” Suho snorts.

Sieun stiffens and glances sideways at the girl next to him.

Sarang's expression is similarly sour. Her lips are turned downward in a disapproving frown,
“I hate taking pictures.”

Sieun doesn’t have to say anything. Suho already knows how he feels about his little
photography habit.

“Please,” Suho begs, clasping his hands together, “This is your first meeting. It’s a big deal.
We should commemorate this moment with a photo.” He sticks out his lower lip in a pout and
turns his puppy eyes up to max.

Today, Sieun is immune.

Sarang sighs. “Let's put up with it, just this once, Sieun-ssi. I’ll take the photo.”

Suho grins and wiggles right in between them, throwing an arm over both their shoulders. He
tilts his head toward Sieun though, flashing a peace sign behind the back of his head like little
bunny ears. Sieun hates that he feels a flash of pleasure that Suho chose to lean into him;
chose to move closer, letting their heads brush against each other.
Sarang holds the phone out so they all fit in the frame.

The camera light flashes.

Suho checks the photo on his screen. He’s the only one smiling. Sieun has this vaguely
spooked look about him, like a cat that's been snuck up on. Sarang's face is carefully blank.

“My two favorite people,” Suho says wistfully. “Would it kill you both to smile a little? It
looks like I'm holding you hostage.”

“I said I would take the picture. I didn't say that I'd enjoy it.” Sarang replies dryly.

A gross feeling surges inside Sieun’s chest, making his heart thud hard and heavy against his
ribcage.

I used to be your favorite person, whispers the voice in his head.

Why does he feel so disgusting? Like bugs are crawling inside his shirt; like he’s covered in
something thick and dark, and slimy.

Suho is completely oblivious. He’s fiddling with his phone settings, trying to set the new
photo as his wallpaper.

“My face got cut off.” Sarang says. Her tone isn't annoyed like Sieun expects. It's clinical and
distant like she's observing a fact.

Sieun looks at the phone.

It’s true.

You can only see a sliver of Sarang's glasses peeking out in the corner, and a bit of her black
uniform. Sieun and Suho take up the entire screen.

“Whoops, you're right. I had to crop it so it would fit,” Suho opens up the camera app again,
“Want to take another one?”

There's an obvious solution to this, Sieun thinks. Suho should simply cut Sieun out of the
picture so Sarang could be his screensaver instead, but it hadn't occurred to him to do so.
Cutting Sieun out isn't even a viable option in Suho's mind.

Sieun feels himself relax a little, which is ridiculous.

He's like a kid with his favorite toy.

Mine, mine, mine.

“No. That's fine,” She says mildly, “I know Sieun is your #1.”

If Sieun had been drinking water, he would've spit it out.

Beside him, Suho splutters, “When did I say that?”

“Today, yesterday, the day before that…” She lowers her voice in what Sieun guesses is an
imitation of Suho's whiny tone, “ Sarang-ssi, I swear I'd die without him. Did I tell you we
were married in a past life?”

The back of Sieun’s neck grows hot under his shirt collar. He knows that Sarang isn't
exaggerating, not even a little bit. He just didn't think Suho would talk about him that way to
his girlfriend.

Suho huffs, “That sounds nothing like me.”

There's a slight flush across the apples of his cheeks.

“It sounds exactly like you,” Sarang says, smiling. “Dramatic. Right, Sieun?”

He doesn't smile back.

It's a shame.

She's a sweet girl.

Why can't he pull it together?

“I don't like this. It feels like you two are ganging up on me.” Suho grumbles. “Come on.
Let's go to karaoke. Youngyi is probably waiting for us.”

When they leave the school grounds, Sieun braces himself. He expects Suho to hold Sarang's
hand, hug her close, or even press a kiss to her cheek. He's such a touchy person that it's only
natural he should be glued to his girlfriend's side.

But Suho does no such thing. He walks with his hands in the pockets of his blue windbreaker,
shoulder-bumping Sieun like usual. Sarang walks on his other side, a slight distance away.
They look like a group of friends. Not a couple and a third wheel.

They arrive at the karaoke place a little after five. Youngyi has already reserved a room and
ordered food and drinks for everyone.

Sarang files into the room first, her ponytail swinging behind her in a gentle wave.

Sieun isn't even over the threshold yet when he hears Youngyi say, “Oh hey, Sieun–”

“I’m not Sieun.” Sarang says.

Youngyi blinks at the girl. Then looks at Sieun, who's standing behind her now. She raises her
hand, pointing weakly at the two of them, her head tilted like a confused dog.

“Ohhh,” She says slowly. “Kaaay?”

The question drags out into silence.

Suho doesn't offer any clarification. He just sort of stands there, with his hands in his pockets.
For once, his expression is completely closed off to Sieun.

He doesn't know whether he should be annoyed on Sarang's behalf or his own.

“My name is Sarang,” She says finally, breaking the awkward silence, “Nice to meet you.”

“You asshole,” Youngyi delivers a sharp punch to Sieun’s shoulder, “You didn’t tell me you
had a sister. I thought I saw a ghost.”

“She’s Suho’s girlfriend,” Sieun says, rubbing his sore arm ruefully. It comes out awkward
and garbled, like he’s trying to speak a language he doesn’t understand. Sieun always thought
he was fluent in Ahn Suho. Apparently not.

Youngyi's eyes bulge out of her head, “You didn’t tell me Suho was dating your long-lost
sister!”

What’s with this sister nonsense? Sieun can feel his blood pressure spiking, and it’s already
high enough as it is.

“She’s not his sister,” Suho sighs, “What’s wrong with you? Are you already drunk?”

Youngyi ignores him, “So you’re not related at all? Not even a little bit?” Her raised
eyebrows are practically touching her hairline. “Like 14th cousins twice removed on your
dad’s side or something?”

“I don’t think so, no.” Sarang says neutrally.

Youngyi throws back her head and cackles like an evil witch, “Wow. No fucking way. That's
rich.”

Sieun will admit that Youngyi is strange on a normal day. But this behavior is downright
bizarre, even for her.

“Yah. Youngyi,” Suho says sternly, “Why are you being so rude? You haven't even greeted
her properly.”

Her Disney villain laughter abruptly cuts off.

“Right, sorry. I'm Youngyi,” She bows half-heartedly, “It's nice to meet you too.” When she
lifts her head, her expression is still one of complete shock and awe.

“You're a little weird,” Sarang says. “Has anyone ever told you that?”

She says this with absolutely no inflection in her voice, so the average person wouldn’t be
able to tell if it’s an insult or a joke.

Sieun knows she’s joking though.

He doesn’t know why, but he can tell.

"Maybe once or twice." Youngyi's gaze switches over to Sieun, razor sharp. He’s about to ask
her what her problem is when she snatches up his hand.

“Sieun-ah, come help me carry the drinks.” Youngyi says, her voice alarmingly shrill.

She doesn't wait for his reply, just starts dragging him towards the exit.

“Why?” He tries to pull his hand free, but she has the grip of an old sailor reeling in the catch
of the day, “There's already a ton of drinks here.”

“Not those drinks,” She says with dramatic emphasis, “The other ones.”

Sieun stares at her blankly.

Is he supposed to know what she's hinting at?

“Aish! Stop being difficult and just follow me!” Youngyi cries, stamping her foot.

Behind her, Suho is watching them with a confused look on his face. Sarang pretends not to
listen while she surveys the feast of junk food laid out on the table.

“Fine.” Sieun sighs.

He might as well go.

Suho and Sarang probably think he's crazy now too.

“Oh my gosh, oh my gosh, oh my gosh.” Youngyi says once she's satisfied with their hiding
spot (a dark alcove a few feet away from their karaoke room, next to a vending machine and
a leaky roof tile).

“What?” Sieun finally tugs his hand free of hers, “Why are you acting so weird?”

She looks at him for a second, eyes searching, her mouth a perfect ‘O.’

“Sarang!” She exclaims, throwing up her hands, “She's your twin. I totally thought that was
you in a wig when she first walked in.”

Sieun scoffs, “That's not funny.”

“I'm not joking!” She says, “Same eyes, same fringe, and the exact same lips, down to the
cupid's bow.”

He wants to ask why she's studying his lips so closely but Youngyi surges on, “Even your
noses are similar. I think you need to get a blood test.” She wiggles her eyebrows. “Your dad
might be having a little too much fun on those business trips.”

Okay, they might look somewhat similar, but Sieun would rather not imagine what his father
is or isn't doing on his business trips.

“What's your point?” He says, exasperated.

“You don't think it's weird that Suho shows up with a girlfriend who happens to look, act, and
talk exactly like you out of nowhere? Like she was made from your fricking rib or
something?” Youngyi has that look on her face. The one she gets when she’s too engrossed in
the plotline of a TV drama and starts acting out the scenes like she's one of the characters.

Sieun frowns, “You're making Suho sound like some kind of pervert.”

“Oh, he’s a huge perv,” Youngyi says with a smirk, “The little freak obviously has a Yeon
Sieun fetish.”

“Youngyi.” Sieun whispers furiously. “You're being ridiculous.”

He wants to shake her and ask if she lost her mind. But Sieun feels like he's losing his mind
too. A red-hot blush is crawling up to his scalp, prickling the tips of his ears.

This isn't one of Youngyi’s weird dramas, he reminds himself. It's real life. And in real life,
your best friend doesn't start dating a girl because she looks like you. Even thinking it sounds
completely ludicrous. Why would Suho do something like that? What would he gain from it?

Nothing. It was pure coincidence that he just happened to look like Cho Sarang. He could
barely even see the resemblance himself. This is just Youngyi and her bad habit of making up
stories when she’s bored.

“For someone so smart, you really are dumb.” Youngyi says, folding her arms across her
chest.

Now Sieun is actually getting annoyed, “Okay, since I'm so dumb, why don't you spell it out
for me? Because I don't understand what you're getting at.”

“It's so obvious. Suho wants-–”

“What do I want?” Suho is coming down the hall, head cocked to the side. “What are you
two whispering about in the corner over there? Sarang was wondering where you went.”

Youngyi shoots Sieun a brief look of panic.

He can’t help her out of this one.

“Oh um, Sieun was just telling me how sexy you are.” She says. “He's impressed with your
gains in the gym lately.”

“Really?” Suho looks more than pleased. He's grinning at Sieun like a damn Cheshire cat.

“What the hell, Youngyi.” Sieun stares at her, slack-jawed. He’s never felt more betrayed in
his life. Especially because it wasn't even true! Well, it was a little bit true. Sieun did notice
Suho had gotten more muscular as of late, but that was beside the point.

He’d certainly never say it out loud, much less tell Youngyi, who has the biggest mouth in the
history of big mouths.
She shrugs sheepishly.

“Hey, don't be embarrassed. I appreciate you noticing all of my hard work, buddy.” Suho
wraps an arm around Sieun's shoulders, pulling him close into his side so that he's tucked
right against him, “But you didn't have to whisper about it in the hallway, you know. I'm all
ears. What's your favorite part, hm?” He still has that goofy, eager grin on his face as he
gently knocks his head against Sieun's.

The gesture reminds Sieun of a dog nudging his owner for pets. He tries not to think it's cute
and fails miserably.

Then it dawns on Sieun. Maybe Suho is a pervert. He doesn’t actually think Sieun walked all
the way out here to gush about how hot he is, does he? What universe is this? Did he
somehow blip into a parallel timeline where everyone he knows turned into complete
lunatics?

Suho's eyes shimmer expectantly.

Yeah. He's definitely a lunatic.

Sieun levels him with a disinterested look, “What do you think?”

Suho is unphased, “Biceps. No, abs. Wait--it's the thighs, right? I've been doing a ton of leg
presses lately.” He slaps his left thigh with a loud smack, “I could crush a watermelon
between these bad boys.”

Sieun shakes his head, “Let's go back to the karaoke room.”

He refuses to look at Suho's thighs or any other parts of his body that can crush large fruits.

“Come on, please just tell me,” Suho whines, “I promise I won't-–” He closes the door to the
karaoke room right in Suho's face.

Sieun doesn't know how he's going to get through the rest of the night without bashing his
head into a wall.
 to live for the hope of it all
Chapter Notes
See the end of the chapter for notes

“Sarang-ssi, you can have the first pick,” Youngyi says, “What’s your poison? BTS? Girls
Generation? Or do you like American artists?” She swipes through the options on the tablet,
her electric blue nails flashing in the fluorescent light, ”I swear I can rap all of Nicki Minaj’s
songs. I'm a total Barb.”

“That’s a lie,” Suho interjects, “She knows half the lyrics, then mumbles the rest.”

Youngyi smacks his arm, “Hey, English is hard!”

At least Sieun doesn't have to worry about their dynamic changing. Suho and Youngyi will
forever be squabbling siblings.

“Actually, I prefer to watch.” Sarang says. “You guys have fun.”

“Wah, just like someone else I know.” Youngyi says, her eyes drilling holes into Sieun's
skull.

He ignores her.

Just like he plans on ignoring everything else Youngyi has said to him tonight.

Sarang is not his evil twin (or maybe Sieun is the evil one?)

And Suho does not have a weird fetish for Sieun and his corresponding lookalikes.

Ignored. Blocked.

Whatever.

He's going to get through tonight then take a sleeping pill or three and when he wakes up
tomorrow he'll be normal about Suho's new girlfriend. He'll play his role as the supportive
best friend and everything will be fine.

But for now. Karaoke.

Karaoke is more fun to watch.

Suho and Youngyi take turns chugging the cheap beers she snuck inside her backpack. When
the alcohol hits their bloodstream, they get loud and stupid.

Youngyi tries to teach Suho the steps to a girl group song Sieun can't remember the name of.
(“ No, it's snap, snap, hip pop. Not snap, snap, throw your back out.” )
Suho serenades them with a soulful rendition of Eyes, Nose, Lips that ends in him
manhandling Sieun's face.

“Your black eyes that only saw me,” Suho nearly pokes Sieun's eyes out when he brushes his
hand across his eyelids. Sieun assumes it's supposed to be a sexy move.

“Your nose that held the sweetest breath,” Suho drags his index finger down the bridge of
Sieun's nose.

“Your lips that whispered I love you, I love you…” Suho squishes Sieun's lips together, then
falls to his knees to wail out the rest of the lyrics.

Sieun is used to this behavior by now. Suho does a version of this performance every time
they come to the karaoke room, so he's learned to just sit and endure it.

It's the only way to get him to stop.

Youngyi applauds when the song ends.

Suho is still crouched on the ground in front of Sieun like he’s waiting for an invisible
spotlight to go out on his invisible stage.

Sieun rolls his eyes.

“Wow, you deserve a daesang,” Youngyi says, still clapping.

Sieun thinks Suho is ridiculous. But he's the one who puts up with it, so doesn't that make
him equally ridiculous?

He nearly cracks a smile. It disappears the moment he sees Sarang laughing quietly to
herself.

Sieun almost forgot she was there.

He reaches for a beer.

The night suddenly seems very, very long.

After a couple more songs, Youngyi flops down on the couch with a huff, “Gosh, I need to
hydrate.” She cracks open another bottle of Cass and drains it in one go.

“Alcohol makes you dehydrated,” Sieun tells her. “Have some water.”

Youngyi waves her hand dismissively then turns to Sarang.

“By the way,” She says, “You smell amazing. What’s that perfume you’re wearing? It’s kind
of familiar.”

Sarang raises her eyebrows, “Oh, thanks. It isn’t perfume though. Oppa bought me this
shower gel he’s been obsessed with,” She slips her phone out of her bag. “It’s jasmine and
clove scented. Give me a sec, I’ll pull it up for you.”

Suho is too preoccupied with singing and dancing to ‘Ditto’ to pay attention to what they're
saying. He looks like a waddling chicken and sounds like one too.

So he's the kind of guy who buys things for his girlfriend. Begrudgingly, Sieun tries to
remember the last thing Suho bought for him.

A few days ago, Suho had a portion of japchae delivered to Sieun's apartment with a note
attached reminding him to eat well during midterm season.

Then there was the matching set of headphones he randomly gifted Sieun last month. Blue
for Suho, and gray for Sieun. “Tell me when you wear yours so we can match, okay?”

And he also gave him a heated blanket because his room is “too drafty” and “You don't have
any meat on your bones to keep you warm so use this.”

Sieun flushes.

Right.

Well, he's obviously just like that with everyone.

Youngyi squints at Sarang’s phone, “Sieun-ah, don’t you have this body wash in your
bathroom? I think I used it the last time I slept over.”

Sieun glances at the screen. Sure enough, a photo of his shower gel is open on the web
browser. It’s the same brand with the white bottle and black cap too.

“Yeah.” He says. “That's the same one.”

“It must be a popular scent.” Sarang says, tucking her phone back into her bag.

Youngyi widens her eyes at Sieun then jerks her chin in Suho's direction (who's still
squawking the lyrics, “ stay in the middle, like you a little” )

He knows what that look means.

Pervert.

Sieun turns away, cheeks burning.

It’s just body wash.

It’s not like he has a monopoly on jasmine-scented shower products.

Suho can buy Sarang whatever the hell he wants.

In perfect unison, Sieun reaches for a slice of pizza at the same time as Sarang. They both
pluck the olives off, then the mushrooms, one by one. They each take a small bite and chew
slowly. Neither Sieun nor Sarang notice they’re mirroring each other like shadows.
Sieun is too busy looking anywhere but at Sarang.

Sarang is inspecting her pizza for any leftover bits of olive and mushroom.

“Spooky.” Youngyi mutters, her eyes wide. “Seriously fucking spooky.”

After they finish up at the karaoke room, Suho suggests they take a walk by the Han River to
cool down. The breeze coming off the water is brisk and chilly, blowing Sieun’s hair over his
eyes.

“Shouldn’t you two be holding hands or canoodling or whatever?” Youngyi asks, “You’re in
the honeymoon stage, right?”

It’s not an unreasonable question. There are couples everywhere. They walk by with
intertwined hands, sit along the bank of the river on blankets, and steal kisses in between
bites of ice cream they bought from the vendor up the street.

Suho isn’t even standing next to Sarang. He’s leaning all of his drunken weight on Sieun, arm
slung over his shoulder like a permanent fixture. Every few minutes, Suho bends his head to
press his flushed cheek against Sieun’s cold one with a soft sigh.

Normally, Sieun would push him away.

Or he’d at least complain that Suho was being too clingy.

But today, he allows it.

He doesn’t say anything when Suho’s maekju breath puffs against his cheek or when he leans
so hard on Sieun he nearly sends them both tumbling into the river.

Sieun doesn’t say anything at all.

“Sarang doesn't like PDA,” Suho says, “I respect her wishes.”

Youngyi laughs, “That’s hilarious coming from you.”

He tilts his head away from Sieun’s cheek, squinting at her, “What makes you say that?”

“You’re always hanging all over Sieun,” She says, waving her hand at them. “Exhibit A
through Z.”

Sarang looks at Sieun.

Her eyes are peculiarly big behind her glasses lens. They catch the light at odd angles too, so
it always looks like she's a little teary eyed.

Sieun looks away, swallowing hard.

“This is different. It’s our dynamic,” Suho explains, “I dote on him and he pretends to make a
fuss. Right, Sieun-ah?”
Sieun turns his head to retort back and almost collides lips first with Suho’s mouth.

Sieun flinches back.

Suho is leaning in with his lips puckered, eyes screwed shut.

His heart goes from a cool 80 bpm to about 300 bpm in the span of a millisecond.

“Yah,” He tries to shove Suho away to no effect, “Cut it out.”

“Let me fredo kiss you then I’ll stop.”** Suho is still inching closer. Now he has his hands on
Sieun’s cheeks too, pulling him towards his lips.

Youngyi snorts.

Behind her, Sarang watches.

Sieun is quite literally fighting for his life.

He’s starting to sweat.

Why the hell is he so strong?

“Ahn Suho, get away from me. I mean it–” Sieun’s hand flies up between them, clamping
over Suho’s mouth right before their lips touch.

He glares up at him, chest heaving.

The other boy’s eyes flash mischievously.

Something warm and wet licks up the length of Sieun's palm.

His eyes widen.

It's Suho’s tongue.

Sieun yanks his hand away, “You’re sick.”

His face burns red-hot. It's a living, breathing blush that makes his cheeks feel like they have
third degree burns.

“See? That’s the dynamic,” Suho says with a laugh, “Push, pull. Sweet, sour.”

Sarang is still watching, watching, watching.

Sieun wipes his wet hand on Suho’s jacket sleeve but his palm is still tingling all over.

“Looks like flirting to me.” Youngyi says. “Are you sure you two aren’t the ones dating? You
fight like an old married couple.”

“Ha. Ha.” Suho says, rolling his eyes. “You're so funny, Youngyi.”
“To be honest, I thought the same thing.” It’s the first time Sarang has spoken since they left
the karaoke room. Suho and Youngyi jump a little like they forgot she was still there.

Sieun hadn’t forgotten.

Their heads swivel in her direction.

“I mean, when we first met.” She says, pushing her glasses up her nose, “You talked about
him so much I was shocked when you said he was your friend.”

Sieun's heart stutters.

Suho looks taken aback.

His throat works for a second.

Then the smile is back, and he’s laughing again. This time, with a nervous edge to it.

“Wah, do you hear that, Sieun-ah? Even my girlfriend thinks we're in love,” He says, “Is this
the power of our bromance? Should we really get married?”

Sieun says nothing. He will not entertain or even acknowledge this nonsense.

In fact, he’s getting angry.

Is that all Sieun is to Suho?

A joke?

He’s someone Suho can kiss and hang all over because it means nothing to him.

Sarang is different. He won't even hold her hand.

She's special.

Precious.

Suho will take his time loving her, because she's worth the time.

Sieun stuffs his hands deep into the pockets of his hoodie to hide his clenched fists.

“Can I be your maid of honor at the wedding?” Youngyi asks.

“How about you be our court jester instead,” Suho says, “You have to wear a stupid hat and
dance a jig for us.”

Sieun tunes out the rest of the conversation. He keeps his distance from Suho for the rest of
the evening. He doesn’t reply when the other boy directs questions at him and he even steps
away when he tries to put his arm around his shoulders again.

Sieun is being petulant and immature.

Of course, he's fully aware there's room in Suho's heart for more than just Sieun. It's always
been that way. There's Youngyi and his grandmother, but Sarang is different.

Sieun is being left behind.

By the time the group parts ways for the night, his mood has soured so much that he feels the
start of a headache needling right between his eyes.

All Sieun wants to do is go home and try to sleep this off.

Whatever this is.

At the bus stop, Youngyi asks, “Which direction do you live in, Sarang-ssi?”

“I live in Gangdong,” She says.

“Oh, I’m going in that direction too. Let’s walk together.” Youngyi says brightly. “Suho,
you’re coming too, right?”

Suho is staring off into space, his eyes glassy and distant.

“Suho.” Youngyi nudges him with her elbow. “Did you hear me? How drunk are you?”

“Sure. Yeah,” He says, glancing at Sieun, “I’ll come.”

It’s almost like he’s asking permission.

Which irritates Sieun even more.

He isn’t Suho’s keeper.

He can go wherever he likes with whoever he likes. And Sieun doesn’t need a bodyguard for
the bus ride home. He’s about to tell him so when Sarang pipes up, “There’s no need. You
have to go in the opposite direction with Sieun, right? I’ll just see you later.”

It was only a quick glance on Suho’s part, but Sarang had clocked it anyway.

Like Sieun, she misses nothing.

“Ah, practical as always, Sarang-ssi,” The relief in Suho’s tone is apparent, “Text me when
you get home, okay?”

Suho hugs her goodbye. A short, but tight squeeze.

Sieun stares at a crack in the pavement. He wishes it would swallow him whole.

“It was nice meeting you, Sieun.” Sarang says.

He nods stiffly, “Get home safe.”

Youngyi waves goodbye.

Sieun waves back.

He watches them leave until the tops of their heads disappear into the Friday night crowd.

The knot in his chest unravels the farther Cho Sarang gets, but the ache in his head remains.

Now it’s just him and Suho.

Sieun sits down on the bus stop bench and reaches into his backpack for his AirPods.

Damn. He forgot he packed Suho’s headphones this morning. The child in him wants to
smash it to pieces. He’s in that sort of mood. But if Sieun doesn’t do something, he’ll risk
having to talk to Suho, whose expression is already verging on kicked-puppy territory.

Suho should be in a good mood. He’s drunk, hoarse from singing all those love ballads, and
he spent the whole evening with his girlfriend.

What’s there to mope about?

Sieun plays a rock song on his phone and turns the volume up so he can’t hear anything else.
He lets his eyes fall close too, like he’s trying to sleep.

Suho doesn’t take the hint.

He plops down on the bench and nudges Sieun’s sneaker with his foot.

Sieun ignores him.

There’s a brief pause where he doesn’t feel Suho’s shoe against his anymore.

The music washes over Sieun, loud and cacophonous.

For a second, he thinks it worked. Suho is going to leave him alone this time.

But then the bench creaks under them, and Suho flips the headphones’ left earpad up.

He speaks directly into Sieun’s ear, “Yah. Yeon Sieun.”

Sieun sighs.

Well, it was a valiant effort that lasted all of twelve seconds.

Sieun slides the headphones off his head, cuffing them around his neck, “What?”

He sounds snappish right off the bat.

What do you want from me now?

“Are you mad about something?” Suho asks, frowning.

He didn’t think Suho was this close.

His eyes are honey gold under the street light.

Moments like these are so strange. Sometimes, the sun will hit Suho’s skin just right, or he’ll
look at him with that lop-sided grin, and Sieun can’t help but think Suho is beautiful.

It happens at the most inopportune times too.

Like now.

When he wants to be left alone.

Sieun can’t tear his eyes away, “Why would I be mad?”

“I don’t know. That’s why I’m asking,” Suho says, “You were quiet earlier.”

“I’m always quiet.”

He pokes his tongue into the corner of his cheek, “Yeah, but there’s a difference. I can tell.”

Oh, so now he’s an expert on Sieun?

He feels that crackle of annoyance again, like the static energy in the air right before a
lightning bolt strikes.

“Why didn't you tell me about her?” Sieun says. “Sarang.”

“Oh,” Suho says, “That.”

Yeah, that. Sieun thinks. What an idiot.

“I don't know,” He runs a hand through his short hair, “It just never came up, I guess?”

Wow.

Sieun has never felt the urge to punch Suho, but he’s close now.

He half turns on the bench, his voice rising, “She told me you've been dating for months and
it never came up? Not even once?”

Suho lets out a breath through his nose, “I wasn’t trying to keep it a secret, I swear.”

“Right. Sure. Whatever you say.” Sieun sits back against the bus stop shelter with a thump.
He sets his gaze on the road, jaw clenching.

Where is the stupid bus?

He can’t bear to be within hitting distance of this boy for another second or he’s going to
fucking lose it.

Next to him, Suho leans forward so he can see Sieun’s face.

Suho looks at Sieun, really looks at him.

It makes him feel see-through.

All of his internal organs are exposed, right down to his pulsating heart.

“Wait, is that why you’ve been sulking all afternoon?” Suho asks. “You’re upset I have a
girlfriend?”

His voice is incredulous, but there’s something else too.

Wonder.

Or maybe it's fascination.

He’s looking at Sieun like he’s suddenly sprouted wings or a third eye. Maybe he has.

Sieun stops breathing.

He’s been caught red-handed. With both hands down the cookie jar.

Suho must think he’s the biggest baby ever. But the other boy's accurate appraisal just makes
Sieun even madder.

“I am not sulking,” He says angrily, almost recoiling at how pathetic he sounds, “And I don’t
care who you date. It’s just… I thought we were close. I know I'm not an expert on these
things, but shouldn't you tell your friends when something important like this happens?”

“Come on, don’t be like that,” Suho grins, “We’re best friends. Best of the best. Of course,
we’re close.” He saddles up close as if to emphasize his point, cornering Sieun against the far
side of the bench.

Sieun is sick of this guy.

“There’s no one I care more about in the entire world than you, Sieun-ah,” He says, “That’s
why I’m coming clean now.”

Coming clean.

Because he’s guilty.

“Except Sarang.” The words tumble out of Sieun’s mouth before he even has a chance to
think of them.

“What?” Suho says.

“You said there was no one you cared about more. That’s not true,” Okay now Sieun is
sulking, he's in full-on pout mode, “Sarang is your girlfriend. You should care about her
more.”

Say you like me better, begs that annoying little voice in his head. Say you like me best of all.
“Why are you trying to correct me?” Suho says, frustrated, “I know what I said. I like Sarang
because she's Sarang. I like you because you're Sieun. It's like, tteokbokki and strawberries
are both good, but you wouldn't really compare the two, would you?"

“We’re not food,” Sieun says stubbornly, “That makes no sense.”

It makes even less sense since they apparently have the same face, according to Youngyi. So
instead of comparing tteokbokki and strawberries, it's more like comparing a green apple to a
red one.

Suho licks his lips, a habit he does when he's getting impatient or annoyed, “Do you not like
Sarang or something? Because if you don't, I'll–”

“You'll what?” Sieun scoffs, “You'll break up with her because I say so?”

A beat.

Suho shrugs, “Yeah. Probably.”

Sieun's heart falls out of his chest onto the pavement. He’s afraid to look down because he
might see it still beating there, red and raw and vulnerable.

“Just like that?” Sieun says, breathless.

Suho doesn't hesitate, “Just like that.”

Another beat of silence.

Sieun quietly picks his heart up off the ground and crams it back into his chest cavity, locking
it away and throwing out the key.

They've entered dangerous, uncharted waters and Sieun isn't prepared to explore them. Here
be dragons.

He shakes his head, “You're insane.”

Sieun is even crazier though. A smile is twitching at the corners of his lips.

Sieun must be sick in the head.

Pure fucking evil.

“So?” Suho bumps his shoulder.

Sieun's mouth feels dry, “So, what?”

“Should I break up with Sarang?” There's this glint in Suho's eyes. Almost like he's daring
Sieun to cross the line.

Yes, he thinks.
A part of him wants to see if Suho would actually do it. He wants to see just how far he can
push this. But then he thinks of Sarang with her nervous smile, talking about equations and
watching Suho dance badly to kpop songs.

Sieun can't ruin what they have just because he feels like it.

But the notion that he could ruin it, that he has that power over Suho, feels so wrong that it's
right.

Sieun is appalled with himself.

Borderline disgusted.

And yet that ghost of a smile is still there.

Trying to break free.

He’s the Joker with his lips sewn shut.

Mine, mine, mine.

Suho is still gazing at him, his eyes dark, pupils blown wide.

“No,” Sieun chokes out finally, “No. She's nice. I like her.”

Even to his own ears, he sounds unconvincing.

Suho nods slowly without taking his eyes off him, “Great.”

“Great.” Sieun repeats.

The tension in the air evaporates.

A taut rope gone slack.

“Look, I'm sorry I didn't tell you sooner, Sieun-ah,” Suho says, “I wanted to. I tried. I just
didn't know how.”

He seems genuinely apologetic, which counts for something.

“Okay,” Sieun says, “I believe you.”

And he does.

“Don't be mad.” Suho says.

The bus finally arrives.

“I'm not.” He replies, getting up. “I'm going home. I'll see you tomorrow.”

Suho smiles and waves, “Okay. See you tomorrow.”

 Sieun climbs onto the bus. He sits in his usual spot, a window seat near the back.

Suho is standing on the sidewalk now.

He motions for Sieun to open the window.

Did he forget something?

He slides the window open at the same time Suho cups his hands around his mouth.

“I LOVE YOU, YEON SIEUUUUNNNNNN.” He yells it at the top of his lungs.

Suho is so loud Sieun can hear him over the bus engine, over the bustling noise of Seoul,
over everything.

Everyone else on the bus hears him too, because they're all looking straight at Sieun.

He sinks down in his seat.

Jesus.

As the bus pulls away, Suho waves, arm swinging wildly back and forth, a huge grin on his
face.

That's when the smile finally breaks free. It takes over Sieun's entire face, turning his eyes
into happy crescents, and then he's laughing because Ahn Suho is the biggest idiot he knows.

Maybe Sieun will survive this after all.

Chapter End Notes

The next chapter will be in Suho’s POV.

** if you don't know what a fredo kiss is, here's a handy excerpt from Google:
"In the Godfather, Al Pacino grabs his brother Fredo's face, gives him a long kiss on the
lips and says, "I know it was you, Fredo. You broke my heart!" The kiss is known as "Il
bacio della morte," meaning "the kiss of death." In this instance, it was to signify to
Fredo that he was marked for death for betraying his brother."
.
 cancel plans just in case you'd call
Chapter Notes
See the end of the chapter for notes

When Suho first saw Cho Sarang walk into the grill restaurant that day, he didn't feel
butterflies or ‘love at first sight,’ like in the movies.

In fact, what he felt was the complete opposite.

Suho was utterly repulsed by this girl.

Everything about her was intensely unsettling, though he could not put his finger on why.

It’s not like she was especially rude to him or anything.

The girl had asked if any tables were available, he said yes, and that was that.

She was quiet.

And pretty.

So pretty his heart thumped a little when their eyes met.

She had a pouty, pink mouth and long hair so black and shiny it looked iridescent, like a
raven's wing. But it was her gaze that shook him the most. She had these striking, dark eyes
that seemed to peer into his soul behind those wire-framed glasses.

Yet, he couldn’t shake the feeling that he was looking at a funhouse mirror.

Familiar, but distorted.

He had to ask his coworker to cover the girl's table while he pulled himself together.

Maybe repulsion was too strong a word.

Creeped out? Rattled? Something like that.

But the longer Suho stared, the more curious he became.

What was it about this girl that elicited such a strong reaction from him? Suho didn't feel
strongly about much of anything or anyone besides food and maybe Yeon Sieun.

He watched the girl study.

She flipped through her workbook with total focus. Every now and then, she’d click her pen.

Click, click.
Click, click.

No friends ever came by.

She was alone.

Right then and there, Suho had made it his mission to discover all of Cho Sarang's secrets.

He took it slow, of course.

They were just friends at first.

But he already knew he was going to ask her out. He knew she would say yes too.

On their first date, Suho takes Sarang to a new bookstore across town.

He trails behind her as she adds book after book to the stack in his arms.

When Sarang's back is turned, he sneaks two or three books he thinks Sieun would like into
the pile.

On their second date, they go to an aquarium.

Suho takes pictures of the weird-looking fish and sends them to Sieun.

On their third date, Suho invites Sarang over and kisses her for the first time.

He keeps his mind carefully blank. His eyes are squeezed shut. He doesn't twine his hands in
her long hair or touch her body. He focuses on the sensations only– the movement of her lips,
the glide of her soft skin under his fingertips, and the scent…

Her scent is all wrong.

She doesn't smell bad per se. It must be her perfume or something. But he gets the slightest
whiff of vanilla, and his stomach twists violently.

Suho barely makes it to the bathroom before he vomits.

Afterward, he washes his trembling hands with scalding hot water and rinses his mouth out
like he’s purifying himself.

He's a monk conducting a ritual cleanse before he enters the temple.

When Suho comes back to the room, Sarang looks at him like he’s a sinner.

Or maybe that's just the guilt talking.

Suho blames it on the grilled meat he's eaten a million times before. Deep down, he knows
that there's something else going on though.
He wonders if Sarang knows too.

The next time they kiss, he comes prepared. He gifts her the same shower gel that's in Sieun's
bathroom. It’s not expensive or anything. He’s pretty sure Sieun buys it from the corner store
near his house for a couple thousand won, but Suho goes borderline feral whenever he smells
it. Every time Sieun steps out of the shower with his skin still glistening, he has to swat Suho
away like a fly for the next hour.

Is it creepy behavior? Sort of, he guesses. But he just really likes that shower gel. It doesn’t
make him a criminal. And if it gets him to stop gagging whenever he kisses his girlfriend,
even better.

It's still not right though.

Suho dry heaves when Sarang goes home that day.

It's almost like the natural scent of Sarang's skin is the problem. Which doesn't make any
sense. She’s so meticulous about being clean that she changes out of her ‘outside’ clothes
before sitting on his bed, even though Suho has never cared about that sort of thing.

So why does he still feel sick whenever they get close?

When Suho dated girls in the past, it was never like this. He liked touching them, kissing
them, and even having sex with them.

But that was all before.

Before what?

Just before Sarang, he thinks firmly. He's attracted to her. That much is true. Sometimes
intensely so. When she's studying at his desk and all he can see is the slender lines of her side
profile and the graceful arch of her neck, Suho wants to kiss her so badly it physically pains
him.

But then she turns to look at him, and the desire evaporates.

It's as if he only wants her at certain angles, in certain lighting, and only briefly, like a bulb
flickering on and off.

When he comes home from karaoke, Suho is so turned on that he can't think straight.

He keeps seeing flashes of dark, bottomless eyes.

Ink-black hair curling against a soft cheek.

A low, velvety voice purring in his ear.

Around midnight, Suho can’t take it anymore.

He shoves his hand down his pants.

His half-lidded eyes land on the photo across from his bed as he jerks himself off.

Suho printed out the picture he’d taken with Sieun and Sarang and stuck it on his pinboard.
Sarang is staring straight at the camera, her expression unreadable. Suho is there too, smiling,
with his head tilted towards the other boy in the photo.

His gaze keeps straying to Sieun. Like a compass pointing north.

Suho’s breath quickens.

He remembers the warmth of Sieun’s skin pressing into him through his uniform.

The way Sieun's teeth sunk into his bottom lip when Suho pulled him close.

His hips jerk.

Suho just wants relief.

He comes rough and fast and filthy.

When the afterglow fades, he feels wretched.

The next day, he can barely look Sieun in the eye.

Later, he tells himself he just happened to glance at Sieun because he was in the same picture
as Sarang. That's all.

It doesn’t mean anything.

Over the weekend, Sieun doesn’t call or text.

It sets Suho's teeth on edge.

He's one hour into a movie date with Sarang and he's checked his phone over a dozen times.

What if Sieun knows what you did the other night?

What if he knows everything?

But no, Suho thinks. Sieun isn't a mind reader.

He must be busy studying. Or maybe his parents are in town.

And anyway, Suho didn't do anything wrong.

Sieun just happened to be there, in his line of sight.

It's fine.

“Is Sieun okay?” Sarang asks just as Suho picks up his phone again.
No new calls or texts.

He did have an Instagram notification from Youngyi though. She’d posted some photos from
their karaoke night. There’s a funny one of Suho squishing Sieun’s face. He saves it to his
gallery.

“Suho?” It's Sarang again.

Suho lifts his head but his eyes are still glued to his phone, “Hm?”

“You keep looking at your phone.” Sarang says. “Is Sieun in trouble?”

Suho’s stomach drops.

Is he that obvious?

“How did you know I was–”

Sieun’s name lights up the screen.

He doesn’t even let the first ring finish.

Suho snatches up the phone and presses it to his ear.

“Hey,” He says, “What’s up?”

Sarang raises her eyebrows.

Suho's heart skips a guilty beat. He angles away from her on the couch like that might give
him some privacy.

“Did you need something?” Sieun asks, “You called… several times.”

Five times to be exact.

Three times yesterday, and twice today.

Suho knows that if Sieun doesn’t read a message right away, he’ll check his phone at the end
of the night before he goes to bed.

Still, nothing.

“Do I have to need something to call my best friend?” Suho tries for exasperation but he just
sounds nervous, “How are you doing? Everything okay?”

A pause.

“I'm fine,” Sieun says, “How's Sarang?”

Suho looks over at her. Sarang is still looking back.

She picks up the remote, “Should I pause it?”

He shakes his head.

“You can keep watching without me. I’ll be right back.” Suho gets up and walks into the
kitchen, letting the swinging door shut behind him.

“Good. She's good,” Suho says, clearing his throat. “We're both good.”

His phone is pressed between his ear and shoulder as he turns on the faucet and starts piling
dirty dishes into the sink. He needs to do something with his hands.

Sieun is quiet.

Suho can hear him breathing.

Then a sound like a bomb going off explodes through the tiny phone speakers.

Suho drops a plate.

“What was that noise?” He asks, bewildered.

“The lineworkers,” Sieun says. “I think they’re moving the tree.”

Another burst of noise. It sounds mechanical, like a crane or a forklift or something.

“The what?” Suho thinks he hears a man shout in the background. “Why does it sound like
you’re at a construction site?”

“Hold on.”

Suho hears footsteps on floorboards, what sounds like a door opening and closing, then
silence.

“A tree fell on a powerline near my apartment,” Sieun explains, “The utility company sent a
crew out to fix it.”

Suho frowns, “How long has your power been out?”

“Not long. Two days.”

“Sieun-ah!” He exclaims. “What the hell?”

“What? I still have running water,” Sieun says, nonplussed, “It’s just dark.”

So that's why Sieun hadn't been answering his calls. He must've been trying to save his phone
battery. Relief washes over Suho in waves. His friend wasn't avoiding him.

But he was crouching in the dark cave of his apartment like Smeagol, eating hobbit bones
and doing his little math equations by firelight. Hell, the water coming out of his pipes isn’t
even hot since the electricity controls the heating too.
“You’re going to freeze to death in there,” Suho scolds, “And how are you eating without the
stove?”

“I go to the 24-hour convenience store up the road.”

Great. He’s been stuffing himself with nothing but instant ramen and kimbap for the past 48
hours. If that.

“Absolutely not,” Suho says, “You’re coming over.”

“There’s no need,” He argues, “I have a battery-powered lamp. And candles. It’s not that
bad.”

“Oh, you have a lamp? Why didn’t you say so?” Suho rolls his eyes, “The lamp changes
everything.”

“The sarcasm is unnecessary.” Sieun grumbles.

Suho hears more rustling noises. He's probably turning on that stupid lamp.

“You're sleeping at my place until your power comes back on. No negotiating.”

More silence.

“Sieun-ah?” Suho switches the phone to his other ear, “Did you hear me?”

“You know you don’t have to take care of me all the time.” He says. “I can manage just fine
on my own.”

Suho freezes.

He blinks. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“It means I don’t want you to feel like I’m your responsibility.” Sieun says tersely.

Where was this coming from? Suho doesn’t feel responsible for Sieun. He feels…well, he
doesn’t know exactly what he feels.

What he does know is if Sieun needs something, Suho will make sure he gets it.

It’s muscle memory. Like when you practice a taekwondo kick so many times you can do it
in your sleep.

There’s no thought process.

He just does it. No hesitation. No questions asked.

“Stop talking nonsense. I’m coming to pick you up,” Suho is already walking across the
kitchen to his bedroom to grab a coat, “If you’re not ready in fifteen, I’ll drag you out
myself.”
“No,” Sieun says, and the firmness in his tone gives Suho pause, “I mean, no–it’s okay. You
don’t have to pick me up.”

“Why not?” He asks impatiently.

“You’re with Sarang.” Sieun points out.

Right. He is with Sarang.

She wouldn’t mind if he ran over to Sieun’s house, right? It’s a short drive. Not even fifteen
minutes.

“I'll just…I'll come over, alright?” Sieun says, resigned, “I'm coming.”

Suho would rather pick him up himself, but fine.

It’s better than Sieun not coming at all.

“Okay,” Suho says, “Your ass better be here within the hour.”

“Yes, Dad,” Sieun sighs, “I’m on my way.”

Dad? Really?

Suho looks at the screen like he can wring Sieun’s neck through it, “Yah–”

Sieun hangs up with a click.

“The little punk hung up on me.” He mutters.

Suho stuffs his phone into his pocket and storms back into the living room. Sarang hasn’t
moved. She’s still curled up in the corner of the couch, watching the movie. The light from
the TV keeps flashing across the lens of her glasses, so he can’t see her eyes.

“That kid,” He huffs, throwing himself back on the cushion next to her, “He drives me crazy.
Who sits in the dark for two days without telling anyone? I’m going to be bald before I turn
thirty because of him.” Suho runs a hand through his hair, imagining himself with a Sieun-
induced bald spot.

He shudders.

Sarang laughs. Well, it’s not a laugh precisely. She makes this soft sound through her nose,
and her shoulders tremble a little.

It’s as close to a laugh as he’s ever heard out of her.

“What?” He says.

“Nothing,” Sarang shakes her head, “You just remind me of my friend.”

Suho’s interest is piqued. Sarang doesn’t talk about her family or friends. Until recently, their
relationship had existed in a little private bubble before he introduced her to Sieun and
Youngyi.

“We’ve been friends since the 2nd grade. She drops everything and comes running whenever
I call. Even for small things.” She says. “Once, I told her I was craving ice cream. She came
over at 2 am with two bags full because she didn’t know which flavor I wanted.”

This is the most animated Suho has ever seen Sarang. Her eyes are sparkling and her lips are
curling at the corners.

“She sounds cool,” Suho says, “How come I've never met her?”

Sarang takes a minute to think about it.

“The Sarang she knows and the Sarang you know are different.” She says finally. “That's why
you didn't tell Sieun-ssi about us, right?”

Suho sucks in a breath.

He hadn’t been able to find the words to describe the weird dissonance he felt, but yes…that
was exactly it. There were two Suhos, one for Sarang and one for Sieun. He didn’t know how
to reconcile the two. He was still trying to figure that out as we speak.

“Besides, you'd probably get along like a house on fire.” Sarang adds.

Suho snorts. He gets along with just about everyone, “What makes you say that?”

“She doesn't like anyone except for me.” Sarang's smile is secretive. Fond.

Whoever this friend is, Sarang obviously treasures her a lot.

Suho can't help but smile too.

When he realized that Sieun thought of him as a friend, no, a best friend, instead of a
nuisance that dragged him around against his will, Suho felt pure elation. It was better than
Christmas. Better than anything.

Sieun doesn’t like anyone.

But he likes Suho.

What a rare, precious gift.

“Can I ask you something?” Sarang asks hesitantly.

Suho nods, “Yeah, shoot.”

She turns around on the couch and looks him square in the face.

Her expression is so serious that Suho immediately stops smiling.

“Do you think Sieun and I look alike?” Sarang asks.

Suho recoils like she slapped him with all her strength. His cheeks burn too, as if he can still
feel the sting of her palm.

“What?” Suho stutters, “No, of course not.”

His panic makes him seem guilty. He should’ve just laughed it off. But it’s too late. Sarang’s
eyebrows have already furrowed in surprise? Confusion? Distress?

“If it's about what Youngyi said, she always jokes like that,” He says quickly, “I wouldn't pay
her any mind.”

“It's not what Youngyi said.” Sarang says. “It's the way you look at me sometimes.”

Suho is almost too afraid to ask, “How do I look at you?”

In this moment, Sarang is the bogeyman.

She’s every nightmare he’s ever had.

“Like you want something,” She says, “But you're afraid it'll never be yours. Not in this
lifetime, at least.”

It lands like a punch to the sternum. It knocks the wind out of him.

“I like you, Sarang.” Suho chokes out around the lump in his throat. He sounds like he’s
being strangled.

She doesn’t seem angry with him like a typical girlfriend would be in this situation. Sarang
just looks sad. Like she feels bad for him. He would have preferred it if she slapped him.

“Do you?” Sarang asks softly.

“I do,” He says, “I really like you, Sarang. No one else. I swear.”

She doesn’t say okay or I believe you. Just stares at him, through him, all the way to the core
of him. Suho’s the frog under her microscope.

But his insides are arranged all wrong.

Suho pulls Sarang onto his lap and kisses her desperately. He doesn’t hold back this time.

He slides his hand into her hair, tugging the ribbon free so he can tangle his fingers in the
long, thick strands.

She kisses him back.

Hesitantly at first, then with more pressure, as his tongue licks at the seam of her mouth.

Sarang’s arms come up to wrap around his neck.

He inhales the sweet vanilla scent of her skin–-she must’ve stopped using the shower gel he
bought her.

Suho’s skin is crawling.

He ignores it.

Suho runs his hands over her soft curves, her slightly flared hips, the flush of her thighs.

He feels like he’s going to be sick.

He ignores it.

Believe me, believe me, believe me.

I don’t even believe me.

Suho hears a soft sound come from behind him.

He pulls away from Sarang and turns.

Sieun is standing in the doorway, the house key pinched between his fingers.

His eyes are wide.

He’s white as a ghost.

Then he’s turning, and then he’s leaving, and it feels like there’s a hand around Suho’s heart,
squeezing and squeezing and squeezing.

Suho doesn't remember how he gets Sarang off his lap, or how he crosses the room so fast.

But he’s standing in the hallway outside his apartment, with his hand wrapped tight around
Sieun’s wrist.

“Wait,” He says, “Don’t leave.”

Sieun rips his wrist out of Suho’s grasp, “What is wrong with you?”

“I don’t know what you mean.” Suho’s lower lip trembles.

This is all wrong.

Everything is spiraling out of Suho’s control.

Sieun leans close. His black gaze is cold. Merciless. It’s the same look Suho has seen him
give the bullies at school. “Should I stay and watch you have sex with your girlfriend then? Is
that what you want?”

Suho takes a step back.

Shame burns across his face, stinging the tips of his ears.

His mouth opens, then closes.

Suho has nothing to say.

He can’t even defend himself.

At the look on Suho’s face, the anger goes out of Sieun like a deflated balloon.

Sieun swallows hard, “This is why I didn’t…”

He drags a hand over his eyes.

“We weren't having sex,” Suho says. “We were just kissing.” The clarification is important to
Suho. He doesn't know why, but it is. He sounds pathetic.

Sieun exhales. “Sorry,” He says, “I just--sorry. I shouldn’t have said that.”

“It’s okay.” Suho says.

None of this is okay.

And it’s all Suho’s fault.

“Hold on,” He touches Sieun’s hand, just a brush across his knuckles, “Don't go anywhere.”

His skin sings at the contact.

Sieun turns his head away.

Suho goes back into his apartment, but not before glancing back to make sure Sieun was still
there.

He is.

By some miracle, he is.

Sarang is right where he left her.

The ribbon is back in her hair though. She’s smoothed out the wrinkles in her top and
adjusted her glasses.

“It's fine, right?” Suho asks. “If Sieun stays.”

Sarang looks up at him.

I know who you pretend I am.

He can’t even meet her gaze. He directs the question at the floor.
“This is your house,” She says, tilting her head, “Why are you asking me?”

She sounds so much like Yeon Sieun at that moment it feels like he's standing between two
mirrors. He might’ve laughed if he wasn’t afraid he was about to projectile vomit on his
socks.

“Suho,” The Original Sieun calls from the hallway, “I'm just gonna go.”

Suho whirls, “You can't go back to that dark apartment.”

“I’ll check into a hotel.” His jaw is set. He has that stubborn look about him. Sieun would
sleep outside under a tree just to prove a point.

“Now you're just being stupid.” Suho says, exasperated.

“Stupid?” Sieun's voice rises again.

Yikes.

You can call Sieun a lot of things, but stupid is not one of them.

Suho rubs at the knot between his eyebrows, “That’s not what I meant, please just–-”

“It's fine,” Sarang cuts in, standing up from the couch, “I was just leaving anyway. It’s getting
late.” She slides her backpack straps over her shoulders and brushes past Suho to get to the
front door.

Suho knows he should ask her to stay. They didn’t even finish the movie.

But the thing is.

He doesn't want her to, he realizes with a jolt.

Now that Sieun is here, you don't need her anymore, right? The little devil on his shoulder
whispers.

It’s fucked up.

But it's true.

Suho is worse than evil.

He’s unforgivable.

Sarang turns at the door, her face blank, “I’ll see you later, Ahn Suho.”

She looks completely unaffected. Unimpressed. Unbothered.

Like the kiss never even happened.

It’s an amazing superpower.

 “Do you need me to walk you out?” Suho asks quietly.

“No.” Sarang glances at Sieun. “Stay here.”

With Sieun.

“Bye, Sieun-ssi,” She bows her head slightly, “I hope everything gets sorted out with your
apartment soon.”

Sieun nods, “Thank you. Goodbye.”

The silence Sarang leaves behind is deafening. They stand like statues, neither of them
moving or breathing.

A line was crossed just now.

Suho hadn't meant to cross it, but he did.

And there’s no going back.

Chapter End Notes

The chapter titles are lyrics from the song August by Taylor Swift.
 so much for summer love

"Why didn't you tell me about your apartment?” Suho asks finally, breaking the awkward
silence.

It’s as good a place to start as any.

Sieun scoffs, “Do we have to tell each other everything?” The question is a double-edged
sword, it’s not like you’re an open book either, Suho.

They never fight.

Sure, they argue and bicker, but they don't fight like this. With gritted teeth and clenched
fists.

Whether it was intentional or not, Suho had taken the first swing.

Now it's Sieun's move.

Suho braces himself.

Sieun exhales a slow, long breath then runs a hand through his hair. Even now, Suho can’t
help but watch the path of Sieun’s fingers tangling in the soft strands, pushing them off his
forehead.

He must have some kind of mental illness.

A really bad one too.

“Let’s start over,” Sieun says, “I’m sorry.”

Suho didn’t know what he was expecting, but it certainly wasn’t an apology.

“For what?” This was Suho's fault, not Sieun's. Sieun is an innocent bystander in all of this
mess.

“Just everything.” Sieun says quietly.

His eyes are so big and dark. They pierce straight through Suho’s heart.

There are worms in his gut, eating away at him.

He’ll be completely hollow soon.

“Me too,” Suho says, “I’m sorry. I shouldn't have…” He trails off, unable to say it.

The desperation of that moment is still coursing through his veins. Suho wasn’t desperate
with wanting, with desire; he hadn’t kissed Sarang because he was so overcome with love or
whatever. He was desperate to convince himself and her that their relationship wasn’t the
biggest mistake of his life.

So much for that.

“Kissing your girlfriend isn’t a crime,” Sieun says, shaking his head, “You didn’t do anything
wrong.”

It felt wrong. Suho didn’t get any pleasure out of the kiss and on top of that, he hurt his best
friend.

Double misery.

“But I invited you over,” He says, “I knew you were coming. That was shitty of me.”

“Yeah. It was.” Sieun admits. “You know, I’m just not used to this—sharing you.”

His voice cracks.

Suho’s heart jolts in his chest.

Sieun looks up at him through his lashes, tears glistening in his eyes. He bites down on his
lower lip, “God, I'm such a baby. Give me a second.”

The planet tilts on its axis.

Suho feels like he’s falling through space and time.

He can’t move.

He can’t even draw breath into his lungs.

Sieun scrubs his face with the heels of his hands, shoulders shuddering. He makes this little
sobbing, half-muffled noise like he’s trying to hold it in but he can’t. He just can’t.

“Sieun-ah.” Suho chokes out, horrified with himself.

His hands tremble at his sides.

This has gone too far.

I’ll break up with her.

I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry.

A long time ago, Suho swore to himself he’d never let anyone hurt Sieun. And here he is,
doing precisely that. The thing is, it isn’t even worth it.

Suho’s not having fun anymore. With this relationship, with Sarang.

But what other choice does he have?

He has nowhere else to channel this…hunger, inside him.

Suho is ravenous all the time.

Before he met Sarang, his mind kept wandering to crazy places. He couldn’t stop thinking
about his best friend. He wanted his best friend in strange ways.

But now that little gluttonous voice is quieter.

Not silent.

Not gone.

But Suho can ignore it when he’s with Sarang.

How can he tell Sieun that?

When Sieun lifts his head again, he’s smiling. It’s a bitter and embarrassed smile, and it
breaks Suho’s heart.

“It’s stupid, right? I feel like a toddler throwing a tantrum because he has a new sibling,”
Sieun says, “I can’t have you all to myself. And that’s okay.”

Suho’s eyes widen.

The hunger roars to life, rattling him down to his bones.

He had no idea Sieun felt that way. No idea that Sieun could want him like that. Selfishly,
greedily. Suho thought he was the only one.

All to myself.

Fuck.

You already have me, Suho thinks, you already have me and you don’t even know it.

“I promise I’ll be better from now on.” Sieun continues. “Will you forgive me? For what I
said earlier.”

This kid thinks Suho is mad at him.

A maniacal laugh is building up inside his chest, trying to burst free from behind his lips.

Sieun is so fucking smart, but so dense too.

It’s a mind-boggling combination.

“It's already forgotten.” Suho manages to get the words out, to make them sound normal.

Sieun hesitates, his lips trembling.

“Is it okay if I hug you?” He asks shyly. “We don’t have to, I mean, not if you don’t–”

Suho is already pulling Sieun into his arms. He holds him so tightly it must hurt. But Sieun
doesn’t complain.

Sieun sinks right into Suho, tucking himself against his chest. He fits perfectly, like a Russian
nesting doll. The crown of his head lines up with Suho’s chin, and his body molds to his like
they were made for each other.

Like they were made for this.

Suho’s heart pounds.

He wonders if Sieun can hear it.

“Are you happy with Sarang?” Sieun asks, his voice muffled by Suho’s shirt, “Tell me you're
happy.”

“I'm happy.” He tells him.

Sieun is the first to pull away, but he keeps his arms wrapped around Suho’s middle. He tips
his chin up, looking directly into his eyes like he’s searching for the truth in them.

Suho’s mouth falls open a little bit.

If Sieun asked him to go kill a man at this moment, Suho would do it.

He can’t resist him, not when he’s like this.

So pretty and soft and pleading.

His hands twitch where they’re locked around Sieun’s waist.

He wants.

“That's all that matters to me,” Sieun says firmly, almost to himself, “Let's just be Sieun and
Suho again. Like before.”

“Okay.” Suho hears himself say, “Let’s do that.”

This is good. No, great. They’re over the hump, right? Equilibrium is restored. The forces of
evil have been defeated. Etcetera, etcetera.

They pull away.

What now?

Suho picks up Sieun’s bag where he dropped it on the floor.

“How long is the power going to be out at your place?” He asks, slinging the bag over his
shoulder.
“Not sure,” Sieun replies, “The landlord said she'd call me when it was fixed.”

Suho feels like they’re characters in a play. Repeating their lines, going through the motions,
with no feeling behind them.

The energy is so weird.

Can they really return to the way they were before? To just Sieun and Suho?

Back in Suho’s room, he puts Sieun’s bag down on his bed.

“Can I take a shower?” Sieun asks.

He probably hasn't had a hot shower since the power was turned off.

“Yeah, sure,” Suho nods, “I’ll grab a towel for you.”

When the shower in the bathroom comes on, Suho busies himself with cleaning up.

He deposits any stray junk food wrappers into the bin and makes up his bed with creased
corners, just the way Halmeoni likes it.

Sieun’s probably washing his hair by now, right? Maybe he’s moved onto conditioner. His
hair is like silk.

Suho gathers all the miscellaneous articles of clothing scattered across the floor and tosses
them into the laundry basket in his closet. He takes the bobby pins off his nightstand and a
hair tie he found on the floor and shoves them into a desk drawer out of sight. He doesn't
know how Sarang has any left. He's found at least a dozen of them in his room since they
started dating.

Sieun should be rinsing off. He doesn’t take long showers.

Suho runs the vacuum cleaner.

When his carpet looks brand new again, he bends down beside the outlet to unplug the cord.

“Suho,” Sieun says from behind him, “You didn’t hear me calling you?”

He turns, “Sorry, I was…”

Suho drops the vacuum cord.

Sieun is standing in front of him with nothing on but a towel, slung low around his hips.

“Can I borrow something to sleep in?” He asks, “I thought I put some pajamas in my bag
but…” There’s a slight flush across his cheeks. His hand trails across his bare chest self-
consciously.

Suho doesn’t hear the rest of that sentence. He might as well be saying, I’m naked, I’m naked,
I’m naked because that’s the only thing he’s processing right now.
Sieun’s mouth keeps moving (Suho hears none of it), and then he shifts his feet so that the
split in the towel widens.

Bare thigh. Bare calf. A glimpse of a bare hip bone. A flat stomach that tapers down into a
sharp 'V.’

He's not as skinny as he used to be. Still slender, but his arms have more definition, and his
abdominal muscles are toned. He’s been keeping up with Suho’s strength training exercises.

And his skin is glistening, and his hair is wet, and he smells good, and, and—

“Yah,” Sieun says, eyebrows furrowed, “Are you going to give me some pants or stand there
and watch me freeze my ass off?”

Suho shakes his head like a wet dog, “Pants. Right. Okay.”

He has to tell his feet to move and his lungs to breathe as he walks over to his dresser.

Suho opens a random drawer and stares down at a pile of white athletic socks in a daze. What
is he looking for again? He can’t even remember his own name.

Sieun sighs.

He reaches past Suho, brushing his arm as he pulls open a drawer. Bare skin against bare
skin.

“It’s the second drawer from the top,” Sieun says, exasperated.

A drop of water drips from Sieun’s hair onto Suho’s neck.

It slides down his spine slowly, like the tip of a finger.

He shudders.

Suho opens his mouth to reply, but nothing comes out. He’s afraid he’s having a stroke. Isn’t
that a thing? You get locked into your brain, and you can’t move or speak? He’ll have to
communicate with blinks from now on.

One blink for yes.

Two blinks for no.

Three blinks for holy shit Sieun is half-naked in my room.

Sieun shoots him a you’re acting like a weirdo look and goes back to the bathroom.

The door doesn’t close all the way.

It’s a tiny crack, but Suho can see enough.

There’s the arch of Sieun’s spine. The soft hair at the back of his neck.
Sieun reaches down and tugs at the towel.

Suho whips around at lightning speed.

His chest is heaving like he just ran a marathon.

He pulls out his phone and immediately Googles stroke symptoms.

Numbness or weakness in the face, arm, or leg

Suho feels flushed and numb all over, not just on one side of his body. Does that still count?

Confusion or trouble speaking or understanding speech

Check.

Trouble seeing in one or both eyes

Suho has absolutely no trouble seeing. He sees way too much. That’s the problem.

Trouble walking, dizziness, or problems with balance

Check. He’s holding onto the bedpost right now because his legs feel like they will give out
at any moment.

That’s two out of three of the main symptoms.

So he's basically already a corpse. He should start drafting his will and tell his grandmother
goodbye–

“What are you looking at so intently?” Sieun hovers over Suho, damp hair tickling his cheek.
He has to stand on the tips of his toes to look over his shoulder.

Suho nearly jumps out of his socks.

“Nothing!” He insists, tucking his phone back into his pocket. “Nothing.”

He’s wearing one of Suho’s old UFC t-shirts and a pair of sweatpants he’s cuffed at the
ankles so he doesn’t trip. The shirt is big on Suho, so Sieun is swimming in it.

Suho’s heart does a triple backflip in his chest.

Sieun raises an eyebrow, “Why are you acting suspicious? Were you watching porn?”

Suho’s jaw drops.

“What? No!” He cries. “ Why would I do that when you’re here?”

Sieun walking around in a towel is pornographic enough. There’s no need for Playboy
bunnies or cam girls with him around.
Sieun shrugs, “The boys at school do it.”

“I’m not an animal.” Suho retorts. There is a group of guys that gather in the back of the
classroom to snicker at lewd videos on their phones during break time, but Suho definitely
isn’t one of them.

“Mmhm.” Sieun hums.

The sound rolls right through Suho and goes straight to his dick.

Wow.

Is he thirteen years old or what?

What’s wrong with him?

He just gets hard over absolutely nothing now?

He grabs the hoodie from off his desk and pulls it over his head.

“I really wasn’t, you know.” Suho says, discreetly tugging the hoodie down over the bulge in
his pants.

For your information, I was looking at stroke symptoms.

I think I’m having one.

Somehow, that seems crazier than a porn addiction.

“Whatever,” Sieun says, “Do you want to watch a movie? Like a normal one. Not the R-rated
kind.” His eyes have this teasing light dancing in them that makes Suho pull nervously at his
hoodie again.

“You’re not funny.” Suho says. This role reversal is unpleasant. Usually, Suho is the one
making Sieun feel nervous.

“I kind of am.” Sieun says.

They trail back into the living room and plop down on the couch. Sieun grabs the remote to
scroll through the movie suggestions.

Suho does deep breathing exercises.

Even though it’s at Suho’s expense, the joking feels good. Normal. Maybe he can do this. If
clothes stay on and certain individuals stay out of his shower, that is.

“Hey, you hungry?” Suho asks, “Halmeoni bought stuff for parfaits. They're so good. I've
eaten three already.”

“Sure,” Sieun says, “Where is she by the way?”

“She went to Busan for the weekend. Her friend is having a birthday party,” He says, “I told
her to get shit-faced drunk.”

Sieun laughs, “I can’t imagine that.”

“You’d be surprised. She was a total party animal when she was our age,” Suho grins, “I’ve
seen pictures.”

“No way.” Sieun is still laughing.

Suho feels like he’s walking on air.

He gets up and goes to the kitchen to prepare the parfaits. He dices extra strawberries and
drizzles a lot of honey on Sieun’s. He likes sweets.

They settle in and watch a crime thriller movie.

Sieun guesses who the serial killer is five minutes in.

Suho insists he’s wrong.

An hour later, Sieun is proven right.

This is fun.

Why can’t things be this easy all of the time?

Sieun has eaten everything except for the layer of fruit at the bottom of his parfait.

“How come you never finish your food?” Suho says, picking up the cup. “You need to eat
more if you want to bulk up.”

On the other hand, if Sieun gains any more muscle mass, Suho is going to need a lobotomy.

He scoops the fruit up with Sieun’s spoon and pops it into his mouth. Sooo good. He could
eat three more. Suho tries not to think about the fact this spoon has been in Sieun’s mouth
too.

“Because it's your favorite,” Sieun doesn’t take his eyes off the TV screen. “You always say
the last bite is the best part.”

On the TV, a woman is getting chased through the woods.

The killer is right behind her.

She trips.

Suho’s heart trips over itself too.

Sieun always leaves the last bite of food on his plate. At restaurants, he pushes his mostly
finished plate over to Suho, and at street vendors, he’ll hand the last fish cake skewer or
mouthful of tteokbokki to him before they leave.

Suho thought he was just full.

Suddenly, he feels like crying.

Suho is a shit friend.

Sieun is always thinking of him.

And what does Suho do in return?

Make him cry.

He puts the cup down and lays his head on Sieun's lap, cheek squished against his knee.

“Why are you getting so comfortable?” Sieun says, “Are you a lap dog?”

Suho’s whole body relaxes. He stops clenching his jaw, the tension drops from his shoulders
and arms, even his eyebrows un-furrow.

“I'm tired.” Suho says. He’s actually exhausted. He doesn't want to fight this anymore. His
eyes sting. He squeezes them closed, pressing his face into Sieun's thigh.

Sieun's voice softens, “Are you okay?”

“Yeah.” He lies. “I've been working a lot of night shifts.”

Sieun rests his hand on Suho’s back, right between his shoulder blades. He doesn’t stroke his
hair or anything, even though Suho sort of wishes he would.

But the warm pressure of his palm is enough.

Suho falls asleep almost instantly.

It's a deep, restful sleep.

He doesn't dream.

When he wakes up, blue light is spilling into the living room from the window. It must be the
blue hour. Everything is bathed in that hazy blue light, blurring Suho’s vision at the corners.

The TV is off.

He can hear the soft sounds of Sieun sleeping above him.

Suho slowly turns over so he can look at Sieun properly.

Sieun’s head is dropped down, chin touching his chest, long lashes fanned out against his
high cheekbones. He’s going to get a crick in his neck sleeping like that. He should’ve woken
Suho up, but at least he has a rare opportunity to gawk.
Suho doesn’t remember the last time he got an unobstructed view of Sieun's face. Especially
so close. His hair is usually in his eyes or he turns away when he catches Suho looking.

Youngyi might be right. Sieun and Sarang do look a little similar.

It's the eyes and the lips. Maybe the slope of their jaws.

But no one is quite like the original.

Suho would know Sieun in a pitch-black room, full of a million look-alikes.

He'd know him anywhere.

He reaches up and pushes Sieun’s hair out of his face. The damp strands flop back over his
forehead again. Suho smiles.

How is it possible to be sad and happy at once? To want something, even though you know in
your bones it can never be yours? It’s a total oxymoron.

At least, not in this lifetime, Sarang’s voice echoes in his head.

Maybe in the next, Suho thinks miserably, Or the one after that.

Sieun stirs awake.

His eyes look blue-black in this light too.

“Want to sleep?” Suho whispers.

Sieun’s face is close. He can see the tiny, nearly invisible mole on his chin, and the individual
strokes of his eyelashes.

“Already sleeping.” Sieun murmurs.

When he's sleepy like this, he's so silly and cute.

It makes Suho’s chest feel warm.

“I mean in bed, you goofball.” Suho says.

Sieun nods.

Suho has to haul Sieun off the couch and lead him back to his bedroom so he won’t stumble
into any walls.

Sieun wastes no time slipping under the covers. He smacks his lips a little and smushes his
face into the pillow with a sleepy sigh.

The fondness Suho feels in this moment is so overwhelming it’s almost punitive.

This is a biblical punishment.

A greek tragedy.

Suho is chained to a rock, getting his eyes plucked out by crows for an eternity.

Suho slips into bed next to him. Close but not too close.

“Sieun-ah.” He touches the other boy’s arm with a shaking hand.

Sieun’s eyelids flutter open, “Hm?”

“I miss you.” Suho says.

He hadn’t planned on saying that.

Hadn’t really planned on saying anything, now that he thought about it, but now it’s out in the
open. He can’t take it back.

“What?” Sieun’s eyebrows furrow, “I'm right here.”

“I still miss you.” Suho says softly.

Sieun makes a face like he’s being unreasonable, “What do you want me to do about that?
Should I sew our ribs together or something?” They’re both whispering, even though there’s
no one else in the apartment.

Suho likes the sound of that, “Yes.”

He might get some damn peace for once.

Sieun snorts, “Okay.”

Suho inches a little closer.

Sieun inches back.

Their legs touch under the covers.

Sieun’s eyelids fall close again.

Suho hesitates for a second. Then he shifts forward to bury his face in Sieun's neck, breathing
in the sleep-sweet scent of his skin. He’s always the one who takes it a step too far, but he
can’t help it.

“You're so clingy today.” Sieun grumbles, curling a hand in the material of Suho’s hoodie. He
doesn’t pull Suho closer, but he doesn’t push him away either.

Suho takes a little more.

He slides his right hand across the other boy’s torso, over the bumps of his ribcage, resting
against the small of his back. His pinky finger sits right where Sieun's t-shirt has ridden up,
touching a sliver of bare skin.
Suho is a boy on fire.

“You love it though.” He whispers.

A pause.

This is it.

Sieun will tell him to get off.

“I do.” Sieun whispers back.

Suho’s blood sings.

Finally, he slips his entire hand under Sieun’s shirt. His skin is warm and smooth.

He traces little patterns with the tips of his fingers.

Circles.

Stars.

His name.

Sieun lets him.

Suho wants more.

He angles his head, nudging his nose into Sieun's neck again.

He's so good right here.

Soft and sweet.

He wants to sink his teeth into Sieun’s flesh, lick the marrow from his bones, and devour him
whole.

Maybe if he got his fill, just once, he'd feel better. Satiated. Like a wolf licking his fangs
clean.

Suho pulls him closer.

“Are you sure you're alright?” Sieun asks. “You're not getting sick, are you?”

Suho stills.

“I don't know,” He whispers, “Maybe I'm coming down with something.”

Sieun’s hand comes up to rest against his forehead. He compares the temperature to his own,
frowning slightly. “You do feel a little warm.”
Probably because Suho is blushing massively. He's thankful for the darkness.

Suho plays along though, “What if it's serious? You'll have no choice but to take care of me.”

“ No choice, huh?” Sieun's smile is a flash in the darkness. “Poor baby.”

Baby.

Suho might really eat him alive.

Ahn Suho the teenage cannibal.

He’ll be on national news.

Halmeoni will be horrified.

“Stop teasing.” He doesn’t sound like himself. He sounds hoarse, his voice deep and raw.

“Or what?” Sieun looks unphased, but there’s a challenging twinkle in his eye.

That's a great question.

Suho is pondering his answer when Sieun yelps. Suho had accidentally grazed his side with
his hand.

Sieun claps a hand over his mouth, his eyes wide.

Suho arches an eyebrow.

"Sieun-ah…" He cocks his head, "Are you ticklish?"

"What? No." Sieun attempts to squirm away, but Suho's hands tighten around his hips,
pinning him in place on the mattress.

The expression on his face is priceless. Like a cornered animal with nowhere to go.

And it’s all mine, Suho thinks. No one else has seen him like this.

"Was it here?" Suho’s hand presses against Sieun's belly.

“I'm sorry, okay?” He’s already laughing and Suho hasn’t even found the sweet spot yet, “I
won't tease you anymore. Please, just–”

“Or here?” Suho's hand slides experimentally to his other side, long fingers grazing just
underneath his ribcage.

Sieun bites down on his lip and jerks away, one hand flying out to grasp at Suho's bicep.

He grins, "Found it."

"Suho –”
But it’s too late.

Sieun burst into fits of uncontrollable giggles. Suho didn't think Sieun could giggle. He
thought it was a biological impossibility. But the laughter tumbles out of him, bounces in the
air, soars in Suho’s eardrums.

“Stop, stop,” He's gasping around bursts of laughter, prying at Suho’s fingers, “Please. I give
up. I give up.”

Suho stops.

Sieun’s laughter winds down to breathless panting.

Now they're just looking at each other, his hands still on Sieun's waist.

Everything is blue. Sieun’s eyes, his hair, his lips.

The bluest blue.

“I hate you." Sieun huffs.

“I don’t think that’s true.” Suho is out of breath too.

“It is.” He says. “I really, really hate you.”

The air between them is so charged it might catch fire.

Suho lets the tension trickle out, and trail to nothing. Then he flops onto the mattress next to
him, hand clenching at the bed sheets.

“Let's go somewhere tomorrow.” Suho says to the ceiling fan.

He’s still trying to get his heart rate under control.

“With Sarang?” Sieun asks.

It's like the other boy threw a glass of ice-cold water in his face.

The enormity of what Suho just did over the last ten minutes washes over him.

He has a girlfriend. Named Sarang.

You can share a bed with your friend.

You can cuddle with them and play around with them.

There’s no harm in it, as long as your intentions are pure.

Sieun obviously sees it that way.

Suho should too.

“No, I want it to be just me and you.” Suho says, glancing over at him.

Sieun’s eyebrows go up, “Where to?”

“Anywhere.” He says.

“Okay,” Sieun smiles, “Let's go anywhere.”

The next day, they ride just about every rollercoaster in the amusement park. They get on the
biggest ride three times back to back. Suho throws his arms up and screams. Sieun sits next
to him in silence with this tremulous little smile on his face. When they get off, Suho says,
“Yah. Tell me if you’re not having fun. You don’t have to pretend and force that creepy
smile.”

“Are you kidding?” Sieun says. “I’m having so much fun. That’s my having fun face. Should
we go again?”

He sounds like a giddy little kid.

Suho laughs so hard his stomach hurts.

Next, he squeezes Sieun into a photo booth.

It’s a tight fit.

Those things aren’t meant for two teenage boys, even when one is pocket-sized.

“Why do you like taking pictures so much?” Sieun asks.

“I want to remember everything.” Suho tells him.

They each get a strip of photos.

Suho tucks his deep in his pocket for safekeeping.

They eat their weight in cotton candy and overpriced carnival food. The miniature doughnuts
are Sieun’s favorite. He stuffs his cheeks full and gets powdered sugar all over his lips.

On the Ferris wheel, Sieun clings to Suho like a startled cat up a tree.

When the cart swings in the wind, he goes right for Suho's hand, interlacing their fingers.

Suho is so surprised he almost pulls his hand away.

Sieun isn’t the type to initiate physical contact.

Well, maybe if he was on his deathbed.

Or if Suho was on his deathbed.

“I hate this thing,” Sieun says, “I hate it.”

“You love rollercoasters but you're afraid of a little Ferris wheel ride? You’re a funny guy,
Yeon Sieun.” Suho is secretly grateful for this irrational fear of his.

He might never get to hold Sieun’s hand again.

“I don't like how slow it is.” He says through gritted teeth. “What's it taking so long for?
What if we get stuck up here?”

“You're supposed to be enjoying the view. Ever heard of the scenic route?” He waves his free
hand at the carnival below them. “And think of it this way. If we get stuck, at least we'll die
up here together.” Suho cracks up at that.

Sieun glares at him, “That's not funny.”

The ride creaks.

“Why is it making that noise?” Sieun crushes Suho’s hand and nearly climbs onto his lap,
“Make it stop.”

Suho laughs.

He’s pretty sure his finger bones are jelly by now. His insides feel like jelly too.

He doesn't miss Sarang.

Doesn't even think about her once.

Back on the ground, Sieun wobbles away from the cart. He’s still gripping Suho’s hand for
dear life. Suho doesn’t pull away.

“Are you okay?” He asks, “You look green.”

Sieun all but collapses to the ground, dragging Suho with him.

“I just need to sit for a minute. Touch some fucking grass.” Sieun says. “God, I love the
ground.” With his free hand, he waves his palm over the grass.

Suho cackles.

He loves this kid.

He strokes his thumb over Sieun's knuckles.

Sieun lets him.

He doesn’t look at Suho though. He’s scanning the noisy crowd around them.

“Hey, isn't that Sarang over there?” Sieun asks.

Suho freezes again.

He doesn’t want to turn and look, but he does anyway.

Two girls are standing in line for the goldfish toss. One is wearing a backward baseball cap,
and the other one has her hair pulled back with a black ribbon. Her glasses catch the sunlight.
Lots of girls wear glasses and put ribbons in their hair. Could be anyone.

“I don't think so.” Suho says.

“No, it's her.” Sieun drops Suho's hand.

It feels like losing a limb.

He squints.

It is Sarang.

Suho thinks about just walking in the other direction. But Sieun is watching him.

“Let's go say hi.” He says.

Suho’s day of playing pretend is over.

He owes Sarang an apology anyway.

Even if he got on his knees and begged, it still wouldn’t be enough.

“Cho Sarang,” Suho says, “Fancy meeting you here.”

Sarang turns.

The girl next to her spins around too.

“Suho,” Sarang’s eyes are wide behind her glasses, “What are you doing here?”

“Just hanging out with Sieun.” He says, hooking a thumb over his shoulder.

Sieun is hovering a short distance away, pretending to be interested in a lamppost. You can
always count on him to act natural.

“I see.” She says.

Suho’s gaze flickers away awkwardly, “Hey, do you mind if we talk–”

“Sarang,” The girl next to her tilts her head, obviously sizing him up, “Who’s this asshole?”

“Kim Hyejin.” Sarang scolds. “Be nice.”

“I'm being perfectly nice.” Kim Hyejin says. “I’m asking who he is.”

Suho raises his eyebrows.

He hadn’t even realized they were together.

The two girls look like polar opposites.

Underneath the baseball cap, Hyejin has short, chin-length hair and choppy bangs like she cut
them herself. She's wearing loose-fitting joggers and the kind of taekwondo team jacket you
earn in a national tournament. Her mouth is stained cherry red from the lollipop bulging
inside her cheek. She looks like she should be shaking some poor kid down for money, not
hanging around a studious girl like Sarang.

“This is my boyfriend,” Sarang flushes, “Ahn Suho. Remember the picture I showed you?”

“Oh. Right.” Hyejin gives him another once over then pops the sucker out of her mouth. “I
don’t like you.”

Sarang covers her face.

“Wow,” Suho huffs out a laugh, “It's nice to meet you too.”

Suho is thoroughly entertained.

He’s never had someone dislike him instantly before. Except, there was that one boy who
threw a chair at him in the classroom when they first met. He’s an outlier though.

Hyejin folds her arms across her chest, “Can you fight?”

“Why?” Suho grins, “Do you want to fight me?”

“You guys, please…” Sarang looks like she’s about to stand in between them, but there’s no
bite in Suho’s words at least. He’s having fun.

“I might.” Hyejin surges on. “You know I'm Sarang's #1, right?”

Sarang makes an embarrassed noise under her breath.

“Oh, sure.” He replies easily. “That's already been established. You don’t have to worry.”

“As long as you know your place,” Hyejin says primly. “We won’t have any problems.”

Jesus. Sarang was right. This girl doesn’t like anyone except for her.

Everyone else be damned.

Hyejin suddenly points her lollipop over Suho's shoulder, “Wait. Who's that cutie hiding
behind you though?”

The smile melts off Suho's face like ice cream in July.

Sieun is holding onto the back of Suho’s coat, still looking vaguely green from the Ferris
wheel ride. He blinks and looks around when he realizes Hyejin is staring directly at him.
The adorable motherfucker.
“Are you talking about me?” Sieun points at himself, bewildered.

Hyejin bursts out laughing.

“You're just my type,” She says with a huge grin on her face, “We're going to have a lot of
fun.”

Sieun is a deer caught in headlights.

A blush creeps up his neck and spreads across his cheeks.

The ever-stoic Yeon Sieun is turning the color of pink lemonade.

Suho grinds his teeth so hard he swears he feels a back molar crack.

Correction: Hyejin doesn't like anyone except for Sarang…and Sieun?

Okay, maybe he doesn't like Kim Hyejin either.

 cause you weren't mine to lose

“Hey, why don’t we all go back to my place for drinks and card games?” Hyejin says. “We
can hang out and get to know each other. It’ll be fun.”

Hyejin hasn’t taken her eyes off Sieun.

Suho shifts a little to the right, half blocking him from Hyejin’s view.

Sieun can't stop staring either.

The resemblance is uncanny.

From the mischievous spark in her eyes to the slope of her nose and jaw, even the cadence of
her voice--

Kim Hyejin is Ahn Suho’s doppelganger.

Sieun knows he's standing right next to Suho, but he glances up at him anyway.

Suho is already looking back.

Sieun's breath catches in his throat.

His gaze is burning.

“Maybe next time. I have work tonight so I should get home and rest,” Suho smiles but it’s
all teeth, “And Sieun has an English test to study for.”

This is a lie.

Suho called off from work so they could go to the amusement park.

And Sieun doesn’t have an English test tomorrow.

Shouldn't he want to hang out with his girlfriend? Is he holding back because Sieun is here?
The last thing he wants is for Suho to feel like he needs to choose between him and Sarang.
Sieun already decided he wouldn’t let his feelings stand in the way of their relationship again.
He’s going to be the supportive best friend, even if it kills him.

Sieun would rather have a part of Suho than nothing at all.

“I don't need to study,” Sieun says tentatively, his eyes flickering to Sarang, “And card games
sound fun.”

Sarang’s mouth presses into a thin line.

She’s probably still mad about what happened yesterday.

He can’t blame her.

When it’s just Sieun and Suho, it’s easy to pretend that Sarang doesn’t exist.

But now she’s here, and Sieun can barely look at her.

He’s a coward through and through.

Hyejin tosses her lollipop stick into a nearby trashcan.

“Great!” She says brightly, completely oblivious to the weird tension in the air, “Sieun will
come with us, and Suho can go back to whatever hole he crawled out of.” She whirls around
to face Sarang, “Is that cool with you?”

This is not cool with Sieun. The only reason he agreed to this hang-out was because he
thought Suho was coming too.

Sarang shrugs, “Sure. I’m tired of rollercoasters anyway.” She looks up at Suho over the rim
of her glasses, “Don’t work too hard, okay?”

Suho doesn’t respond. He just stands there, with his hands shoved deep into the pockets of
his jacket, his jaw clenching.

Sieun is starting to sweat. He can’t shake the feeling that he’s in trouble, like a
Kindergartener about to get sent to timeout.

Hyejin grabs Sarang’s hand then reaches for Sieun’s, “Come on, my house isn't far from here,
Sieun-ah.”

The sudden touch is a shock to Sieun’s nervous system. He jerks his hand away but Hyejin is
fast. She interlocks their fingers and starts pulling both him and Sarang towards the exit.

Everything is happening so fast. He doesn’t want to be stuck with Suho’s girlfriend and
Suho’s shadow clone for the whole evening.

That sounds like his own personal hell.

Sieun tries to pull his hand free, “Yah–”

“I'm coming too.” Suho appears beside Sieun. He casually hooks his arm around his
shoulders, pulling him in close. The proximity makes his head swim. He feels like he’s on
that Ferris wheel again.

“You're really comfortable with someone you just met, don't you think?” The stare Suho
levels in Hyejin’s direction could melt bone.

He's acting so weird.

“You don't mind, do you Sieun-ah?” Hyejin asks, eyebrows raised.

Sieun shakes his head. He doesn't care either way.

The arm around Sieun’s shoulders tightens.

Hyejin’s house isn't a house at all.

It’s a tiny room on the third floor of a run-down gosiwon. The room is just big enough for a
bed, a desk, and some storage space for her clothes. There’s a tiny, dirty window above the
bed that lets in a sliver of watery sunlight.

“Mi casa es su casa or whatever,” Hyejin tosses her jacket and baseball cap down on her bed,
“Make yourself at home.” Sarang waltzes in behind her, plopping down in the desk chair.

Sieun is about to step over the threshold when Hyejin throws her hand out, her palm flat
against his chest. She’s very touchy. Just like Suho.

“Watch your step, cutie,” She says, “There's a hole in the floor. I fell into it last week and
fucked up my ankle.”

Sieun looks down.

A fist-sized crevice is punched into the creaky floorboards.

“The landlady keeps saying she’ll fix it, but I think I’ll just buy some wood and do it myself.”
She explains, “It's a serious hazard, you know what I mean?”

Sieun nods and steps over the hole.

Suho follows close behind, his hand a warm pressure on Sieun's lower back.

Suho might as well be touching his bare skin. His hand burns through two layers of clothes,
his fingertips like match points against the small of Sieun’s back.

Once they're in the room, he moves away.

Sieun doesn't need help walking. He isn't a little kid.

Hyejin claps a hand over his shoulder, “You can help me make the food and carry the drinks.”

“Okay.” Sieun says. He needs some space anyway. Suho wouldn’t let Sieun go the entire
walk here. He felt like he’d been wearing an extremely heavy, pouty-faced backpack.

“I can help.” Sarang and Suho say it at the same time. It’s the first time Sieun has seen them
so in sync.

“No need,” Hyejin waves her hand. “I have to talk to Sieun about something in private.”

Suho scoffs, “Like what? You just met.”

“It’s none of your business.” She says with a secretive smile. “You and Sarang can enjoy each
other’s company while we’re gone.”
Sarang and Suho glance at each other.

Sieun's stomach lurches.

He thinks he's seen enough of those two ‘enjoying each other's company’ to last him a
lifetime.

Suho starts, “But–”

“It’s fine,” Sieun interrupts, “I’ll be right back.”

Suho seems like he’s about to protest again, but Sieun is already turning to follow Hyejin out
the door.

Sieun smells the communal kitchen before he sees it. The scent of mold and burnt sesame oil
stings his nostrils. Like Hyejin’s room, it isn’t much to look at. There’s a bucket sitting in the
middle of the floor to catch the water leaking from the ceiling and the walls are a sickly
yellow from years of accumulated cigarette smoke. There must’ve been a fire because the tile
above the stove is burned black.

Hyejin bustles around the space with ease. She grabs a pot and three bags of spicy ramyeon
from the cupboard, then twists the knob on the old gas stove. When it doesn’t light, she twists
it again, curses, then lights it with a match.

“What did you want to talk about?” Sieun asks.

“Oh, nothing,” Hyejin snorts, “I just wanted to mess with Suho. He’s sort of possessive of
you, isn’t he? I thought he was going to bite my head off at the amusement park.”

So she noticed that too.

Sieun tugs at the collar of his shirt.

He doesn’t know what to say so he doesn’t say anything.

“I’m craving budae jjigae,” Hyejin says, “I’ll make the paste, you can start cutting up the
ingredients.”

Sieun is glad to be assigned a task. His mind is buzzing and he needs to channel that energy
into something useful.

They work in silence.

By the time Sieun is done dicing half the ingredients, Hyejin has already made the paste and
diced the rest of the spring onion, spam, and sausages with an expert hand, the knife coming
down in fast, neat bursts.

Cut, cut, cut, cut.

Sieun tosses the ramyeon and American cheese into the pot once the water has boiled.
Suho likes to come over and make dinner at his apartment sometimes. Sieun isn’t much help,
but the other boy doesn't seem to mind. Even when he accidentally cuts all the vegetables
into different sizes or burns the food despite standing right next to the stove, Suho just laughs
and they start over from the beginning.

Sieun feels a lump forming in his throat.

“You live here by yourself?” Sieun asks, clearing his throat.

“Yeah,” Hyejin says, “My mom skipped town when I was born and my old man kicked me
out last year.” She says it like it doesn’t mean anything to her, but Sieun knows it does.

All children want to have a connection with their parents. Even when they’re shitty.
Especially when they’re shitty. But when you’re abandoned enough times, you learn to give
up. You learn to shrug and say, it is what it is.

“See this scar?” Hyejin pushes her bangs off her forehead. “Dad liked to hit me when he was
drunk and I got sick of it.”

The scar is a jagged slash of raised skin that didn’t heal properly. She probably needed
stitches but never got them. Sieun’s heart thumps with sympathy.

“I knocked his front teeth out and never looked back,” Hyejin says, “Sarang's parents let me
stay with them until I found this place.” She gestures at the kitchen with her knife, “It’s not
much but…”

Behind them, a drop of water falls from the ceiling and hits the bucket with a metallic ping.

“It's yours.” Sieun says.

Hyejin smiles, “Exactly.”

Sieun and Suho had talked about the same thing, once.

After graduation, they'd find a cheap apartment somewhere in Seoul, hopefully near Sieun's
university. Suho might go to school too, if Sieun can convince him. He's smart when he
applies himself.

It's all smoke and mirrors of course, but the idea of it…having something that's theirs, that no
one can take from them--Sieun dreamed about it often.

Seeing Suho sleep-soft and rumpled in the mornings, his hair sticking up like question marks.

Coming home in the evenings and Suho is there to welcome him back.

Maybe he’s making dinner or watching TV or asleep in bed, snoring away.

Maybe, maybe, maybe.

Suho will probably want to find a place with Sarang now.

That's what couples do.

Sieun’s eyes sting. The chili peppers from the stew must be getting to him.

“Ahn Suho,” Hyejin says hesitantly, “He's a good guy, right?”

“Yes.” Sieun is caught off guard by the question, but his answer is automatic. He is sure of
nothing else, but that.

“And Sarang is happy?”

Sieun swallows hard, “I don't really know her that well.”

“I can tell you’re a smart guy,” Hyejin says, nudging him, “Give me an educated guess.”
There’s a hint of desperation in her voice, but she does a good job suppressing it.

Sieun gets an unwanted flashback of Sarang on Suho’s lap, her mouth on his, his hand
entwined in her hair.

Sieun had asked Suho the same question, tell me you’re happy.

I’m happy, Suho squeezed him so tight it hurt.

“They seem happy.” He says quietly.

Hyejin nods.

The stew boils away. A bit of broth pops onto the stovetop. It’s almost ready.

“I confessed a few months ago.” She says. “To Sarang.”

At the look on Sieun’s face, Hyejin barks out a startled laugh, “Sorry, I don’t know why I’m
telling you all these things. You must be freaked out, huh?”

“No, it's okay,” Sieun says quickly. He has one of those faces that invite strangers to tell him
their business. Store clerks and random ajummas on the street do it all the time.

He doesn’t know why his heart is pounding.

Hyejin confessed to Sarang.

A girl confessed to another girl.

“She rejected me. Obviously.” Hyejin says. “Well, it wasn't exactly a rejection. She just kind
of stared at me.”

She grabs a greasy rag and starts wiping at the spilled soup on the counter, “I ended up
panicking and told her to forget about it. A week later, she tells me she’s dating some mystery
man.” The stain is gone, but Hyejin keeps wiping with a white-knuckled grip on the rag.

“Your man,” She corrects, glancing at him, “Ahn Suho.”

“He’s not my man.” Sieun says, exasperated.

Hyejin laughs, “Does he know that?”

Sieun makes a strangled noise of protest in the back of his throat.

“I’m joking, I’m joking,” Hyejin is still laughing, “You’re so easy to tease.”

He pauses and tries to word his next question carefully.

“Why do you think she didn’t give you a response?” Sieun asks. “Sarang, I mean.”

“I don't think she cares about me being bisexual or anything like that,” Hyejin says casually,
“I probably caught her off guard. We’ve been friends for so long, you know?”

She turns off the gas stove. Her shaking hands betray her true feelings. Hyejin is terrified.
She can get over Sarang not returning her feelings. That much is obvious. But if Sarang
stopped being friends with her because she liked girls, it would crush her. It is crushing her,
Sieun realizes with a jolt. The not knowing. The wondering.

Sieun thinks of Suho without meaning to.

His heart is being eaten alive by wolves.

“I just want her to be happy. She used to get bullied a lot when we were younger,” Hyejin
continues, “She was always so sickly and quiet. I got into a lot of fights. I was suspended a
lot too.”

When she lifts her head to look at Sieun, her eyes are blazing. He sees a bit of Ahn Suho in
that fire.

“I'd kill for Sarang.” Hyejin says. “Maim, torture, whatever. There's no line when it comes to
her. Do you understand?” It comes out like a threat, but Sieun knows it isn’t directed at him.
It could be though, if Sieun ever wanted to hurt Sarang.

He nods.

Sieun understands that better than anyone.

She holds his gaze for another second, then turns to the pot, “The stew is ready. Let’s go
back.”

Hyejin insists on carrying the stew herself since Sieun has ‘cute little noodle arms.’ He’s on
soju and snack duty.

When they get to Hyejin’s room, Sieun knocks loudly on the door with his knuckles. Hyejin
shoots him a confused look. He doesn’t think Suho is the type to start furiously making out
with his girlfriend in someone else’s room, but it’s best to spare poor Hyejin the nightmares
in case he is.
Suho opens the door.

Inside the room, Sarang is still sitting at the desk with a book open on her lap.

It doesn’t seem like they were even talking, much less having an impromptu make-out
session. Thank God.

“Why did you take so long?” Suho’s whole face is creased up in a frown, “I was about to go
look for you.” He takes the bottles of soju and snacks out of Sieun’s arms. Does he have
separation anxiety or something? Sieun was only gone twenty minutes.

“We were having crazy hot sex in the broom closet,” Hyejin says without missing a beat,
“Sorry for the wait.”

Suho’s face turns beet red.

“It's a joke, oppa,” Sarang tells him, “She’s just joking.”

Sieun sighs and sits down on the floor.

One Suho is already too much for Sieun to handle sometimes.

Two of them make him feel like he’s overdosing on some very strong, very illegal drugs.

Sarang takes the food stand out from underneath the bed and Hyejin sets the pot of stew on
top of it. They arrange a few pillows on the floor as makeshift chairs. Sieun sits between
Suho and Hyejin, and Sarang takes the seat on Hyejin’s other side.

They dig into the food with vigor.

Sieun had been dreading this, but it’s nice-–eating with friends. If Sarang and Hyejin can be
called that.

“Try the ramyeon, Sieun-ah,” Hyejin says, “It’s the best part.”

She holds out her chopsticks towards him, noodles dangling.

Sieun opens his mouth.

He’s so used to Suho feeding him that he does it without hesitation now.

Sieun suddenly feels a hand on his shoulder, then he’s being moved aside and Hyejin’s
chopsticks slide right into Suho’s awaiting mouth.

“Wah,” He says, chewing with gusto, “That hits the spot.”

“That wasn’t for you!” Hyejin cries.

“It's spicy,” Suho replies with a smug look on his face, “Sieun doesn't eat spicy food.”
Why is Suho treating him like such a baby today? He had filled Sieun’s bowl with soup and
even picked out the mushrooms for him. When Sieun reached for a beer, Suho grabbed it and
opened the can. It was starting to annoy him.

Sieun picks up his chopsticks, “I’ll try it.”

Next to him, Suho does that teeth-grinding thing again. He should really see a dentist about
that before it becomes a bad habit.

He gathers a huge mouthful of noodles and stuffs it past his lips.

Hyejin grins, “It's good, right?”

Sieun nods. He actually hates it. It's way too spicy.

“Cute.” Hyejin chuffs Sieun under his chin like a well-behaved cat.

Sieun blinks.

“Your face is turning red.” Sarang observes.

She’s staring at him from across the table. She jabs at her tofu, piercing it straight through the
middle. Sieun imagines one of her chopsticks going through his eye like that. He holds back a
shudder. That’s his own guilty conscience talking. Sarang is a sweet girl. She would never.

Right?

Sarang is still looking at Sieun like she’s waiting for an answer.

“It’s hot.” He says honestly. His mouth is burning.

“I told you so,” Suho says, “Spit it out.” He holds his hand out, palm up, in front of Sieun’s
mouth.

Sieun stares at him.

“I'm not spitting my half-chewed food into your hand,” He says, “What's wrong with you?”

Suho shrugs, “A little spit never hurt anyone.”

After they finish with the stew, Hyejin suggests they play a tournament of war to kick off
their card game night. Hyejin loses almost immediately and Suho follows shortly after.

That leaves Sarang and Sieun. They sit opposite each other with their legs crossed, the cards
splayed out in front of them. They each flip cards, one by one.

“Wow, you're neck and neck.” Hyejin says.

They both pull the same card: two of hearts.

“It's war.” Sarang says.

Sarang flips her last card.

Ten of Spades.

Sieun flips his.

Ace of Hearts.

He wins.

“Sieun takes all.” Sarang says. “As always.”

As always.

The words stab into him like tiny needles.

Sarang’s expression is completely neutral, but she’s re-shuffling the cards with harsh, quick
movements. Sieun can’t be making this up. Sarang is mad at him.

She has every right to be, but it still makes his chest feel tight. He moves away from Suho,
closer to Hyejin, just for good measure.

The night goes on.

They drink and drink and drink.

Sarang is good at rummy. Sieun wins poker twice. Hyejin and Suho have bad poker faces. He
can tell what they're thinking from a single glance. When Suho has a good hand, he'll bite his
lower lip to stop himself from grinning. When he has a bad hand, he'll squirm in his seat with
this little furrow in between his eyebrows.

It's really cute, Sieun thinks, but cute or not, he still demolishes Suho every time.

All’s fair in love and war, and a good strategist uses everything to his advantage.

They play a round of Uno that gets so heated Hyejin swipes all the cards off the table when
Suho lays down another draw four.

“DRAW FOUR? REALLY? AGAIN? YOU CHEATING SON OF A BITCH.” Hyejin yells.

“HOW DID I CHEAT WHEN YOU SHUFFLED THE CARDS?” Suho shouts back,
wagging his finger at her. “AND QUIT CALLING ME A BITCH.”

Sarang has to restrain Hyejin from climbing across the table.

Sieun lowers Suho's pointed finger, “Calm down, Suho-yah.”

The fight goes out of him immediately. Suho huffs and slumps down, laying a head on
Sieun's shoulder.
“I swear I didn't cheat,” He mumbles into Sieun's neck. “I won fair and square. You believe
me, don't you?”

“I believe you.” Sieun pats his head. “You did a good job.”

The only way to deal with Drunk Suho is to baby him.

Suho preens at the praise. His cheeks are flushed red and the hair at the back of his neck is
damp with sweat. Uno is obviously a very physical sport.

“Can I have a chip?” Suho asks, indicating the bag of Poca Chips next to Sieun's foot.

Sieun feeds him a chip.

Suho chews with his head still tucked into Sieun's neck. He can feel the other boy's lips
brushing against his skin. It sends shivers all up and down his spine.

After Suho’s had a few more chips and head pats, Sieun deems it safe to extract himself from
his grip and help pick up the scattered Uno cards.

Sarang and Sieun unilaterally decide that's enough card games for the night.

Sarang puts a romance drama on the TV and they sit at the foot of the bed with their backs
leaned against it.

“Romcoms calm Hyejin down.” Sarang explains.

Hyejin is completely engrossed in the TV like a toddler watching cartoons.

Suho flops into Sieun's lap.

“Pat my head.” When Suho’s drunk, he talks in pout and tries to order Sieun around.

Sieun shoots him a look that says, you're pushing it.

“Please,” He pleads, “I think I'm getting a headache.”

Sieun relents and runs a hand through Suho’s hair. The effect is instantaneous.

Suho’s eyes fall close and his feet start swinging a little.

It's ridiculous.

Suho is ridiculous.

Sieun’s chest feels so warm.

Every time Sieun stops stroking his hair, Suho will move his hand back to the crown of his
head to encourage him to keep going. Sometimes Sieun will stop on purpose, just to see if
he’ll do it again.
A few days ago, this sort of casual physical affection would have bothered Sieun. But this is
the way Ahn Suho loves his friends. Sieun likes spending time with Suho, and Suho likes it
when Sieun touches him this way.

Sieun is always the one who overthinks and misunderstands. He’s the one who feels too
much, the one who complicates things and reads into Suho’s actions like they’re a complex
math problem. But Suho isn’t a math problem.

There’s nothing to figure out.

Sieun is just an idiot.

Still, he can’t help but sneak guilty glances in Sarang’s direction.

Sieun has no idea what a normal amount of skinship is for couples. He just knows that Suho
hasn’t touched Sarang all night. They’ve maybe said ten words to each other, and they were
all about the card games.

Sieun suppresses the burst of sick glee he feels, biting down on the inside of his cheek so he
doesn’t smile. Suho isn’t choosing him over Sarang. He shouldn't want Suho to choose him.

Sieun takes his hand out of Suho’s hair. The other boy’s eyes are still closed and his breath
escapes his parted lips in soft puffs. He’s asleep. Just like that. There must be a dose of
Benadryl in Sieun’s lap because it's the second time Suho has fallen asleep in this position.

Sieun's eyes stray to his mouth again.

Suho’s lips look so soft. Sieun imagines himself tracing the delicate outline with the tip of his
finger.

"You have nice eyelashes." Hyejin says, startling Sieun out of his reverie.

She isn’t watching her romance drama anymore. She’s looking at him with that drunken,
unfocused gleam in her eyes.

Sieun knows he wasn’t doing anything wrong, but he still feels a wave of shame wash over
him.

“Your eyelashes,” She repeats herself, pointing at her eye, “They’re so pretty.”

Sieun stares at her, uncomprehending. He has no idea what differentiates a ‘pretty’ eyelash
from an ‘ugly’ one. His are way too long and they're constantly getting in his eyes.

Hyejin sighs, "Boys always get the good stuff and then you don't even appreciate what you
have. Right, Sarang?”

Sarang ignores her, “Don't you think Sieun and I look similar?”

This again.
Sieun feels his blood turn to an icy slush in his veins.

“What?” Hyejin frowns, “No way.”

“Here, try on my glasses.” Before Sieun can protest, Sarang is already slipping her glasses
onto his face. She opens the front camera on her phone and hands it to him.

Sieun blinks at the screen, his gaze trailing over his familiar features.

Then he looks up at Sarang, staring back at him like a perfect mirror.

Okay, now he sees it.

He has Sarang's face, right down to the cupid's bow, just like Youngyi said. Or maybe Sarang
has his face. Either way, he can't catch his breath. He looks down at Suho, still fast asleep like
an innocent little cherub in his lap.

Sieun wants to shake him awake. How could he even look at Sarang without immediately
thinking of Sieun–much less kiss and hug her? Have they had sex? No, he can't go down that
route. The visual is too much.

Suho is either blind or crazy. Maybe a little bit of both.

He has a Yeon Sieun fetish, Youngyi’s voice slithers into his ears.

“Wait. I totally see it now. That's so creepy.” Hyejin says, shuddering. “I just got chills.”

Sarang seems satisfied with this reaction, “Should we dress up as twins for Halloween,
Sieun-ssi? You know, like the ones from The Shining.”

Sieun pretends he knows what that is and nods. But he's still looking at his reflection in
Sarang's camera. The gears in his brain are turning, and he doesn’t like the direction they’re
taking him.

“Come and play with us Suho, come and play with us…forever and ever.” Sarang’s laugh is
wicked.

She’s drunk, Sieun realizes. Like really drunk.

“Sounds like a dream, not a nightmare,” Hyejin says wistfully. “Think about it. Two Sarangs.
Or Two Sieuns. There’s a whole genre for that. Imagine the amount of money you could
make.”

“Gross.” Sarang giggles.

Sieun isn’t drunk enough for this conversation. These girls are unhinged. How can Sarang
joke about this so casually? Her boyfriend's best friend could pass as her twin brother.

Sarang leans over and nudges Suho, "Don't you agree?"

Suho peels open an eye, "With what?"

"Stop pretending you’re asleep,” She says, “Don't you think Sieun is pretty?”

Sieun looks at Suho.

Suho looks back, his gaze dark and a little dreamy from sleep.

Sieun's face prickles with heat under Suho's intense scrutiny. Who are you thinking of right
now? Me or Cho Sarang?

He holds his breath.

Suho stares for so long that Sieun thinks he won’t say anything at all. Then he reaches up,
taking the glasses off of Sieun’s face. An answer to Sieun’s silent question.

“So pretty,” Suho says softly, “Like a flower boy.”

Sieun’s pulse thunders in his ears.

Flower boy.

He's had enough.

Sieun shoves Suho off his lap and crawls to his feet.

“Sieun-ah.” Suho says. “Wait.”

Sieun jumped up way too fast. The room is spinning.

"Hey, where are you going?" Hyejin says, catching at his pants leg.

Anywhere but here.

“Bathroom.” Sieun mumbles.

He can feel Suho's eyes on him.

“Oh, okay,” She says, “Before you go, listen to me closely.”

Sieun turns around.

“Gradually turn on the hot water at the sink or you’ll get third-degree burns. The guy down
the hall has skin grafts now,” She says, her voice grave, “When you flush the toilet you have
to hold down the handle for five seconds, but no longer than six or you'll flood the bathroom
with sewage.”

Sieun pauses as his brain computes all of this new information.

“Got it?” Hyejin says.

“Skin grafts and sewage got it,” Sieun says.

He wrenches open the door and stumbles into the hallway. The walls are so thin he can hear
the girls' voices through the door. He starts walking towards the shared bathroom.

“Hyejin-ah, you really need to move out.” He hears Sarang say.

“What can I do? The rent is cheap.” Hyejin replies. “Plus, the landlady gives me free boiled
eggs.”

“You shouldn’t eat those,” Sarang scolds, “They’re always rotten.”

Their voices trail off, too distant for Sieun to make out.

Sieun doesn’t bother with the hot water. He turns on the cold water and splashes it into his
face, rubbing some over the back of his neck to cool himself down.

If Sieun were a girl, would he be the one dating Suho right now?

It all comes down to an accident of biology. A random blip in genetics decided Sieun was
born a boy and Sarang a girl.

And yet.

He closes his eyes.

Maybe Sieun is drunk.

Why is he thinking like this?

Sieun turns toward one of the stalls.

There’s a dingy black sock tied around the handle. The lock doesn’t latch either. He guesses
that’s what the sock is for.

When he finishes up in the stall (he held the handle down for precisely five seconds), he
nearly walks directly into Suho.

He must’ve come in while the toilet was flushing. It sounded like a roaring waterfall.

Sieun tries to step around him, but Suho moves in front of him. When it happens again, Sieun
sighs, “What are you doing?”

"I need to talk to you." Suho says.

Sieun takes a step back, "You can't wait two minutes for me to take a piss?”

"It's important." He insists.

Suho takes a step forward. Sieun backs up again. Now they’re standing in the stall.
Suho closes the door behind them. For privacy, Sieun guesses. But how private is a public
bathroom, anyway?

His breath quickens.

"What I said in the room," Suho says. "I didn't mean it as an insult. Kkonminam. It’s a term
for pretty boys. Like idols and actors, you know? And you have plenty of masculine traits
too–"

"Suho,” Sieun snaps, “The point, please."

He’d rather not hear how pretty and feminine Suho thinks he is. Not now.

“There's no point, I guess." He says, shuffling his feet, “I just didn't want you to take it the
wrong way."

Sieun tilts his head, "How else should I have taken it?"

There's a dare hidden in those words. A fist cocked back, ready to strike.

Suho’s eyes snap to Sieun's.

Pretty, like a flower. Pretty, like a girl. Pretty, like Sarang.

Pretty, pretty, pretty.

Not for the first time, Sieun considers punching him. It would feel good for a moment. The
kiss of Suho’s mouth against his knuckles. And then he’d hate himself until the day he died.

"I don't know." Suho says.

A beat of silence. A door opens and closes somewhere in the hall. Whoever it is could walk
into the bathroom at any moment and see two pairs of sneakers under the stall instead of one.

"Hyejin seems to like you a lot." Suho adds. "Do you like her?"

Sieun shrugs, "She's nice."

"But do you like her?" Suho presses.

Sieun thinks about his answer. He still tastes beer on his tongue, “Yeah.”

He does like her. Hyejin. How could he not? He has an unbearable soft spot for loud-mouthed
idiots. A spot so soft it bruises like overripe fruit.

Suho stiffens. Then nods. “Are you going to ask her out?”

Sieun stares at him. What's his angle? Is this some kind of test? Is he making fun of him?

“Are we playing 20 questions in a bathroom stall?” He asks blankly. “Move.”

Suho doesn’t move an inch, “I was just wondering.”

He wets his lips with a dart of his tongue, and Sieun tracks the movement with his eyes.

“Why?” Sieun asks, “Am I not allowed to?”

“It’s just-–it’s weird,” Suho shakes his head, “I can’t imagine it.”

Sieun clenches his fists so hard he can feel his nails digging into his palms.

“You can’t imagine me doing what?” His voice bounces off the bathroom tile, “Dating
girls?”

He knows he shouldn’t have said it. It’s too close to the truth, but he's hurt. Maybe he wants
Suho to hurt too.

“Sieun-ah,” Suho’s eyes widen, “That’s not what I meant.”

What are they doing? This conversation is so unlike them. There’s a crackle of tension in the
air, beating between them like a heartbeat.

“Forget it,” He says quickly, “Can I leave now?”

Suho looks like he’s about to step aside, but then his eyebrows go up like he just thought of a
great idea. Which means it's the worst idea ever thought of by a human being in the history of
mankind.

“Hmm,” Suho taps his chin, making a big show of thinking about it, “What will you give me
in return?”

Sieun doesn’t have time for his silly antics, “What?”

He suddenly feels claustrophobic.

Suho is so close.

“If you want something, you have to give something away,” Suho continues, “Equal
exchange. It’s economics 101, right?”

Sieun sighs.

Suho thinks he’s so funny. He probably wants him to do some stupid favor like clean his
room or help him with deliveries.

Sieun can play too.

Because this is all just a game to Suho, right?

Push, pull. Sweet, sour.

That's their dynamic.

Fine.

Sieun takes a step closer. Now they’re chest to chest.

"What do you want, Suho-yah?" He asks in a low voice, peering up at the other boy through
his lashes.

Sieun swears Suho’s eyes skip down to his lips, "Hm?”

His hands come up to rest on Suho’s shoulders.

“Tell me what you want,” Sieun says. “I’ll give it to you.”

Suho’s mouth parts in surprise.

He watches Suho’s Adam’s apple bob up and down. Sieun thinks about pressing his mouth
there. He wonders what his skin would taste like or if Suho would make a noise when he did
it. He’ll call it a scientist’s curiosity. A hypothesis that must be tested by experimentation and
observation.

Suho's voice is hoarse, “Sieun-ah--”

All of his defenses are down.

It’s Sieun’s chance.

Sieun pushes the door open and shoves Suho through it with a huff. Suho stumbles and
regains his balance, his expression a mask of betrayal.

“Yah!” He says, pointing at him, “You cheated!”

Sieun rolls his eyes.

Hyejin is standing in front of one of the sinks, gradually turning on the faucet for the hot
water.

“What are you two doing?” She only sounds mildly interested and not at all surprised they
were in the same stall.

It didn’t seem like she overheard their conversation.

“I told you I had to use the bathroom.” Suho says gruffly.

“Together? With Sieun-ah?” Hyejin raises an eyebrow. “Do you hold each other's junk too?”

“Obviously,” Suho says. “How else are we supposed to go?”

Sieun pushes by him and walks to the sink. His skin is still tingling all over. It turns out he's
not so good at playing Suho's little games.
“Boys are so weird,” Hyejin says, shaking her head. “Hurry back. We’re going to play truth
or dare."
 but I can see us lost in the memory

Tell me what you want, Suho's mind is still scrambled. I'll give it to you.

His eyes stray back to Sieun walking beside him. ‘Walking’ might not be the most accurate
word. Sieun is swaying back and forth, knocking into Suho’s shoulder like a pendulum as
they make their way back to Hyejin’s room.

“It's getting late,” Suho says in a low voice, “Do you want to go home? I know truth or dare
isn't your thing.”

“I'll play the game.” Sieun mumbles.

The other boy’s face is flushed, like cherry blossoms blooming out of season. Even the back
of his neck is pink. Suho has never seen Sieun truly drunk. A little buzzed, sure, and even
then he just dozed on Suho’s bed, curled up like a cat.

But this Sieun.

The shiny, glazed-over look in his eyes.

His hair, a tumble of black silk, still damp from the sink water.

And the splotchy blush coloring his skin from his collarbones to his scalp.

He doesn’t want Hyejin to see him like this.

Suho looks in the girl's direction. She’s walking way ahead of them, whistling a jingle from
some annoying infomercial.

He takes the chance to slide his hand along Sieun's nape, his fingers running over the flushed
skin. His skin is soft. And hot to the touch. Suho’s chest tightens.

“Are you sure, Sieun-ah?” His voice comes out rough as he swallows against the dryness of
his throat, “You seem tired. I'll make an excuse.”

Sieun makes a noncommittal noise.

Sieun's social battery gets drained easily, especially when he’s around strangers for long
periods. Suho wants to go home. Badly. He's already thinking about turning up the space
heater in his room and slipping under the covers next to Sieun. Maybe he'll let Suho pull him
close, like last time.

Suho strokes his hand up Sieun's neck into the back of his hair, tangling his fingers in the soft
strands. He has a strong urge to bite his neck again, right where his pulse point is. Suho is
convinced he’s turning into a vampire.
Sieun shivers like he's cold, “I'm fine.”

He probably wants to spend more time with Kim Hyejin. The thought rankles so badly Suho
has to squeeze his eyes shut to center himself.

Why does she act so familiar with Sieun anyway? Touching him and talking to him like
they’re close. And Sieun just lets her. It annoys the hell out of Suho.

We were having crazy hot sex in a broom closet.

You're just my type.

Cutie.

Sieun-ah. Suho's eye twitches. He had to earn that, you know. Sieun would’ve thrown another
chair at Suho if he talked so familiarly when they first met. He put in the work, steadily
peeling back the hard layers of Yeon Sieun to get to his gooey, warm center. But Hyejin gets
to bypass the chair-throwing? The feral cat looks? How’s that fair?

Maybe it's different for Hyejin, he thinks bitterly. Because she's a girl.

Sieun has never talked about girls or dating before. Suho figured he just wasn’t interested in
that sort of thing and that was just fine with him. He liked it when it was just him and Sieun.

It hadn’t occurred to him that their dynamic might change one day; that someone else could
squeeze their way into Sieun’s warm heart. But it was Suho who changed their dynamic in
the first place. It was Suho who believed he could have his cake and eat it too. And why
couldn't he? Who doesn't love cake? Suho just really, really hates sharing this particular
dessert. It was his first.

Back at Hyejin’s room, Sarang is waiting in front of the door with her arms folded over her
chest. Her gaze lingers on Suho's fingers still curled in the back of Sieun's hair, thumb
stroking lazy circles across his nape.

Suho drops his hand.

To be frank, Suho was so preoccupied with Sieun and Hyejin that he kept forgetting Sarang
was there. Which wasn’t fair of him. He still needs to apologize for kicking her out of the
house the other day. He needs to apologize for a lot of things.

“Why are you standing out here? Is that weird smell back?” Hyejin sighs, “Another raccoon
must’ve got stuck in the air ducts.” She looks up like she can see through the ceiling into the
vents, “I'll tell the landlady.”

“Actually, I need to talk to Suho,” Sarang says, “Do you mind?”

Suho is about to answer when he realizes she isn’t talking to him. Sarang is staring at Sieun
like she’s asking him for permission.
The energy shifts. It’s strange. Tense. Awkward. Even Hyejin has stopped running her mouth
about the stupid raccoon. Suho doesn’t know what to make of Sarang’s question. It feels
pointed, like the tip of a knife hovering just over his skin.

“You’re asking me if I mind?” Sieun says, eyebrows furrowing.

Sarang nods.

Sieun cast a glance in Suho’s direction. A part of him wants Sieun to reply yes, I do mind.
Just to see what happens next. But Sieun is looking directly at him when he says, “He’s all
yours.”

Suho’s stomach drops.

Hyejin slings an arm around Sieun’s shoulders, easy and familiar, “What’s up with that? Are
you his handler or something?”

Sieun doesn’t say anything. He doesn't shrug her off either.

A swell of irritation rises in Suho, red hot and tempestuous.

“Maybe he needs one. He looks like he bites,” Hyejin smirks, “Should we get him a collar
from the pet store?” She leans in, so close Sieun can probably feel her breath on his cheek,
“Maybe a muzzle and a matching leash too?”

Suho knows it isn't true. But it feels like he's the odd one out. Like Sieun and Hyejin already
have this fun little inside joke at his expense.

Suho’s nostrils flare, “You know what—”

“What?” Hyejin’s grin widens.

“Suho.”

There’s something about the tone of Sarang’s voice that gives him pause. A snappy mother
talking to her unruly child.

He looks back at her.

Sarang is already walking down the hallway without checking to see if he's behind her,
ponytail flicking back and forth like an agitated cat’s tail.

“I’ll be back.” Suho huffs this to Sieun, but it's Hyejin who gives him a salute to her brow
and another cheeky grin.

“Good luck, boss.” She says.

Sieun stares at some distant point over Suho’s shoulder, eyes glassy and half-lidded.
Completely shit-faced. He obviously shouldn't be left alone with just anyone.
Suho sighs and starts jogging to catch up to Sarang, who’s already disappearing around a
spiral staircase at the other end of the hallway. The faster they talk, the faster he'll get back to
Sieun.

Suho follows her up two flights of stairs. He sees another swish of her ponytail before she
slips through a door at the top of the steps. The chase reminds him of Alice going after the
white rabbit. Always out of reach, just out of sight.

On the other side of the door, Suho is greeted by a cramped rooftop space and a cutting wind
that slices through his thin shirt. He navigates around a pile of broken furniture, stepping over
wooden beams and sheets of metal, to join Sarang at the railing.

“What did you want to talk about?” Suho asks.

He waits a beat, then another, but Sarang doesn't respond. Her head is half turned away,
glasses reflecting the street lights.

The silence stretches on for so long it makes him squirm. Right. That apology.

“Look, I’m really sorry about what happened at my place,” Suho says, scratching the back of
his neck, “It was a weird situation. Sieun’s power went out and I didn’t want him sleeping in
the cold, you know?” When Sarang makes no indication she heard him at all, he clears his
throat, “He doesn’t take care of himself the way he should, so I worry a lot. I hope I didn’t
make you feel uncomfortable.”

His words hang in the air, flimsy and transparent.

Sarang is still silent.

Suho shifts his weight from foot to foot, trying to keep warm. He turns his attention to the
view.

At this height, Seoul is a glittering ocean of blue and white light. He thinks he can see Sieun’s
apartment building from here. Or maybe that’s just his eyes playing tricks on him. He’s
always looking for Sieun in the quiet space between one breath and another.

“Sarang?” Suho says.

Sarang finally turns her head to look at him, the black ribbon in her hair snapping around her
head like a whip, “I've been watching you all night.”

Suho doesn't know what to say to that.

“You’re acting like a toddler,” She continues. “Huffing and puffing and throwing a tantrum
just because Sieun isn't paying attention to you.” She says this with no emotion, like she’s
observing the behavior of a particularly stupid rat in a science experiment.

Oh.
Suho opens his mouth, then clamps it shut. ‘ Hyejin started it ’ was about to slip past his lips.
Toddler behavior. But it's true. If it weren't for Hyejin, he'd be perfectly fucking civil. A
perfect fucking gentleman. But he really can’t stand her.

“Do you know why you get upset when Hyejin flirts with Sieun?” She asks, her voice calm
and even, “Do you know why you're always distracted when you're with me? Do you know
why you follow him around like a lost puppy dog?”

His mind has drawn a complete blank.

Cho Sarang is staring at Suho with the patience of a schoolteacher but her hand is stuck wrist
deep in his chest, stretching past the bones and gore to hold his heart in her palm.

The wind howls.

“I don’t understand,” He feels his whole body growing hot, despite the chill in the air. Sweat
beads at his hairline and sticks his shirt to his back. “Why are you asking me that? If I hurt
you, I’m sorry but I don’t get what you’re trying to–”

“You’re in love with him.” Sarang says. “I've known it for a while now, but I think you
should know too.”

Suho stops breathing.

Sarang has ripped his heart out in a spray of blood. Only he can see it pulsating in her
clenched fist, red and grotesque.

He thinks of Sieun, sitting at his desk. Sieun, clearing the chalkboard after school. Sieun, in
the warm golden light of a summer afternoon. An unbearable wave of fondness washes over
him, but it feels a lot like drowning. A lot like dying.

“He's my best friend,” Suho says thickly, throat working, “Of course I love him.”

This is all a misunderstanding. He’s always loved Sieun. That was never a question. But
this…what Sarang is saying–

“You need to come to your senses,” She shakes her head, “Or you're going to end up hurting
him.”

He bites the inside of his cheek so hard he tastes blood, “Sarang.”

It's not Sarang, I love you and only you.

It's Sarang, stop talking.

It’s Sarang, why are you doing this to me?

Her voice rises a notch, “I don't know if you like boys or if you just like Sieun, but I'm not
him.”
Suho is Sieun-sexual. It's hilarious. He lets out a derisive laugh, “This is ridiculous. Sieun
and I–we've been through a lot together. You might not be able to understand our
relationship, and I don't expect you to, but you can't just stand here and accuse me of–of–”

Of being gay. It sounds so fucking stupid, like something a middle schooler would say, so he
just stands there, jaw flexing.

Sarang takes a step towards him, then another step, causing Suho to bump into the broken
bed frame behind him. Something falls and crashes to the floor with a metallic clang.

“Ahn Suho,” Sarang says, “Look at me. Really look at me.”

Suho looks, breathing loudly through his nose, hands clenched at his sides.

Now that he's looking, really looking at her, he doesn’t see Yeon Sieun at all. Sieun doesn't
have a mole on his cheek. Sieun's hair isn't this long. Sieun’s eyes—those aren’t his eyes. He
looks at Cho Sarang and feels nothing. Hollowed out, like a felled tree.

Sarang gets so close he can feel the warmth of her body, pressing against his, “No matter how
many excuses you make or how many lies you tell yourself, I'll never be Yeon Sieun.”

He smells that vanilla scent again, feels his stomach turn over.

“I know.” Suho barely spits it out without gagging.

She's right about one thing. Sieun would never treat him like this, like he's some fucked up
science experiment to pick apart and examine. Sieun just gets it. He gets Suho. He should've
never went out with Sarang, this was a mistake—

“You don't even like me.” Sarang's voice trembles. “You like the shadow of him you see in
me. You think it's enough, but what about years from now? A shadow is still a shadow.” She
steps away and Suho takes a full breath, “I won't always move like him. I won't always talk
like him. Eventually, you’ll resent me for it.”

Suho thinks he already does. The agitation. The sensation like his skin is crawling every time
she doesn't understand an inside joke or when he looks at her and can't find Sieun looking
back. It felt like she was betraying him. A mirror that wouldn’t reflect properly. A marionette
doll that wouldn’t obey the flick of his fingers.

The wind is stinging his eyes. He can barely keep them open. Suho has never felt so small.
And this girl is five feet tall on a good day.

“If you still don’t believe me, answer these questions and I’ll leave you alone, I promise,”
She says, “What's my favorite food? And my favorite movie? What kind of music do I
like?”

Suho's throat tightens. Exasperated, he says, “What does this have to do with–”

“Just give me an answer.”

Fine. If it'll make her stop talking nonsense.

“You like sweets.” He says quietly. “And horror movies. And rock music.”

Sarang smiles, “I like spicy food more. Rock music is too loud. It hurts my ears. And horror
films give me nightmares. But let me guess–” She tilts her head, “Yeon Sieun has a sweet
tooth? Yeon Sieun likes rock music. Yeon Sieun likes horror movies.”

Yes, yes, and yes. Suho stands deathly still. The sky is careening overhead, a swirl of silver
stars spinning away from him. He tries to take another breath, but his lungs won’t let him. He
tries to think of something to say, but he can’t do that either.

“What are you going to do when he finds someone else?” Sarang’s chin wobbles, “He won't
always be there waiting for you to make up your mind, you know. When he moves on, it’ll be
too late.” She looks away and clasps her hands tight in front of her, “It might already be too
late.”

They’re both thinking of Hyejin.

Sarang returns Suho's dissected heart, placing the mangled remains in his palms. He doesn't
want it anymore.

“I just thought you should know,” She repeats, “Hyejin wants to play truth or dare, so that's
what we're going to do. Understand?”

Suho seems to have little choice in the matter. He's too stunned to protest.

“Yes–” He nods. “Yes.”

He nearly said yes ma'am.

That's how badly he's been scolded.

Suho isn't a person. He’s a ghost floating above his own body, watching himself walk back
down the stairs and follow Sarang across the hall to Hyejin’s room.

Sieun’s forehead creases immediately upon seeing Suho’s face.

You're in love with him. Suho wears it like a scarlet letter. Sieun can see it. So can Hyejin.
Apparently everyone can, except for him. He takes his seat next to Sieun on the floor.

“Did you have a lovers spat?” Hyejin’s cheery voice is a jarring crackle of noise in Suho’s
ears, “Sarang can be scary when she's mad.”

Scary? Sarang isn't scary. She's fucking terrifying.

“Something like that.” Sarang says, reaching up to adjust the ribbon in her hair.

Sieun moves towards him, an incremental shift across the carpet, but Suho notices it. Of
course he does. According to Sarang, Suho is so head over heels for Yeon Sieun he would
notice if a single hair on his pretty head was out of place.

Sieun's pinky finger grazes the edge of Suho's hand, you okay?

They don't have to talk or look at each other. Suho knows how Sieun feels, just by being in
the same room as him. It's always been this way. Even at the start. Suho ignores the touch, his
jaw set.

Another brush of fingers, this time across his knuckles, to catch his attention, Suho?

His skin tingles at the contact.

Suho stuffs his hand into his lap, out of reach.

A pause.

He can feel Sieun looking at him.

Then he moves away. Another incremental shift.

Sarang is watching.

See, her gaze taunts him, I'm right.

“Are we still playing truth or dare? Or should we call it a night?” Hyejin asks, looking
between the two of them.

“Sure,” Sarang shrugs, “I’m in. What about you, oppa?”

Suho looks at her across the table.

She looks back, a silent challenge.

He should walk out. Suho doesn’t have to play this game with Sarang. He can leave Hyejin
behind and Sieun too, if that’s what he wanted. Suho could just keep walking, and walking,
and walking until his feet won't carry him anymore. But that would be like giving up,
wouldn’t it? Like proving Sarang right. Besides, he could never leave Sieun behind.

“I’ll play.” Suho hears himself say.

“Great,” Hyejin says, “Sarang, you go first.”

Suho grabs a bottle of soju and fills his shot glass to the rim. Throws it down his throat, then
fills another and drinks that too. He closes his eyes. A moment of peace before the storm
cloud bursts over his head. Here it comes. Cut off your left arm or your right arm? Admit
something outrageous, or do something outrageous?

“Suho.” Sarang says. “Truth or dare?”

He wipes his mouth with the back of his shirt sleeve, “Dare.”
“I dare you to kiss Sieun.”

The silence stretches out like a late afternoon shadow.

Next to him, Sieun makes an audible swallowing noise.

A punishment and a challenge, all in one.

Suho pours another glass of soju. Glug, glug, glug. He doesn't drink it. Just stares at it. His
fingers are trembling too bad anyway. He won't be able to lift the cup without spilling liquor
all over himself.

“Sarang,” Hyejin says, “You’re drunk.”

“So what? I’m drunk. You’re drunk. He’s drunk.” She waves her hand in Suho’s direction,
“What’s your point?”

“Still…” Hyejin trails off.

“Go on. We're waiting.” Sarang says, looking at him, “Your girlfriend gives you permission.
It'll be fun.”

Kissing a boy isn't the issue, especially when it comes to a silly game like truth or dare. If it
were anyone else, Suho wouldn't think twice about it. There are no stakes here. You do it for
the laughs then move on. But this isn't some guy he met at a party. It’s Sieun.

“It's okay,” Sieun says softly, “It doesn't mean anything. You were going to do it before,
remember? By the Han River.”

“That was different,” Suho says it all in one whoosh of breath.

“How is it different?” Sarang asks. “That was a joke, and this is a game, right?”

It's different because he knew Sieun would resist him at the riverside. He never would've
kissed him for real. Sarang knows that.

“Let's do it.” Sieun insists. “Just this once. We're friends. We'll laugh about it later.”

Sieun has already put two and two together. Sarang is testing him. Even now, Sieun is trying
to save his pathetic excuse for a relationship. He's put more work into trying to keep them
together than Suho ever has.

Suho could kiss him. Just this once, as he said. He might even get it out of his system. It
could be a funny story they tell in a bar, years down the line. Hey, do you remember that time
we kissed?

Suho looks Sieun in the eye for the first time since he came back from the rooftop, “You're
okay with this?”
A million emotions flicker behind Sieun’s eyes. Anticipation mixed with a dash of anxiety.
Fear, fatigue, desire. Or maybe that’s just Suho staring at his own reflection in his pupils.

Sieun holds his gaze, “It's you, so it's fine.”

Suho winces. Sieun trusts him completely. Like a loyal dog with a bad owner.

He just has to prove a point. To Sarang. To himself. This isn't a kiss. A kiss is romantic. It's
skin touching skin.

“Okay,” Suho says, “Okay, okay.”

Suho lets Sieun come to him. He inches across the carpet again, clothes rustling, until their
knees touch. It would be awkward to reach across their laps. So Suho separates his legs and
Sieun moves into the circle of them. It's all very practical. Like rehearsing a dance. Every
limb must be in the right place.

Suho can feel the weight of Sarang’s eyes on him. Hyejin is startled speechless. The only
noise in the room is the sound of the radiator hissing in the corner.

Suho lifts his hands and cups Sieun's face.

His best friend. He's all flowers and soft skin, dark eyes and bitten pink lips.

His cheeks are fever-warm under his palms. The hungry monster inside Suho roars to life,
Sieun will let you do anything to him. He didn't know he had that power until now.

Suho leans in, angling his face so their lips line up.

Sieun screws his eyes closed and scrunches his nose like he's bracing himself for a punch
instead of a kiss. A punch would probably hurt less.

Suho huffs out a laugh under his breath.

Just get it over with, he thinks. Let's end this.

Suho feels Sieun's shaky breath feather across his mouth. A slender hand floats up to grasp
the long sleeve of Suho's shirt, fingertips brushing his bare wrist bone, light as a feather.

It's okay, the touch says, I'm okay.

Suho's eyes burn.

It's too much.

He can't do this. Not to Sieun. Not with Sieun.

At the last moment, Suho turns Sieun's face and places a soft kiss on his jaw.

Somehow, this is worse than a chaste kiss on the lips. It's the way he cradles Sieun's face
gently like he's made of glass. It's the lingering brush of his mouth on his skin.
It's a confession in and of itself.

Suho pulls away.

Sieun's eyes stay closed for another moment, lashes fanned against his high cheekbones. Like
he's waiting for more, or maybe he's savoring it. The last bite of something sweet before it's
all gone.

Suho's chest aches with longing.

Sieun's eyelids flutter open. A butterfly taking flight.

Their eyes meet.

His pulse leaps at his throat.

“This is stupid,” He hears how dazed he sounds, just from a little kiss like that, “I'm not
going to–”

“Why not?” Sarang asks, her voice softening.

“I don't want to.” Suho lies through his teeth. “Is that a good enough reason for you?”

Sarang won. But she shows no sign of victory or satisfaction. She just looks tired. "Suho--"

“For God's sake, I'll kiss him.” Hyejin huffs.

It all happens so fast.

Hyejin turns Sieun’s face– his Sieun – and presses her mouth flush against his.

Sarang makes a noise like she's dying.

Sieun's eyes go wide.

Suho isn't breathing.

The exhale of surprise Sieun makes, the cherry blossom blush of his cheeks, Hyejin’s hand
on his shoulder.

It only lasts a few seconds.

Sieun doesn't even have a chance to close his eyes.

But those seconds might as well be hours.

Hyejin pulls away.

Suho hasn’t blinked once.

“What do you think?” Hyejin asks with that infuriating grin on her face.
Sieun stares at her like his brain is rebooting. He brushes his lower lip with the edge of his
thumb, contemplating.

Maybe Suho is dying too.

“Cherries.” Sieun says.

“Oh, that’s my chapstick.” Hyejin laughs.

The logical part of Suho's brain knows she was probably trying to diffuse an awkward
situation–a situation she doesn't even understand–but something inside his head snaps.

He doesn't remember standing up or hauling Sieun to his feet by the scruff of his shirt.

“I think that's enough for tonight.” Suho grits out, “We're leaving.”

He doesn't remember ripping Sieun's coat off the peg on the wall or bending down to shove
Sieun's socked feet into his sneakers.

“So soon?” Hyejin complains, “It’s not even late.”

It's very late. Long past midnight. And Suho can't bear to look at her right now, much less
occupy the same room for a second longer.

“Goodbye girls,” He says, tying Sieun's laces with a rough jerk of his fingers, “Say goodbye,
Sieun.”

“Goodbye.” Sieun repeats, baffled.

Hyejin waves.

Sarang shoves her hand down.

It's freezing outside the gosiwon. He left his coat behind, but Suho's blood is pumping so
hard and fast it doesn't matter. Suho has already dragged Sieun halfway down the street when
he yanks his wrist away, “I can walk by myself.”

“Are you sure about that?” He retorts, “How do I know you won't run off and kiss some other
random girl on the street?”

“I didn't kiss her. She kissed me.” Sieun says petulantly. “What was I supposed to do?”

Suho flounders for an answer that won't make him sound bat shit crazy, “I don't know. Be
Sieun. Push her away and tell her to fuck off. Anything but sit there and take it.”

He glares at Suho with that stubborn, insolent look in his eyes. “Why do you care who I kiss?
Am I your girlfriend too?”

Suho laughs and drags a hand down his face. This kid is driving him insane. Completely
fucking bonkers. He’s about to lose it. No, he already lost it in Hyejin’s bedroom.
“She’s just some girl,” Suho snaps, “She isn’t right for you.” It sounds wrong. Ugly and
jealous and not at all what he meant to say.

“Hyejin isn't some girl,” The delivery fumbles between Sieun’s lips, “She's… Hyejin.”

What Sieun means is, she's as close to you as I'll ever get. But Suho doesn't hear that. All he
hears is I like her better. All he can see is Sieun's mouth, smeared red with Hyejin’s cherry
chapstick.

“So what, you're in love with her now?” He hisses.

Sieun shrugs, “I might be. Maybe I’ll write a poem about it.”

Little drunk asshole. Suho knows he’s doing this just to piss him off. It’s working too.

“No, I’ll write two poems,” He says, “And a song.”

“Yah. Yeon Sieun. Stop fucking with me.” Blood roars in Suho’s ears. He grits his teeth so
hard his jaw aches.

Sieun’s eyes shimmer, “I’ll sing it for her myself. You'll hold the boombox, obviously.
Youngyi will be the ring bearer at the wedding. And you can be our court jester. You have to
wear a stupid hat and dance a little jig for us. Where should we honeymoon? Maybe Paris
or–”

Suho grabs him by the collar of his shirt and crashes their lips together.

Sieun gasps.

His mouth is petal soft.

Suho burns from the inside out. He's a supernova. A star turned nuclear. So this is what it’s
supposed to feel like.

He only meant to kiss the chapstick off his smart mouth, but then Sieun makes this little
noise– a cross between a whimper and a moan right against his lips, and Suho loses all sense.

He pins Sieun against the brick wall behind him, parting his lips with his tongue and licking
into his mouth to taste him. Sieun is frozen solid underneath him. Suho isn't even sure he's
breathing.

Then he turns soft, pliable, melting into him with a shaky exhale of breath. Sieun's hand
comes up between them, curling around the back of Suho's neck as their lips move together.

His pulse surges. Sieun wants him closer. Their tongues slide against each other, hot and slick
and wet.

He can't get Sieun out of his system any more than he can separate the red from his blood.
The more he kisses him, the more Suho wants. He'll never get his fill. The hungry pit in his
stomach isn't a wolf. It's a gaping black hole that wants to swallow Sieun, insolence and all.
“Ah...Suho, I--” Sieun’s head falls back as Suho trails a path of punishing nips down his jaw
and neck, kissing and licking to soothe the sting.

“You drive me crazy, you know that?” Suho whispers it against the tender skin under Sieun’s
jaw.

Sieun doesn't respond. He's panting in Suho’s ear, biting the inside of his cheek to stifle the
muffled sounds trying to escape his throat. Suho wants to hear every sigh and moan, feel
every twitch and jolt of Sieun's pulse, beating for him and no one else.

Mine, mine, mine.

He sinks his teeth in, right at the juncture between Sieun’s neck and shoulder.

Sieun gasps again, “Suho.” He bunches his hands in the back of Suho's shirt, nails digging
into flesh through the thin material.

Tell me what you want, Sieun said, I'll give it to you.

Everything, Suho thinks, everything.

 august slipped away into a moment in time

When Hyejin kissed Sieun, he felt nothing. A little surprised, sure. But it was like touching
any other part of a stranger's body: vaguely unpleasant, and he wished it was over as soon as
it began.

Kissing Suho though—

Sieun is reduced to flesh. Atoms. It’s pure sensation and Suho's teeth are on his neck, the
pleasure-pain just on this side of too much.

Sieun's hips shift, searching for friction. He’s already hard. They're just kissing, he shouldn’t
be this—he shouldn’t —

But Suho must feel it too, because now his hands are on Sieun’s waist, and he’s grinding
against him, heat against heat, and they’re both gasping into each other’s mouths.

Sieun wants more.

He slips his hands under Suho's shirt, his fingers exploring the hard ridges of his abdominal
muscles, the indentations above his hips. His skin is so hot. Almost feverish. Suho groans.
Heat pools in Sieun’s belly, snakes up his spine.

Sieun wants to forget everything he knows about Ahn Suho and relearn him through touch
alone.

He wants—

Suho pulls away.

The frustrated breath Sieun exhales would be mortifying if Suho’s lips weren’t still hovering
over his. Teasing him. Goading him. Like this is a game. Push, pull, sweet, sour. The gap
gives Sieun enough time to form a coherent thought.

They were arguing just now, weren’t they?

He can't remember what it was about.

Suho’s tongue darts out to lick Sieun’s lower lip when an image flashes in his mind.

A girl with long hair and clear eyes, watching him from behind wire-framed glasses.

A girl with his face.

Cho Sarang.

“Wait.” Sieun puts his hands on Suho’s shoulders. He doesn’t push him away, just keeps his
hands there, a firm pressure holding Suho at bay.
Suho tilts his head like a confused dog, Why wait? Kiss more?

Sieun is coming back to his body now, bit by bit. His dick is painfully hard and the tender
skin of his neck is throbbing. Suho definitely left a bruise. Because his mouth had been there
not even a second ago. Suho’s mouth. On his neck. Sieun is spiraling into oblivion.

“What are you doing?” He asks, bewildered.

“Kissing you.” Suho says it in an amused huff like Sieun is really cute for asking such an
obvious question.

Sieun blinks rapidly. The verbal confirmation is too much. Ahn Suho is kissing me. “Why?”

“Don’t you want to?” Suho's gaze drops to his lips again.

Sieun does want to. He really, really, wants to. Suho bends down to nip at the underside of his
jaw and Sieun's eyelids flutter closed.

“You're so sweet here,” Suho whispers, mouthing along his pulse, teeth digging into sensitive
skin.

Sieun can feel it down to his toes. It’s white-hot. Liquid fire, burning him to ashes. Before his
mind is completely engulfed in flames, Sieun sees her again. Sarang with her head tilted.
Expression blank. A hawk zeroing in on her prey.

“What about Sarang?” He barely gets it out in a breathy gasp of air.

“Sarang?” Suho repeats, pulling away.

Sieun can see the gears in his big stupid head grinding against each other: Sarang, as in love?
Sieun loves me? Suho had quite literally been kissed senseless. It’s thrilling in a sick sort of
way—that Sieun had made him forget his own girlfriend. But the thrill doesn’t last long. The
heady fog of pleasure is dissipating rapidly. Now he’s just cold and confused, and feeling
more than a little ill.

“Your girlfriend, Suho,” Sieun says, chest heaving, “That Sarang.”

Suho frowns, “What about her?”

Wrong answer.

He thinks of Youngbin, Jungchan, and Taehoon. All their features blurring together into one
sneering face.

Flower boy. Pretty boy. Faggot. Cocksucker. It's all the same, right?

Maybe Suho has been laughing at him all along too.

“What about Sarang?” The Suho in Sieun’s mind is sneering too. “I'm just having fun with
you. Seeing how far I can take this. Seeing how far you'll go for me.” He smiles, slow and
wicked, “Why would she care? You're a guy.”

His breath is coming faster now, scissoring in and out of his lungs.

What did they just do?

What the hell is Sieun doing?

The real Suho reaches for him, “Hold on, that sounded wrong. Let me explain—”

But it's too late. Sieun's hands fist in the collar of his shirt and he throws Suho against the
brick wall, knocking the breath out of him.

“Are you making fun of me?” Sieun growls, “Is that what this is?”

Suho’s eyes widen.

“Calling me pretty, touching me, kissing me— “ His knuckles dig into Suho’s throat, eyes
murderous, “ Ahn Suho. I swear to God, if this is some kind of sick joke, I’m going to—”

Kill you? Beat the shit out of you? Sieun has no idea, but he's shaking all over. There's such a
thin line between love and hate. It's two sides of the same coin and the coin has already been
tossed—now it's turning end over end in the air, darkening the corners of Sieun's vision,
making him see red.

“Sieun-ah.” Suho’s voice cracks, “I would never do that to you. Or anyone. I’m not a
fucking psychopath.” He looks frightened. Suho has never been at the business end of Sieun’s
vitriol before—except that one time in the classroom. This is different though. They hadn’t
been so entangled before. They were strangers then. Suho should be scared.

Sieun presses closer. He should kill him. He should.

But even now, his body is reacting to their proximity. His cheeks flush and his body is
burning up like a match stick. It sends a hot spike of fury through him. The humiliation is
almost unbearable.

“Come on,” Suho says softly, “You know me.”

Sieun’s eyes glint dangerously, “Do I.” It’s not a question. It’s a statement. Do I know you,
Ahn Suho? Have I ever known you? He isn’t seeing Suho. Not really. He’s seeing Youngbin.
His shark eyes and that maniacal grin.

“You know me.” Suho repeats. His gaze doesn’t waver. Suho is bigger and stronger than
Sieun. He could push him back, but he doesn’t. He keeps his arms loose at his sides, hands
open and unclenched.

Sieun falters.

Memories shudder behind his eyes. Suho feeding him ssambap with his lips quirked in a fond
smile. Suho waving frantically outside the bus window to get his attention. Suho holding up a
delivery bag at his front door, you hungry?

Sieun sags forward. His hands slide down Suho’s collar to rest against his chest, broad and
sturdy under his fingers, “Then what…” He swallows hard, “I don’t understand…”

A pause.

“I love you.” Suho says.

Sieun recoils, stepping away so fast he almost trips backward.

His brain turns the words over and over, trying to find the logic in them. There's no logic
though. Suho might as well be speaking gibberish.

“You love me,” Sieun repeats. “Say something that makes sense.”

Sieun is a broken knife. Sharp, but useless. He cuts indiscriminately. The wielder. The victim.
Himself. No one loves broken things— ugly things. Not when there are better options. For
every Yeon Sieun, there is a Cho Sarang. Pretty, smart, normal—a girl.

A girl.

Suho sucks in a breath, “That's the only thing that makes sense.”

“Then why are you dating Sarang?” It’s a question he’s wanted to ask since Suho first
introduced her. Since he hid her existence from Sieun for months.

“I–” Suho wets his lips, still swollen from kissing, “–I don't know. It just happened.”

That’s the same excuse from last time.

It just happened.

It never came up.

I don’t know.

I'm sorry.

Sieun nods, “I see.”

“You do?” He sounds relieved he doesn't have to spell it out. But Sieun has always been
quick on the uptake.

Suho wants him like teeth. Sieun is the flesh he tears into. Bloody, red, raw.

This isn’t love.

It’s a slaughter.
“Let me get this straight,” Sieun says, voice carefully neutral, “At some point, you started
developing— feelings for me.”

You can’t even call this a feeling. It’s lust. Fickle and ephemeral. Like the changing seasons.
“But you couldn't act on them, because that'd be gay, right? You're not a faggot.” Suho
flinches at that—it's a full-body cringe like Sieun backhanded him across the face. Fine. They
can both be in pain. He surges on, pushing the knife in deeper, “So you went and found some
girl that looks like me to satisfy your fucked up little sexual fantasies. It didn’t work.” He
gestures between them and the wall, “Obviously.”

Suho’s face turns scarlet, “Sieun—”

“That’s why you argued with Sarang. It’s why you’ve been acting like an ass all night
towards Hyejin,” Sieun cuts him off, “It’s why you kissed me too. If you can't have me, no
one else can either. Am I right?” He stares at him hard, tears stinging his eyes.

This betrayal is worse than a prank. It makes his skin crawl. It makes him want to scream.
Suho is supposed to be his best friend. But he was mistaken. Sieun is just a body to Suho. A
pretty flower to admire for a while until he starts to wither. Until he isn’t so pretty anymore.

“What? No,” Suho stammers, “No. That isn’t true.” His Adam’s apple bobs up and down,
“You're making me sound like some kind of—”

“Like what? A freak?” Sieun retorts, “Isn't that what you are?”

A flash of pain ripples across Suho's face. Sieun is twisting the knife, wrenching it through
bone and skin.

“You know I defended you when Youngyi said you were a pervert,” He lets out a laugh, and
it sounds fucking crazy, he feels crazy, “I guess I owe her money or something. We should
start a harem. Ahn Suho and his one hundred Yeon Sieun look-alikes.” A tear slips down his
cheek and drips off his chin, “You can take turns with all of us so you'll never get bored.
What do you think?”

Suho doesn’t say anything. He just stands there. Looking stupid. Because Sieun is right. He’s
right, and Suho won’t even fight back. His best friend.

“You were wrong about one thing, Suho,” Sieun says tremulously, “I don't know you. I don't
think I ever did.”

He turns and starts walking. One foot in front of the other. Sieun doesn’t even know where he
is. He just needs to get the hell away from here.

A hand catches at his wrist, pulling him back.

“Wait,” Suho pleads, “Please. Just wait. I can explain everything.” Sieun tries to pull away
but Suho’s hand slips down to his palm, tightening around his fingers, “Please. It’s—it’s hard
for me–you know I’m not good with words—”

Sieun rips his hand free, “I'm done waiting.”

He won’t listen to whatever bullshit excuse Suho is going to come up with. He deserves
better than that. Hell, Sarang deserves better than that. Sieun keeps walking.

Suho doesn’t stop him.

The next morning, Sieun showers in scalding hot water, burning away whatever’s left of
Suho on his skin. He was too tired to do anything except collapse in bed and fall into a deep,
dreamless sleep last night. He scrubs his flesh until it's raw and stinging, wincing when the
soap runs down his neck. There’s a purply blue bruise blooming right over his pulse point,
right where the blood rushes through.

He can’t get rid of Suho so easily.

Sieun is good at compartmentalizing his feelings. It’s a skill he gained during childhood
when his parents would fight in front of him. Because of him.

Whenever he felt the slightest discomfort, he imagined that particular emotion as a book.
Sieun permitted himself to flip through the book once—to absorb the feeling, let it wash over
him in waves—then he placed it on the highest shelf in his mind, never to be opened again.

Emotions are unproductive. Love. Hope. Shame. Guilt. They all stem from desire and desire
is flimsy. It’s worthless. It’s how he ended up in the palm of Suho’s hand.

The tome entitled ‘AHN SUHO’ has been neatly alphabetized, color-coded, and filed away
into the deepest, darkest crevice of his mind. Now Sieun will focus on more important things.
College. The future. It's better this way.

When he gets to school that morning, a boy is standing at the gate. He’s wearing jeans and a
familiar, long-sleeved black shirt that ripples in the breeze. Familiar, because Sieun’s hands
had been curled in that shirt six hours ago.

Suho didn’t go home.

He looks windblown and hungover like he’d wandered the streets all night.

“Sieun-ah,” He says, stepping close to him, in his space, “Can we talk? Last night—I was
drunk, and I wasn’t in my right mind. But I’m better now. I can fix this if you’d just listen—”

Sieun is listening. Drunk. Right mind. Better. Fix. He can fill in the blanks. Sieun is the
defective one. He’s the one who tempted Suho, lured him in, and made him sick. But he’s all
better now. That’s just great.

Sieun’s grip tightens on the straps of his backpack. He brushes past Suho, clothes swishing
against his arm.

“Yeon Sieun—”
“Haksaeng,” A security guard thumps a nightstick across Suho's chest, “You’re not even
wearing your uniform. Is this your first day or what?”

Sieun passes through the gate. It locks behind him with an electronic beep.

“No, I just—” Suho says, “I know him. He knows me. I go here.”

“I don't care if you know the president,” He says, “Go and come back with a uniform on or
you're a sitting duck.”

Suho sighs, “Ah come on ahjussi, this is important—”

The security guard sucks his teeth.

Sieun continues walking without so much as a glance back in their direction.

The rest of the day passes without major incident. Suho arrives late to second period and
stares at Sieun with lovelorn eyes, but that’s easy to ignore.

If he faces the chalkboard, he can’t see Suho at all.

During the break, Suho plops down in the seat next to him and asks if he wants to go to the
snack bar. When Sieun doesn’t reply, Suho leaves and comes back with food from the
vending machine. The food sits there, untouched by both of them.

After the final bell rings, Sieun cuts across the courtyard and heads to the school library. He
knows Suho will be waiting for him at the gate, so he might as well bypass that interaction
altogether and check out a few books in the meantime.

Suho will give up and leave eventually.

That’s how these little crushes work. Crushes are all-encompassing at first, but they fade if
you don’t feed them. Or at least, that’s what the online forums say.

Sieun learned a new word while he was doing research. Limerance. a noun. the state of being
obsessively infatuated with someone, usually accompanied by delusions of or a desire for an
intense romantic relationship with that person.

That’s what this is.

Pure delusion.

Sieun takes his time perusing the books. He doesn’t read much fiction unless it’s assigned
homework, but he skates his index finger over the titles in the horror section anyway. There
are translated works by Stephen King, Anne Rice, and Koji Suzuki. Pyun Hyeyoung and
Edgar Allen Poe. He spots a Junji Ito anthology on the top shelf. Sieun read a few of his
stories in middle school.

He glances around. No step stool or ladder in sight though.

Sieun thinks he can reach it.

He gets up on the tips of his toes, stretching his hand towards the book. He almost has it, if he
can just—

A large hand engulfs his own, closing over the book’s spine. Sieun can feel the person's chest,
warm and sturdy, breathing in and out against the arch of his spine.

Sieun startles. He jerks backward right into their– Suho's – arms. He hates that he knows it's
Suho just by his scent—fresh pine soap and laundry detergent. He hates it even more that he
shivers when Suho’s breath tickles the shell of his ear, “Sorry, didn't mean to scare you.”

Sieun whirls.

“What are you doing here?” He whispers furiously. There goes his plan to pretend Suho
doesn't exist. But the library is supposed to be his refuge. Sieun chose it precisely because he
knew Suho would never step foot in there. Not of his own free will, anyway.

“The library?” Suho tilts his head, “Am I not allowed? This is a public place, right?”

After a whole day of being ignored, Suho got exactly what he wanted: Sieun’s attention. The
pleased little smile on his face makes Sieun’s heart race. With rage, obviously. No other
reason. This must be one big joke to him but Sieun isn’t laughing.

Do not engage, He thinks. Ignore him. He’s no one. He doesn’t exist.

“You don’t even read.” Sieun blurts out angrily. He can't help it. Not when it comes to Suho.

“I do now,” Suho flips open the book, thumbing through a few pages, “I'm turning over a new
leaf these days. Trying to be studious and all that.”

Bullshit. Sieun bites his tongue. Suho feeds off his reactions. It doesn't matter if they’re
negative or positive.

“So? How about it?” Suho says, eyebrows raised, “Want to be my study buddy, bookworm?”
He leans forward, so close that Sieun can see the honey brown in his irises, “Or maybe you
can tell me what these creepy drawings are all about?”

Suho wiggles the Junji Ito collection in the air. He’s so close. And the space between the
shelves is too narrow. Sieun is being pressed against that brick wall again, wind slicing
through his clothes, Suho’s mouth on his neck.

He can’t breathe—

Sieun takes a step back and bumps into the overstuffed bookcase. He looks up just as a stack
of novels topples over the side of a shelf, hurtling toward his head.

There's no time to get out of the way.

Sieun ducks, shoulders hunched, eyes squeezed shut.

The pain never comes.

Thunk. Thunk. Thunk.

“Ouch.” Suho hisses. He sounds a lot closer than he was a second ago.

Sieun opens his eyes.

Suho's body is curved over him in a protective shield, hands braced on the shelf above his
head. His face is centimeters away, nose nearly brushing Sieun’s. It would take no effort from
Sieun to tilt his chin up and kiss him. Feel the soft swell of his mouth and curl his fingers in
the short hair at the back of his neck.

No effort at all.

“You okay?” Suho gaze flickers across Sieun's face. Eyes, nose, lips, lips, lips.

Sieun is not okay. His entire nervous system is leading a mutiny against him.

When the silence stretches on for too long, Suho clears his throat. He pulls away and bends
down to grab Sieun’s book.

“Here.” He holds it out like a peace offering.

Sieun doesn’t take it.

He’s still huddled against the bookcase, afraid that if he moves he'll pounce on Suho and lose
whatever’s left of his dignity.

“Is this fun for you?” Sieun asks. His voice sounds rough, uncontrolled. He hates it. Hates
that Suho does this to him. The mind games and toying around with his feelings. It’s more
than cruel. It's torture.

“Of course not,” Suho huffs, “I’m miserable.” He looks down at the book and runs a hand
over the cover, long fingers tracing the title, “I miss my best friend. You won’t even talk to
me.”

The soft dip in his voice makes Sieun's chest ache. Which is why he says the meanest thing
he can think of: “We’re not friends.”

It’s icy. Emotionless. A double-edged sword that cuts them both, all the way to the bone.

Suho nods. Keeps nodding and puts the book back on the shelf. His lower lip is quivering.
It’s pathetic. Sieun should hate him for it. So why does he feel so fucking bad? Why does he
want to kiss his stupid quivering mouth and make it all better?

“So that’s it, then?” Suho asks quietly, “You’re done with me?”

The answer is obvious. Sieun won’t waste his time explaining obvious things. He turns
around and starts marching towards the exit, hands clenched at his sides.
Suho follows.

He trails behind him at a distance, looping through bookcases and around cubicles, then out
the front door. Drops of rain splatter across Sieun's face. He forgot his umbrella.

Sieun picks up the pace and Suho is still following, kicking rocks across the courtyard.

It raises Sieun’s blood pressure through the roof. Doesn’t he have anywhere else he needs to
be? Like his job? Or Sarang’s doorstep? His own house?

At the school gate, Suho starts up his motorcycle. The rain is coming down faster now,
soaking through Sieun’s coat, into his uniform.

“Get on, it's about to start pouring,” He says, holding out the helmet. “I'll have you home in
ten minutes. Then you can go back to cursing my name and hexing me or whatever.”

Sieun ignores him. He doesn't speed up or slow down. Doesn't look at him. Ahn Suho doesn't
exist.

“You're going to get sick.” The Boy Who Does Not Exist Says.

Sieun hopes he catches meningitis and dies. Then Suho will feel really bad.

He follows Sieun all the way home, idling along on his bike inch by inch while a long string
of angry drivers honk their horns behind him.

A few days later, Sieun does get sick. It’s not meningitis. It’s probably the flu, but it feels like
a cosmic joke. Sieun has been lying in bed for a million years, alternating between sleeping
and puking up everything he’s ever eaten since birth. He’s pretty sure rigor mortis is starting
to set in when he hears it.

Ringing.

His ears are ringing.

No.

There it is again.

It's sharp. Mechanical.

The doorbell?

His dad must've forgotten his key.

Wasn't he in Gangwon for the month though? Or maybe it was Changwon. He can't
remember.

Sieun drags himself out of bed with the jerky shuffle of a reanimated corpse.

By the time he gets to the front door, he has to lean against the frame to catch his breath.
The bell goes off again.

Sieun wrenches the door open.

Suho is standing in the hall and he looks pissed.

Sieun's heart flutters. He sort of likes it when Suho gets mad. The jaw clenching. The
furrowed eyebrows. That black look in his eyes. It's— the thought floats away like an
untethered balloon.

“So you were here the whole time playing hooky?” Suho demands, “I called a thousand
times. I thought something happened to you.” His mouth keeps moving. His lips are so pink
and soft and pretty. Sieun doesn't hear a word he's saying. He’s not even sure his head is still
attached to his neck.

“...for the past three days.” Suho continues. “I get that you're mad at me, but you shouldn't
neglect your studies. What if your grades drop?”

Sieun feels another surge of nausea in his gut. His jaw tingles, a tell-tale warning sign.
Without a word, he turns and stumbles towards the hall bathroom.

Suho follows him into the house. Of course he does. “You're just going to walk away when
I'm talking to you? You're really–”

Sieun barely makes it in time. He drops to his knees and heaves into the toilet, hands braced
on either side of the bowl.

“Sieun-ah.” Suho exclaims.

Barely anything comes up. Mostly stomach bile, but his abdomen spasms violently. He has to
take in slow, deep breaths through his nose so he doesn’t puke up his entire gastrointestinal
tract.

His throat is burning.

Sieun vaguely registers a hand on his back, smoothing up and down his spine in slow circles,
“How long have you been sick like this?”

It’s Suho. Suho is here. Right.

“I'm fine,” Sieun shakes him off, “You can go.”

Suho slides his hand over his forehead, pushing back his sweaty bangs, “You're burning up.
I'm not going anywhere.”

Sieun doesn't feel like arguing. He doesn't feel like doing anything except for curling up on
the bathroom floor and pressing his flushed cheek against the cold tile. He knows that would
probably freak Suho out even more though so he leans against the tub instead, head lolling to
the side.
“Do what you want,” Sieun exhales loudly, “Just keep your voice down. My head is
pounding.” He's already miserable enough. Why not add Ahn Suho to the equation?

Suho reaches for him again.

“Don't,” Sieun swats his hand away weakly, “You'll get sick. And I'm gross,” He swallows
around the sour taste in his mouth, “I haven't…” showered in two days.

Suho puffs out his chest, “I won't get sick. I have a robust immune system. I haven't had so
much as a cold since the 4th grade.”

“That's…” Stupid. The edges of Sieun's vision are going blurry. He's floating. Completely
buoyant.

“Do you want to rinse off really quick?” Suho asks, “You'll feel ten times better, I promise.”

A bath sounds like heaven. He thinks there might be puke on his shirt but he doesn't have the
energy to look down and check. Sieun knows he will pay for it later. Maybe in blood,
definitely in regret. But he's tired, and he feels icky. So Sieun nods, “Yeah.”

Suho’s eyebrows shoot up to his hairline, “Y-yeah?”

Like he’d expected Sieun to sucker punch him in the face for even suggesting it. Normally,
he would have.

“Yes.” Sieun says.

Now Suho is a boy in motion. Managing Sieun’s temper is a time-sensitive mission. He

jumps to his feet and leaves the room at lightning speed.

Sieun’s eyelids droop closed. He has a strange dream.

He's standing in the bathroom, facing the mirror. But Sieun doesn't see himself in the
reflection. Sarang is the one looking back. She's wearing her black school uniform. Knee-
high socks. Ribbons in her hair. The emblem on her blouse is the color of blood.

She reaches for him, her pale hand passing through the glass like water until it hovers
between them, half in the mirror, half-out.

Sieun's eyes go wide. “Wait—”

Sarang lunges and grabs his collar, pulling him through the glass.

“Sieun.”

He jolts.

Suho is crouched beside him, hand cradling his face, “You wouldn't wake up, I thought…”
His palm is soft. Just like a pillow.
“Not dead,” He murmurs, “Just asleep.”

The tub is filled with hot water. There's a fresh towel and a washcloth along with a change of
clothes sitting on the closed toilet lid. He must've been out for at least ten minutes.

Suho pulls his hand away from his cheek, fingers twitching towards Sieun’s clothes, “Do
you want help or—”

“I got it.” Sieun insists.

Right after he rests for a bit. He's so tired.

His eyes close again. Another age passes. He's not quite sleeping but he's not fully awake
either. He’s floating in that soft, dark space of half-consciousness. Sarang’s in the mirror
again.

“Sweetheart.”

Sieun blinks awake at that.

“You're still sitting there,” Suho points out, “Not moving. And your eyes are closed.”

“Oh.” So he is.

Sweetheart. Sieun didn't think Suho even realized he said it. His expression is pinched and
serious. Does he really look that bad?

Suho helps Sieun out of his soiled pajamas and plops him in the tub. There's nothing sensual
or sexy about this. Suho scrubs him down with the efficiency of a pet owner who knows his
cat might claw his face into ribbons at any moment.

Face, neck, chest, stomach, arms, back. Scrub, scrub, scrub. His skin turns pink. Sieun
wonders if Halmeoni used to bathe Suho like this when he was a kid.

Gradually, the smell of sick in the air disappears, replaced by the soft cloying aroma of his
floral-scented body wash.

What's the point of this whole performance? Sieun wonders. Pity? Obligation? Guilt? He can
do without it. He'd rather drown in the tub than be pitied.

He turns to Suho, water and soap suds sloshing around his waist.

The other boy is so focused on washing his hair he doesn't notice Sieun watching him with
half-lidded eyes. Suho's nose is scrunched in concentration, fingers lightly scraping over his
scalp.

“Suho.”

“Yeah?” Suho squints at him. “You feeling okay? You're not gonna be sick again, are you?”
“Why are you doing this?” Sieun whispers.

Suho stops scrubbing. He lets his soapy hands hang over the edge of the bath for a second,
“You said you felt gross. A hot bath will cure pretty much anything.”

“No,” He shudders when Suho lifts his hand again, thumb grazing the faded bruise on the
side of his neck, “Why are you being so nice to me?”

Suho is still looking at the bruise, thumb passing over it, back and forth.

“I'm not being nice,” He says thickly, “Nice is for the fucking birds. I care about you. I want
you to get better. That's it.”

That's it. Sieun sets his jaw. No one does something for nothing. That’s not the way the world
works. It’s not the way Sieun’s world works.

Suho rinses the shampoo out of his hair, then runs his hand through the wet strands, watching
them pass through his fingers. He's neither washing nor rinsing, so Sieun knows he's doing it
just because he feels like it. It’s a violation of their ceasefire. It's also putting him to sleep.

“You need a haircut,” Suho says, “You keep blowing your bangs out of your eyes in class. I'll
trim it for you when you feel better.”

“If you want me to.” Suho adds, like an afterthought. Because Sieun is supposed to be mad
at him.

He thinks of Sarang in the mirror, and can't help but glance over to see if she's still there. The
only person he sees is himself. He looks like one of those consumptive, Victorian orphans
from his history textbook. His skin is so pale it's nearly translucent and there are purple half-
crescents smudged under his eyes from lack of sleep.

Suho is in the reflection too. His back is to the mirror, the muscles in his shoulders shifting as
he cards his hand through Sieun's hair. When Sieun looks at him, he stops abruptly, dropping
his hand.

“Let's get you back to bed.” Suho says.

He pulls the stopper out of the drain.

Sieun stands. He's naked. And shivering. He can’t be bothered to care at the moment. Maybe
seeing Sieun’s sickly, birdcage of a body will turn Suho off so much he’ll run away.

Suho doesn’t go anywhere. He wraps a towel around Sieun and helps him step out of the tub,
cheeks flushed, eyes politely adverted. He uses another towel to dry his hair. How did they go
from making out in an alleyway to Suho swaddling him like a toddler?

Maybe Sieun does care a little bit. He keeps his head tilted towards the floor, the tips of his
ears going up in flames as Suho rubs the towel over his hair.

It can’t get any worse than this.

“Hey,” Suho says, “Do you remember when I got so drunk I passed out and pissed my pants
at Youngyi's birthday party?” He cups Sieun's damp cheeks with the towel, lifting his chin so
they’re face to face, “You had to run to the shop across the street and buy me new underwear
and jeans. I was so embarrassed I wanted to die.”

A pause.

Sieun remembers.

Suho didn't talk to him for a whole day after that. Which is a world record for him.

“It's okay.” Suho says softly. “This is nothing.”

Sieun does feel better. His skin isn’t gritty anymore and he manages to brush his teeth and
gargle some mouthwash while Suho strips his bed. He almost feels human again.

Sieun crawls under the clean linen and smashes his face into the pillow as soon as Suho is
done. Sleep is already tugging him under, calling his name.

Suho nudges him, “When's the last time you ate?”

Sieun cracks open an eye. He genuinely doesn't remember. He thinks he ate half a bowl of
instant ramyeon yesterday. Or maybe that was the day before.

Suho sighs, “If you have to think about it, then it's been way too long.”

“I'm not hungry.”

“You need to eat.” He says. “I'm going to run to the grocery store across the street.” Suho
grabs Sieun's phone off the nightstand and places it next to him on the mattress, “I won't be
gone for more than fifteen minutes. Call if you need anything.”

He nods, damp hair ruffling against the pillow. Sieun doesn’t need anything. He doesn’t need
anyone. He knows it’s not true before he’s even finished the thought.

Suho leaves and comes back to the apartment fourteen minutes later. Not like Sieun was
watching the clock or anything.

Suho dumps the contents of his grocery bag onto the nightstand. A thermometer. Cooling
fever patches. Flavored electrolyte drinks. Anti-nausea medication. Decongestants. Pain
relievers. Tissues. Disinfectant wipes. A pulse oximeter. Herbal tea. Vitamins. Cough drops.
Saline nasal spray. Face masks. An entire humidifier. Did he leave anything on the shelf?

“Here,” Suho holds out a bottle full of viscous orange liquid, “Take your medicine. All the
pharmacy had was the liquid suspension.”

Sieun turns his head away, “No.”

“What do you mean, no?" Suho scoffs. “You have a fever. You need to take something to
bring it down.”
“It's gross.” He says, “I don’t like it.”

Suho sits down on the edge of the bed, dipping the mattress, “Don't be a baby.” He says it
with fond exasperation. Like he wants to pet Sieun’s head and shake him at the same time.

“I'm not.” Maybe he is being a baby. So what? It's his fever. Not Suho's. If he wants his brain
to combust, then that's his right.

“Sieun-ah.” Suho says gently. “I know it's gross, but it'll make you feel better.”

He can use that sweet voice all he likes. Sieun will not be swayed. His mom used to force-
feed him way too many doses of fever medicine when he was young so she wouldn't have to
miss work to pick him up from school. It made him so loopy he'd wander around, crashing
into everything. His desk, other kids, the wall. He's hated the stuff ever since.

Suho turns around and starts rustling around in a different bag. “I was going to give you this
doughnut after you ate some real food,” He takes out the baked treat, carefully wrapped in
wax paper, “But I’ll let you use it as a chaser if you want.”

Sieun glares at him. He will not be enticed by a sweet treat like a little kid. He will not.

“Fine,” Suho cranks his arm back like he's about to chuck it into the trash bin in the corner,
“I'll throw it out since you don't want it—”

Sieun catches Suho's shirt, “What kind is it?”

His hand is trembling but damn it, you don't just toss a perfectly good doughnut in the trash.

Suho lowers his arm, lips twitching. He's trying extremely hard not to grin. “Salted caramel
chocolate.”

Smug bastard.

Sieun sits up.

He chokes the medicine down with a wince and Suho immediately hands him some water
and the doughnut. Sieun sinks his teeth into the sweet dough with a grateful sigh. It might be
the best thing he's ever tasted.

Suho smiles, “Is it good?”

Sieun refuses to indulge him with an answer. He chews begrudgingly, jaw chomping with as
much spite as he can muster. It turns out it's extremely hard to look menacing when there's
caramel and chocolate smeared across your lips.

Suho's smile wobbles a bit, “I'll be right back, okay? Finish your doughnut.”

Sieun watches him go, still chewing.

He only manages to eat half before he gets that gross feeling in his stomach again. He wraps
the rest of the doughnut in a napkin and sets it on his nightstand.

In the kitchen, Sieun can hear the sounds of cupboards opening and closing. Suho's voice
drifts through his cracked bedroom door.

He must be talking to Sarang. Sorry babe, I'll be right over after I finish up here. The kid’s
practically on his deathbed. What else am I supposed to do?

“Sieun's fever is really high,” Suho is saying, “He's so out of it—really lethargic and just not
himself. I've never seen him like this, Halmeoni. It scares me.”

Oh. Now Sieun feels like an ass.

“Yeah, I'm making him the soup now. And he just took his medicine.”

Halmeoni's voice is much softer. Sieun has to strain to hear it.

…fever doesn't go down…hospital…he'll be okay, Suho-yah. It sounds like the flu…run its
course…

More muffled talking. Suho turns on the fan over the stove.

“Okay.” He says. “I'll do that. Mm. Thanks. Love you too. Bye.”

While the food is cooking, Suho comes back and checks his temperature again even though
Sieun is pretty sure it hasn't changed in the past fifteen minutes. He sets up the humidifier in
the corner of the room, watches Sieun sip at his electrolyte drink, and checks his oxygen
levels with the pulse oximeter. His oxygen saturation is 97% (good), but his heart rate is at
105 bpm (not good.) Suho makes him drink more water. After another fifteen minutes, Suho
replaces the (still fresh) cooling patch on his forehead with a new one and every now and
then, he'll go run a cloth under some cold water and hold it against his neck.

It feels nice.

The next time Suho returns, he's holding a steaming bowl of porridge. Sieun didn’t think he
was hungry, but his stomach rumbles when he gets a whiff of it. It smells delicious. Chicken
and rice and garlic and green onions. Drool pools in his mouth, nearly trails down his chin.

“It's juk," Suho says, pulling Sieun’s desk chair up to the bed, “Halmeoni's recipe.” He sets
the food tray on Sieun’s lap.

He picks up the spoon and starts shoveling it into his mouth, barely chewing the shredded
chicken. He swallows it down in lumps that kind of hurt his throat but he doesn’t care. It’s so
good. And he’s starving.

“Yah, don't scarf it down,” Suho scolds, “Or you're gonna puke it back up.”

Sieun is halfway through his second bowl when he starts to get sleepy. He settles against his
pillows, blinking slower and slower. Suho moves the bowl to the nightstand and pulls up the
covers over his chest.

“Suho-yah.”

Suho jerks up at that, startled, “Hm?”

Sieun wants to thank him. But his lips are glued shut. Eyes already closed. He thinks he feels
the back of Suho’s fingers brushing his cheek, but sleep takes him before he can figure it out
for sure.

The next time he wakes, pale morning light is drifting through the blinds across his comforter
in soft white streaks.

Suho is still sitting in the desk chair, a little slouched, but his eyes are awake and alert. It
doesn't look like he slept.

He touches Sieun’s forehead to check his temperature, “How do you feel?”

“Sweaty.” Sieun says. He’s drenched in it. It probably doesn’t help that Suho has piled at
least two more blankets on him since he fell asleep.

“Your fever finally broke,” Suho says.“I was really worried about you, you punk. You were
sleeping like the dead. I kept checking your pulse like this.” He demonstrates by taking
Sieun's wrist and pressing his two fingers to the pulse point there. “I thought that oximeter
thing was broken.”

Sieun glances at the digital clock on his nightstand. 6 am. Thirteen hours. He had been asleep
for half a day. “Sorry.” He says.

Suho shakes his head, “Do you feel better?”

“I feel better.” His head is clearer, less fuzzy. His body doesn’t ache anymore either.

Thanks to you.

Suho gets up, sliding one knee onto the bed. He leans over and wraps his arms around Sieun,
pulling his limp body into the circle of his arms. He squeezes him so tightly Sieun gasps.

“Aishh, you're fine now, so why am I getting upset all of a sudden?” Suho mutters, head
tucked into his shoulder, “Fuck.” Sieun instinctively lifts his hand and pats his back
awkwardly. Suho is trembling, his heart jack rabbiting against Sieun’s chest. He doesn’t
know what to do in this situation.

When Suho pulls away, his eyes are glistening with tears, “You're okay, Sieun-ah?” His
voice is so soft, barely even a whisper.

Sieun is speechless. He just nods.

Suho bumps their heads together, rubbing his wet cheek across Sieun's forehead, “I'm glad.”
A puppy nudging his owner for pets. It’s cute. Sieun will admit it, just this once.
They stay like that for a minute. Suho holding him. Sieun letting him.

Then Suho stiffens and pulls away with a cough.

“I cleaned up the kitchen and stocked the fridge while you were asleep,” He says, looking
anywhere but at Sieun. “Stay hydrated and eat the rest of the juk.”

He pauses.

“I'll leave now,” Suho says, “Call me if you need me.”

Sieun’s lips are stuck together again.

He doesn't know how to ask him to stay, so he leaves. Sieun listens to the sound of Suho
putting on his shoes in the hall and the click of the front door shutting behind him.

Thirty seconds pass. A minute. Two minutes. Three.

Sieun reaches for his phone, hesitates, then drops his hand.

I need you.
 august sipped away (like a bottle of wine)
Chapter Notes
See the end of the chapter for notes

Sarang is good at studying.

Mathematics, English, history, science, literature—people.

She loves math, but studying her fellow human beings might be her best subject. Even as a
kid, Sarang would sit at her desk and watch the other students. By the end of the school year,
she knew everything about everyone. Who they loved and hated, what they liked and
disliked, the lies they told and the truths they kept to themselves.

The teachers are fair game too. For example, her chemistry teacher is cheating on her
husband with the school’s vice president. They sneak out to the parking lot together during
the breaks and Mrs. Park always returns to class with her hair undone and a few buttons on
her blouse unclasped. And the baseball coach is a high-functioning alcoholic. Sarang had
stumbled upon that one entirely by accident when her homeroom teacher sent her to fetch
some paperwork from his office. There are a dozen empty bottles of gin in the filing cabinet
next to his desk.

Sarang never uses any of this information against anyone. She tries not to judge them for it
either. She’s more like a spectator, silently observing from afar.

That’s why when she first laid eyes on Yeon Sieun, Sarang knew right away that Suho was
madly in love with him. But it doesn’t take a genius to figure that out. You just need to have a
pair of functioning eyes. And Sarang's prescription lens work just fine.

“This is my girlfriend, Cho Sarang,” Suho says. “Say hello.”

He doesn't look at Sarang. Suho's eyes are on Sieun, watching him closely. It almost feels like
a test. This introduction. To see how Sieun would react to this new girlfriend that had
appeared out of the blue. Sarang didn't think Suho even realized he was doing it.

“Hello.” Sieun ducks his head, quiet as a mouse. His gaze flickers across Sarang's face, back
to Suho, then at the ground.

Ah, I see. Sarang had thought.

She had seen more than she needed to actually.

Because if she knew Ahn Suho, that meant she knew herself too. When she saw him in the
grill restaurant that day, his uncanny resemblance to Kim Hyejin hit her like a tire iron to the
back of the head. Still, she would’ve never approached him herself. It was enough just to
watch Suho work from the back of the restaurant.

But then he wanted to talk to her. Get to know her. So she talked and got to know him too.
Suho brought Sieun up at every chance, even when the conversation had absolutely nothing
to do with him.

Sarang didn’t take it personally. Suho was using her, but she was also using him too.

They were both getting something out of this parasitic relationship.

They might've carried on until they ate each other alive, bones and all, if it wasn't for Hyejin.

In fact, all of this was Kim Hyejin’s fault.

If she had never confessed to Sarang, they would’ve never gotten into this mess in the first
place.

It was a bright sunny day in June.

They were studying outside in the park. Well, Sarang had been studying. Hyejin was lying on
the picnic blanket next to her with her hands behind her head, staring up at the white clouds
scudding by.

“Sarang.” Hyejin says.

Sarang ignores her. This equation is finicky, and Hyejin just wants attention. Like always.

The other girl turns over on her side and props up her head with one hand. She’s looking
directly at her now. Sarang feels a prickle of awareness warm the side of her face. Hyejin's
staring problem has always unsettled her, but she feels it more acutely now than ever before.

“Let’s date.” Hyejin says. She says it casually, the same way she’d suggest trying a new
restaurant or playing pool at the club down the street.

Sarang keeps working through the math problem, bit by bit, “Stop messing around and do
your revisions. You’re failing English.”

“I’m serious.” Hyejin insists. “Why don’t we do a trial period? You can try it out and see if
you like me or not.” The joke doesn’t quite land. Her voice is an octave higher than usual.
She sounds reedy and nervous.

Sarang presses the pen so hard into the paper that a bloom of ink pools out, blotting out her
calculations, “That’s not funny.”

“Good, because it wasn’t a joke.”

Sarang lifts her head and stares at her, her lips pressed into a thin line.

Hyejin had just broken up with some spiky-haired hooligan from Yeongdeungpo. He was too
clingy, she’d said. And then it was Kim Sooji from the volleyball team. Before that, it was
Nam Aera from class 2 and before her it was the captain of the boys' soccer team Son Inhyuk.
None of Hyejin’s relationships lasted long. A couple of months at most. They were brief
flings, flickering in and out of Hyejin’s life like fireflies. She never brought these people
around Sarang either. She heard about them through the grapevine, like she heard about
everything else.

Sarang isn’t a rebound or some random girl she met at a party though. She's Hyejin’s best
friend, but she wants to do a ‘trial period?’ For fun? Just because?

Meanwhile Sarang…Sarang has been trying to strangle her feelings, she shoves them
headfirst underwater until the bubbles stop floating to the surface. Hyejin isn’t someone you
fall in love with. She has fun with you for a little while and then she leaves. Sarang doesn’t
want to be left in the dust with Aera and Sooji and Inhyuk and that fool from Yeongdeungpo.

Panic flashes across Hyejin’s face.

Sarang hasn’t blinked or made a sound. She’s not even breathing.

“Ahh forget I ever said anything,” Hyejin says quickly. “I’m gonna go to the gym. I’ll see you
at school tomorrow?”

Sarang doesn’t respond.

Hyejin gets up and runs off like she’s being chased.

Sarang turns back to her workbook to find she's pierced the page with her pen straight
through to the other side.

So Sarang dates Suho. And predictably, Hyejin falls for Yeon Sieun because she falls for
everyone. She kisses Yeon Sieun because she kisses everyone. Except this time it's personal.
Yeon Sieun, who walks, talks, and acts like Sarang. Who could be her twin brother, who
could be her —in another universe.

Sarang had enough.

Sieun doesn't get to have them both. He can have Suho. But Hyejin…

Hyejin belongs to her.

Two weeks have passed since their ill-fated card game night.

Today Sarang walks up the long winding path to Byeoksan High School with Suho's wallet in
her bag and his coat folded over her arm. He’d forgotten his things in Hyejin’s room and
never came back to retrieve them. He hadn’t answered any of her calls or texts either. Suho
might’ve already blocked her number. She wouldn’t blame him if he did.

Sarang should at least return his stuff though. And apologize. Then they could part ways and
never speak of this colossal mistake of a relationship ever again. That suits her just fine.

Hyejin is ambling along at Sarang’s side, hands shoved deep into the pockets of her track
pants. Moody, but with her. Always with her.
Sarang spots Sieun walking through the school gate. She’s about to call his name when a tall
wolfish-looking boy slinks up beside him.

The two boys exchange a few words. Sieun's face tenses and then he slips around the wolf
boy, walking as fast as he can without running.

Sarang knows the Wolf's type. He's a pack animal. Wherever he goes, his lackeys aren't far
behind. But they're nowhere in sight.

Hyejin cocks her head. She’s already sizing this guy up. And she doesn’t like what she sees
either.

They draw closer.

“Judging by the look on your face, there must be trouble in paradise,” The Wolf hums, “Am I
right?”

Sieun doesn’t answer.

Trouble in paradise. Had he fought with Suho?

“Hey, Eyebrows.” Hyejin calls.

The boy whips around, mouth already upturned in a sneer.

Sarang winces. This isn't going to end well. Hyejin can't afford to get suspended for fighting
on school grounds again. She isn't even on her third strike anymore. More like her ninety-
ninth strike. One more mishap and she's expelled for good.

“Beat it before I lose my temper,” She hooks a thumb over her shoulder, “I'm not in the mood
today.”

The Wolf is no doubt about to retort something that will get his teeth knocked out when he
sees the taekwondo jersey Hyejin is wearing. He stiffens.

“This has nothing to do with you so why don’t you just…” His gaze snags on Sarang.

Sarang gives him a flat, unimpressed stare that could only be described as ‘pure disdain.’
Like she’d found a particularly disgusting insect on the bottom of her shoe that she couldn’t
get off no matter how many times she dragged her sole along the concrete.

“What—” The Wolf turns back to Sieun, “Your sister?”

Sarang is tired of the sister schtick. It was already a stale joke when Youngyi had pointed it
out at the karaoke room. It got really old when Hyejin started calling Sieun cutie.

But the Wolf is so shocked he forgets to be malicious. He looks like someone hit him over the
head with a cast iron pan. Tiny cartoon birds are flying around his head in dizzy circles.

“What's it to you, Youngbin?” Sieun says, exasperated. “Mind your business and leave.”
“But you—” The Wolf’s—Youngbin’s— brain glitches in real time as he narrows his eyes at
Sarang, “You even look at me the same way.” He grits his teeth. “Why are you glaring at me
like that, little girl?”

Little girl. Sarang lets out a soft, annoyed breath through her nose. Her hand is already in her
coat pocket, reflexively clenching around the pen there. She isn't in the mood either.

“It's giving me chills. I'm not just anyone, you know?” Youngbin takes a step closer, and
Sarang has to crane her neck to look him in the face, “I don't care if you're Sieun's sister, I'll
—”

It happens in an instant.

Hyejin grabs Youngbin's arm and pivots, throwing him over her shoulder like a bag of rice.
He flies through the air and lands on the ground with a loud oof!

“Are all of the punks at your school this rude?” Hyejin whips her hair out of her face with a
huff, “So fucking annoying.”

Youngbin blinks up at them, equal parts befuddled and outraged.

“You can't judo flip everyone who gets on your nerves, Hyejin-ah.” Sarang says mildly,
without taking her eyes off the boy on the ground. He really does have absurdly thick
eyebrows.

Youngbin’s face is turning redder by the second. It’s rising from his neck to his forehead like
a rapidly filling bathtub.

“I can and I will.” She snorts.

The wolf boy scrambles to his feet with his hands clenched at his sides. He’s breathing so
hard that his chest spasms, up and down, up and down.

“Go on then, scram,” Hyejin nudges Youngbin’s leg with her Nike shoe, “Before I put you in
a headlock.”

Youngbin flashes a look of pure hatred at her. But he recognizes a dog with a bigger bite
when he sees one.

“You’re gonna pay for this,” He says through clenched teeth, “Mark my words.” Then
Youngbin scrams. With his tail between his legs. It’s satisfying to watch.

Sarang turns.

Sieun is already walking towards the street. Without so much as a thank you or a goodbye.
Sarang would say he’s insufferably rude, but she can’t judge him too harshly.

She probably would’ve done the same thing in his position.

“Sieun-ssi,” Sarang jogs a little and catches at his coat, “Do you know where Suho is?”
He glances down at where her hand is still gripped around his sleeve and she immediately
drops it, “Why would I know where he is?” His voice is clinical, distant. Like he’s talking
about a stranger to a stranger.

Sarang frowns, “I just thought—”

“No,” He says, “I don't.”

Okay. Sieun is obviously furious with her too. His anger isn’t red-hot. It’s ice cold, and sharp
as a razor blade.

“He left his coat and wallet at Hyejin's place.” Sarang says, clearing her throat, “Do you mind
giving it to him?”

Sieun just stares at her. She can see the gears in his head turning. Trying to figure out what
her angle is. But there’s no angle. Sarang shot the first bullet. Now she’s waving a white flag.

Hyejin steps forward, in between her and Sieun. “Hey, I'm sorry about the whole kiss thing,”
She says, “I had no idea you and Suho were—I mean if I'd known…” She exhales, “You get
what I'm trying to say, right?”

Sieun keeps staring. This time the muscle in his jaw jumps. “I have somewhere to be.”

“At least take his things.” Sieun is about to protest but Sarang is already shoving Suho’s coat
into his arms. He doesn’t throw it on the ground which is a good sign. Instead, he slides his
backpack off one shoulder and crams Suho’s jacket and wallet inside.

They linger for an awkward second.

“If that loser bothers you again, just call me, okay?” Hyejin says brightly, “I’ll come running
and kick his ass.” She lifts her arm and flexes her bicep.

Sarang resists the urge to roll her eyes skyward.

Why doesn’t Hyejin just propose to him while she’s at it? Then she can protect him all she
likes.

Sieun makes no indication that he heard what Hyejin said. He inclines his head towards them
in farewell and then starts marching down the sidewalk.

At least he doesn’t reciprocate her feelings. That much is clear. Yeon Sieun doesn’t have eyes
for anyone except Ahn Suho.

But still.

“Call you? Really?” Sarang says once Sieun has disappeared around the corner, her voice
shrill, “What are you, his guardian angel or something?”

Hyejin looks taken aback.

“What? No, I just,” She mumbles, scratching her eyebrow with her index finger, “If he’s in
trouble, I can help. You know?”

Sarang does know. Hyejin can never resist a pretty face. Or a damsel in distress. So typical.
Now she’s marching away too. Her loafers hit the concrete so hard it sends little shocks up
her heels when they make impact with the ground.

Hyejin trails behind her, “So are you going to explain to me what’s going on with you three?
Because you completely blew me off the other night and ignored all of my messages.” She
kicks a half-crushed soda can with the tip of her sneaker. It skitters across the road and lands
in the grass, rolling in a slow, wide arc.

Right after Suho stormed out with Sieun that night, Sarang had left too. She couldn’t bear to
be around Hyejin for a second longer. She could go kiss a million Cho Sarang look-a-likes
for all she cared (she cared a lot).

“I don’t know what you mean.” Sarang says blankly. She keeps her eyes fixed on the horizon.
A group of Byeoksan boys are fooling around up ahead, pushing and shoving at each other.

“Are you all dating each other? Is that what this is?” Hyejin asks with an incredulous laugh,
“And why wasn't I invited?”

That sends Sarang over the edge.

She stops walking and the other girl nearly slams into the back of her. “Don't you take
anything seriously?”

“You're not giving me much to work with here,” Hyejin says. Then, when Sarang’s frown
deepens. “Come on, Sarang. Talk to me.” Her tone turns soft, pleading, “We never used to be
like this. We tell each other everything.”

That was before Hyejin went and put her lips on Sieun’s lips.

Before Sarang heard the little gasp of surprise Sieun made when their mouths connected.

Sarang wanted to put her fist through a window.

“It's your fault.” She says furiously, blinking away—tears? Sarang does not cry. Especially
not over something like this. She sucks her bottom lip into her mouth to stop it from
trembling.

Hyejin points at herself, her eyes comically wide, “My fault?”

“You were fawning all over Yeon Sieun.” Sarang is well aware she sounds like a spoiled brat.
But she really had no choice but to ruin everything. And it was for the good of everyone,
wasn’t it? Suho can stop bumbling around like a lovesick fool, Sieun will have his man, and
Sarang and Hyejin can go back to the way things used to be.

Hyejin makes an exasperated noise. “I wasn't fawning, I was--” She pauses, “Wait.” She
moves closer, “Are you jealous?”
Yes.

“No.” Sarang says.

Hyejin points her stupid finger at her with an equally stupid grin on her lips, “Is that the
reason why you tried to make them kiss in front of me? It is, isn’t it?”

“Don’t be ridiculous.” She turns her face away, cheeks burning red.

“Gosh, you’re an evil genius.” Hyejin continues. “I didn’t know you had that in you. Is that
why you went out with Ahn Suho too? To make me jealous?”

It wasn’t the reason why, no. But it was an added bonus. “I’m going home.” Sarang certainly
won’t stand here and get patronized to. Or made fun of.

She gets two steps in before Hyejin calls her name.

“Sarang.”

She doesn’t want to turn around, but she does it anyway.

Hyejin is staring at her, expression raw and open. There is no hint of laughter or amusement
in her downward-turned mouth at all.

Sarang swallows hard.

“I've been in love with you ever since we were kids,” She says quietly, “All of those people I
dated before—I was just trying to distract myself. It never worked for long.” She shakes her
head. “It can’t be anyone else, but you.”

Sarang searches the other girl’s eyes. She’s telling the truth. “Then why did you kiss Sieun?”

“We were playing a stupid game,” Hyejin cries, “How was I supposed to know your
boyfriend was in love with his best friend? I thought Suho was being a homophobic ass! And
you--" She throws up her hands, "I thought you were head over heels for that guy. I really had
no clue!”

Trust Hyejin to read the room completely wrong. Sarang feels a wild burst of laughter
warming up her chest from the inside out.

“Then why did you say we should date for a trial period?” She asks. Like Sarang was a new
vacuum with a return policy.

Hyejin cringes.

“I will admit I worded that poorly, but I was so freaking nervous, my heart was beating out of
my chest like this,” She sticks her hand under her track jersey and puffs out the material,
mimicking a beating heart, “I didn’t want to scare you away with some Shakespearean love
sonnet. But maybe I should have…?” Hyejin leans forward like she wants Sarang to confirm
her suspicions.
Sarang will not answer that.

“You like me, don’t you?” Hyejin's smile is about to walk off her face and start dancing a jig.

Sarang can't answer that.

Her mouth won’t let her. She’s never been good with words. Or emotions. Not when it comes
to her own, anyway.

Hyejin puts her arms around her shoulders and says, “Saraaaang.” In that whiny, aegyo
voice she knows Sarang hates.

Sarang tries, futilely, to swat the other girl away, “Don’t be annoying.” She feels like her
body is going to burst into flames.

“You’re not denying it though. I’m right, aren’t I?” Hyejin gives her a little shake, “Tell me
I’m right.”

Sarang stares up at her. Her messy, short hair, that crooked smile, and the joyful crescents of
her eyes. Her childhood friend of almost ten years. She’s known Hyejin longer than anyone
else in the whole world—besides her parents. And Sarang’s parents don’t know her at all.

Sarang pushes herself onto the tips of her toes and presses her lips against Hyejin’s. Soft,
sweet, lingering.

It's not her first kiss but it's the first one that feels real.

Hyejin does taste like cherries.

Sarang pulls away before Hyejin can react.

The other girl blinks. Once. Twice. A third time.

Her expression is so dumbfounded that Sarang wants to kiss it off her face again and again.

“I do like you,” Sarang says. “And I love you too.” She adds.

Hyejin doesn’t seem to mind that she spits the words out like they burn her tongue or that she
looks away, her mouth quivering when she says it. This feelings thing—it’s still hard for
Sarang. It can’t be cured overnight. But it can be rectified slowly. One step at a time. She
hopes Hyejin will be there with her every step of the way.

Hyejin grabs her hand and intertwines their fingers. “You know you’re never getting rid of
me now, right?” Her eyes are shimmering. “No takebacks. We’re locked in for life.”

For life.

Sarang's heart soars.

They start walking, hand in hand.

“Should we go get some pork belly to celebrate?” Hyejin asks.

How can she be thinking about her stomach, even in this situation?

“We just had pork yesterday.”

“Fine, then beef?”

Sarang side-eyes her, “One of these days, you’re going to turn into a cow.”

Hyejin bumps her head against Sarang’s, “Would you still love me if I was a cow?”

“Of course not.” She says lightly. “Don’t be silly.”

Hyejin's shoulders slump.

“I’d love you if you were a cow.” She says begrudgingly. “Or a pig. Or a goose. And you
know I’m terrified of geese.”

It’s true. A goose had chased her around the playground in fourth grade once, and she’d never
quite recovered. Her devotion must run very deep indeed.

“Can I ask another question?” Hyejin's voice is suddenly low and serious.

Sarang hesitates, then murmurs her assent. The worst is over now, she tells herself. All they
have left to do is love one another.

“Do you think we always find each other?” Hyejin asks. “Not like if I was a cow. But if there
were Hyejins and Sarangs in other universes, I mean.” It’s a strange question. If Hyejin really
wanted to get into it, Sarang could talk about quantum mechanics and the multiverse theory,
but that probably isn't the answer she’s looking for.

In her mind's eye, Sarang sees Suho with his arm around Sieun's shoulders. The stark white
of their school uniforms, bright in the golden afternoon light.

They’re both smiling.

“We find each other,” Sarang says, “In every single one.”

It’s two o’clock in the morning and Sieun is dreaming again.

“Yah, Ahn Sieun, stop messing around,” Suho says. “You spilled your uncle's drink.”

A little boy is weaving his way around their legs, jostling Sieun and upsetting his drink. The
beer sloshes over the rim of the plastic cup, narrowly missing his shirt as it drips into the
grass.

Ahn Sieun.
It's Suho's son with Sieun's face and name. The likeness is startling. Big, dark eyes, fringed
by long lashes. Slender and short. Almost too pretty for a boy. But there's a brightness to him.
This barely contained energy like a shaken soda can about to explode. He's nothing like
Sieun was as a child.

“Sorry, samchon,” Little Sieun says, “Should I get you another cup?” He looks up with big,
doleful eyes. This is a kid who knows he can get away with anything.

Sieun smiles.

“It's alright,” He ruffles the younger boy's hair, “Go play with Hyuntae.”

He takes off running like a bullet.

Ahn Hyuntae is standing in the grass, taunting his brother with a stupid dance. He looks just
like Suho. Playful, bright eyes, a smirky mouth, and the same short-cropped haircut Suho
wore in high school.

“Prepare to die, motherfucker!” Little Sieun yells.

He tackles his brother to the ground and they go down fighting in a blur of limbs.

Sieun snorts.

“What the—” Suho recoils, and cups his hands around his lips, “Watch your fucking mouth!
Have you lost your mind?”

“Sorry!” Little Sieun calls back, not sorry at all.

“Aishh,” Suho scrubs his hand through the back of his hair, “I have no idea where he gets
that potty mouth from.”

Sieun laughs. “You named him after me, but he's all you, Suho-yah.” Besides the face.
Neither of them mention that.

Suho grins, “He's a rambunctious little punk, isn't he?”

They lapse into silence, watching the children play. Little Sieun and Hyuntae are laughing.
Pawing at each other. Rolling around in the grass like puppies.

In the ten years since the twins were born, no one in their close circle has mentioned that
Little Sieun looks like he could've waltzed right out of the Yeon family tree. Like he was cut
from Sieun's rib, as Youngyi would say. She used to joke around that Sarang and Sieun were
long-lost siblings in high school. It was easy to deny back then. But Ahn Sieun is living,
breathing proof of it. The joke doesn't seem so funny anymore. Not to Sieun, at least.

"They're growing up fast, aren't they?” Suho says with a wistful sigh, “Remember when we
were their age?”

Sieun's eyebrows go up, “Ten years old? We didn't know each other back then.”
“I wish we did though,” Suho says. “Do you think things would be different now if we met
each other sooner?”

“What do you mean?”

“I don't know,” He shrugs, “Just different. We would've had more time together for one thing.
I feel like we barely see each other.” There's that familiar pout in his voice. Suddenly, he is
seventeen years old again asking for Sieun's attention. It never fails to stir Sieun’s heart.

“We have lives of our own now,” He says, shuffling his feet, “You're married and I'm busy
with work these days.”

The truth is Sieun could make time. He can take vacation days. Sick days. He's thought about
it a million times. But being in the Ahn family home…it's unbearable. That's the only word to
describe it. He'd only just managed to tear himself away from work for the twins' birthday
party.

Suho hums, his gaze distant. “When are you going to settle down and have some rug rats of
your own anyway?”

“You sound like my mother.” Sieun huffs.

Now that he’s a doctor, his mother has moved on to badgering him about finding a wife and
having children. It's a never-ending cycle. He hasn't talked to his father in years.

“I'm serious though,” Suho says, nudging him with an elbow, “What about Hyejin or
Youngyi? They both had a thing for you in high school. Maybe you can reconnect or
something.”

Sieun makes a noncommittal noise. He isn't interested in Hyejin or Youngyi. He never was.

Suho and Sarang had kids early at just twenty one years old. It felt like they’d plunged head-
first into unknown waters, rushing forward into adulthood while Sieun lagged behind.

He never quite caught up either.

“Sieun-ah,” Suho says hesitantly. “Will you come over more often?”

Sieun’s heart folds in on itself like a crushed paper ball.

“To see the boys,” Suho adds. “They miss you. And I…” He takes a breath. “ We would love
to have you around. You're not a guest here. You're family.”

Sieun nods. He knows Suho means it. He knows Suho misses him. The dozens of unanswered
texts and phone calls prove that.

Sieun won’t come though.

They both know that too.

 The back door of the house slides open and Sarang appears. She’s older—they both are—but
their likeness hasn’t faded with time. She wears contact lens now too, so it’s even harder to
tell them apart.

Suho goes to her. He wraps his arms around her waist and presses a kiss to her cheek, then
her lips. Sieun’s stomach churns.

She pushes him away, laughing, “Not in front of the kids.”

Sieun looks away. Little Sieun has Hyuntae in a headlock.

“Samchon,” Little Sieun waves at him, grinning ear to ear, “Come wrestle with us!”

He glances back at Suho.

Suho is looking at him, but he still has his arm around Sarang’s waist.

“I'm coming.” Sieun says.

Sieun wakes with a gasp.

The sheets are twisted around his feet in bunches, and his skin is slick with sweat.

What the hell was that?

Maybe he’s still feverish.

Sieun can't figure out how to navigate this ceasefire. Suho has seen him naked, covered in
puke, and delirious from a fever. Whatever feelings he thinks he has for Sieun must be long
gone by now.

Only now Sieun’s subconscious mind is torturing him with strange prophetic dreams.

His phone rings.

Sieun is embarrassed by how quickly he snatches it off the nightstand.

Suho, he thinks. Suho.

He looks at the screen.

It isn't Suho.

It’s Youngyi.

Chapter End Notes

The next chapter will be the final one!
 'cause you were always mine

“Sieun is mad at me. Should I just die? I should, right? I'll just die,” Youngyi says in what
Sieun guesses is supposed to be an imitation of Suho's voice, “He's been insufferable like that
all week.” She rummages around in her overstuffed makeup bag and takes out a black pencil.
Eyeliner.

“He's being dramatic,” Sieun says, jaw tense, “As usual.”

“Turn your head this way.” She orders. The eyeliner is poised in her hand like she's about to
jab him with it.

Sieun obediently turns his head. When Youngyi called earlier, she told him she had an
emergency and he needed to come to her apartment right away. The emergency turned out to
be some viral makeup look she wanted to try out on Sieun. So he's been enduring all kinds of
pointed questions about Suho while Youngyi smears various liquids and powders on his face
for the past twenty minutes.

Sieun wishes he didn’t come at all.

Youngyi leans forward and starts tracing the tip of the pen along his lid, near his lashline, “I
know when Suho is being dramatic and this isn’t it. He looked like he wanted to jump off the
Hangang Bridge.”

“He's not going to jump off a bridge,” Sieun says, exasperated, “He's been sitting outside my
apartment sulking all afternoon. He's fine.”

When Sieun left his place, he nearly tripped over Suho, who was sitting beside his door
sipping soup from a thermos like he was in his own living room.

“I knew you wouldn’t call,” Suho had explained, embarrassed at having been caught, “If you
were sick, I mean. So I wanted to be close…” He waved his thermos, “Just in case.”

“I’m not sick anymore.” Sieun had said. “You can go.”

So Suho left.

“Wow, that's…” Youngyi shakes her head. “I have no words for that.”

Sieun was speechless himself.

She switches to his other eye. “You should kiss and make up already if he's going that far. I
know you two bicker, but isn't this cruel and unusual punishment, Yeon Sieun?” Her hand
twitches and the pencil somehow skids across his eyebrow, “Damn it, hold on, it smeared.”
She grabs a cotton swab and swipes at his face.
Youngyi really doesn’t get it. This isn’t one of Sieun and Suho’s petty arguments that they
can resolve with an apology and move on like nothing happened. What Suho did with
Sarang… it was a perversion of their friendsh—their relationship. Suho had stabbed a knife
into Sieun’s back and twisted and twisted and kept twisting.

“I'm not doing it.” Sieun says.

Youngyi swirls a brush into a shimmering powder that glints in the fluorescent light, “Doing
what?” She taps the brush on the edge of the compact then sweeps it along his cheekbones in
delicate strokes.

“Kissing or making up,” He mumbles, “I'm done.”

Youngyi sighs, “Sieun, he loves you. Anyone can see that.”

His face grows unbearably warm. Maybe he’s having an allergic reaction to the glitter.

“He’ll get over it,” Sieun says quickly, “This—this thing with me—it’s not real. That’s what
I’m trying to tell you. He’s confused. He’ll go back to Sarang when he gets tired of waiting
around.”

Youngyi brushes the glitter down his neck and across his collarbones. He probably looks like
a disco ball by now. Why is he putting up with this again?

“You don’t believe that.” Youngyi says finally. She says it with no inflection or vitriol. Just
blank, neutral. FYI, you’re an idiot Yeon Sieun.

But he sees Suho kissing Sarang on the couch again, his hands in her hair. And then kissing
him, against the brick wall outside the gosiwon. It can only be you, but not quite. Sarang is
Sieun adjacent. Sieun with a tilt. Sieun but with your head half turned away, eyes not quite
open, squinting, like peering into the sun. Now he’s supposed to believe what Suho feels for
him isn’t a little crooked too?

Sieun’s chest tightens. If that’s true, then why does he feel so fucking guilty for thinking it?

“Does Suho sit outside Cho Sarang's door like a stray dog?” Youngyi asks with raised
eyebrows, “Did he clean puke off Cho Sarang? Has he contacted her since the day you two
made sweet, sweet love or whatever?”

“We did not —” Sieun’s cheeks flare brighter when Youngyi starts to grin, “Shut up. You’re
not funny.” He kind of wants to throttle her. Suho really must’ve poured out his heart and
soul since she seems to know everything.

And how would he know what Ahn Suho is up to these days? When he’s not sitting outside
Sieun’s door, he must go somewhere. He probably takes shifts. Cry in front of Sarang’s
house. Then Sieun’s. Whoever opens the door first gets a new, clingy pet.

Youngyi puts the brush down and looks at him, “You wanna know what I think?”
Sieun fiddles with the squeezie lip gloss tube at his feet, soft gloss hydrating lip glaze. “Not
really.”

“You don’t want this to be real.” She says.

Sieun’s heart jolts in his chest.

“You’re scared,” Youngyi continues, her voice wobbly, “And I get that. Opening up your
heart isn’t easy—especially when you’ve never been loved properly before.” Sieun winces.
She knows about his parents. How they’re never around. And that Suho was his first friend,
“But you have to do it scared, Sieun-ah. You have to, or you’re going to lose him forever.”

Sieun had already glimpsed a reality without Suho in his dream. He saw what it looked like
to exist in the periphery of his best friend's life instead of the center. A wave of grief washes
over him, heavy and dark; he’s already mourning a future that hasn’t come to pass.

“Anyway,” Youngyi sniffs and hands him a mirror, “I'm done.”

Sieun stares at his reflection.

“What do you think?” She's smiling, but she looks like she's about to burst into tears. It's a
funny combination. “You could be an idol with a face card like that.”

Sieun barely recognizes himself. For one thing, his eyes look huge. He doesn't know if it's the
eyeliner or the lash curler/torture device that did it, but it's unsettling. The lines of his face
appear slimmer, the shadows more defined, and his lips are a flushed pink color like he’s
been biting them.

Youngyi styled his hair too. It’s a dark tousle of waves, pushed back to show his forehead.

Even if it's something Sieun would never do himself, it's not bad. Just different.

Besides the glitter. Youngyi was a bit heavy-handed with the glitter.

Kkonminam. Flower boy.

Sieun puts the mirror down, “Can I go home now?”

“Ugh go ahead, you ungrateful asshole,” Youngyi waves him away, “But think about what I
said, okay?”

Sieun doesn’t go home.

He’s already on the bus, halfway to Suho’s house when he realizes that's where he’s going.

All roads lead to Ahn Suho. Or maybe that's just Sieun's internal navigation system. A
compass, always pointing to his one true north.

Now Sieun is standing in front of Suho’s door and he’s knocking before he can think better of
it.
Sieun hears footsteps on the floorboards—heavier and more relaxed—so it can’t be the slow,
shuffling gait of his grandmother.

A few seconds pass. Sieun's heart is in his throat. It’s too late to turn back.

“Who is it?” Suho calls.

Sieun hesitates, then says, “Delivery.”

The locks click and the door swings open.

Suho is wearing gym shorts and a loose tank top that shows more skin than it covers. He's all
lean, golden-brown muscle and it makes Sieun want to punch something. A glass window.
Maybe Suho.

“Sieun-ah,” Suho’s eyes are huge. “Your face, it's…”

“I was at Youngyi’s.” Sieun was in such a rush to leave her place he forgot to wash the
glittery crud off his face. Great. Just great. Suho must think he's here to serenade him with
one of those love ballads he's always singing at karaoke.

"No, yeah, that makes sense. You look—” Suho is nodding, open-mouthed, “Nice. Like,
good. It suits you is what I meant.” He sort of looks like a panting dog with his mouth open
like that.

Sieun feels both annoyed and miserable.

Is this what Suho likes? Glitter and lip gloss?

“Can I come in or should I go home?” Sieun asks impatiently. He’s already regretting this.

“No, come in, come in.” Suho grabs his wrist and drags Sieun over the threshold, pulling him
so hard he stumbles a bit. Once he's inside, Suho turns both locks on the door and steps in
front of it like he doesn’t want Sieun to get any ideas about escaping.

Sieun looks around. Usually, he can hear grease popping in a pan on the stove, or soft trot
music playing from the radio, but the house is quiet and dark. “Where’s Halmeoni?”

“Ah, it’s bingo night.” Suho says, scratching the back of his neck. “She sleeps over at Auntie
Misoon’s on bingo nights. They get crazy drunk on wine. So it’s just me.” Suho glances at
Sieun. “Or I guess us. It’s just us now.”

Sieun's mouth goes dry.

Just us.

You have to do it scared.

Suho is still staring.

By now, Sieun should be used to Suho looking at him. But today he feels like a pinned
butterfly under a microscope. Pretty, but dead, with his arms and legs splayed out at unnatural
angles so Suho can poke at his insides.

“Do you want to go to your room?” He asks this at the same time he bends down to untie his
shoelaces. Suho makes a startled noise, so he can imagine his expression. That wide-eyed,
dumb look. Like he's not sure if he won the lottery or if this is a scam.

Sieun isn't sure if he's winning or losing either.

“Yeah, yeah, sure.” Suho says with an anxious chirp. “Let’s go.”

Sieun follows Suho to his room.

His room is a mess. As usual. The bed is unmade and there’s an empty pizza box sitting on
his desk. A video game is paused on the TV screen.

“I’m in the middle of the campaign,” Suho explains, “I found the legendary armor set we
were looking for during our last play-through.” His gaze flickers to Sieun's then across his
face, and back to his eyes again, “The one with the dragon breastplate?”

Sieun nods. He remembers. He grabs the extra controller and climbs onto the bed.

After Suho sets up multiplayer mode, they sit side by side, legs crossed, knees pressed
against one another. The only sound in the house is the game, weapons slashing, enemies
dying, and their fingers smashing the controller buttons.

Suho isn’t cursing like usual. His character keeps running into walls too.

Sieun has caught himself looking at Suho more than once. When he leans forward the
slightest bit, the tank top falls away from his skin and Sieun can see straight down his shirt.
His toned abdominal muscles flex and shift under the fabric every time he moves. Sieun hates
himself for looking but—it's right there. He can't not look.

When Sieun dies for the third time, Suho pauses the game. He turns all the way around to
face Sieun, and Sieun feels himself sway—actually sway towards him—it’s ridiculous. He
needs a shock collar or something.

“About Sarang…” Suho starts.

Sieun’s breath quickens.

We made up. I just needed to get you out of my system. She's the one I like.

“I don't want to talk about her.” Sieun reaches for the controller again but Suho snatches it
away from him. “Well, tough,” He says, putting both controllers on the nightstand, out of
reach. “Let's be adults and have a grown-up conversation about this.”

Sieun sighs. He anticipated this. The It’s me, not you conversation, so to speak. What he
didn’t anticipate was this insatiable hunger roaring to life inside him, clawing at his ribcage,
trying to break free and reach for Suho.

There's a vein that goes up the other boy’s forearm, splitting like a river at the crook of his
elbow. Would Sieun be able to feel the blood rush under his tongue if he put his mouth
there?

He doesn't think he can be a grown-up about anything in this state.

Suho is still talking, “I know you're angry, but you should at least let me say my piece and
then you can decide what to—” Sieun leans towards Suho, so close he can feel his breath fan
across his face, “What to…” Suho falls back against the headboard, mouth parted in surprise,
and Sieun crawls after him, “Sieun-ah?”

Sieun climbs onto Suho's lap, knees braced on either side of his hips. He’s not going to think
anymore. He’s just going to feel. And right now, he wants to touch Suho.

Suho is shocked into silence, but his hands have already drifted to the small of Sieun’s back,
steadying him when Sieun drapes his arms around his neck.

Sieun doesn't care who Suho likes. Him or Sarang. Or both. He'll let himself be used and
discarded. Do it scared. He’s almost certain this isn't what Youngyi meant, but he doesn’t
care about that either.

“What is this?” Suho lets out a nervous laugh, cheeks high with color, “Are you trying to
distract me so you can shove a pillow over my face or something?”

“Why would I do that?” Sieun huffs out a laugh, “Did you do something bad?” This is fun.
It's easy. Things with Suho have always been easy, even when Sieun is just pretending to be
okay.

Suho's face falls.

“Yes.” He whispers, ducking his head. “I’m sorry.”

Sieun lifts his chin back up so they're eye to eye. He doesn't want Suho to be sorry. That's not
how he wants to remember them.

Suho swallows. He is so easy to read, now that Sieun knows what he's looking for. All he has
to do is blink a little slower and Suho's breathing speeds up.

“I want to make it up to you.” He says thickly. “What should I do?”

Suho looks desperate, and a little like he wants to eat Sieun alive.

Which is good. Sieun wants to be eaten. “You should be quiet for once.” He says, breathless.

Suho’s mouth lifts up at the corner, “Yah, Yeon Sieun, you’re really—”

Sieun kisses him.

Suho makes a little noise of surprise and then he's kissing him back, palms sliding to Sieun’s
waist to drag him closer.

The last time they kissed, Sieun was drunk. Now he’s sober and nervous, and he has no clue
what he’s doing. Over eager, his mouth lands slightly off center and his teeth bump into
Suho’s, pinching his upper lip. Sieun's heart rate spikes. If Suho only wants him for this,
shouldn't he be good at it?

Suho pulls back and looks at Sieun. Watch me, his eyes say.

Suho tilts Sieun's chin down with his fingers, angling their mouths so they align. When their
lips touch again, Suho’s mouth is soft and open, licking into Sieun’s with light, gentle
strokes.

It’s a lesson. A lesson in kissing. Like that time under the bridge.

The chin must always be tucked.

Sieun tries to replicate it. He traces Suho’s tongue with his, moving his lips so they’re in
sync, but his mouth is still trembling with nerves.

Suho rubs his palms along Sieun's thighs, warm and reassuring, you're okay. It's just me and
you. Like always.

Sieun relaxes a bit more and lets his hands roam. He follows the breadth of Suho’s broad
shoulders, the expanse of his chest, and his biceps. His skin is smooth and hot, almost
burning, and it makes Sieun dizzy with want. He didn't know it could feel this good— to
touch and be touched.

When Suho pulls back to breathe, his lips are smeared wet and pink with lip gloss. There’s
glitter on his cheek too. Sieun tries to rub it away with the pad of his thumb, but he ends up
spreading it around more. They look so dumb. Covered in glitter and Youngyi’s makeup, like
they’re at a rave party.

“What?” Suho grins, eyes crinkling, “What’s so funny?”

Sieun didn't even realize he was smiling.

They can’t do this though.

The back and forth.

It’s too familiar, too warm, and Sieun can already feel himself forgetting what he came here
for.

Before he loses confidence, Sieun reaches down and grabs the edge of his shirt. He lifts the
fabric over his head, shivering a little when the AC hits his bare skin.

Suho’s smile fades, replaced by something darker, more focused. It’s the same expression he
wears when he’s in a fight. His brain is completely honed in. Sieun feels himself shrink under
his intense gaze. He’s not muscular like Suho. He’s skinny and weak, and pale. “Just kiss
me,” Sieun says quickly, his face flushed, “Touch me.”

Suho grips his hips and flips their positions, pinning him to the mattress.

This is it. Suho will have his way with him and be done. It's what Sieun wanted, right? To get
it over with. So why is his heart sinking?

When Suho leans down to kiss him, it isn’t hot and desperate. It's soft. Gentle.

He kisses the corner of Sieun’s mouth, his chin, his cheeks, his nose, his eyelids, his
forehead. Sweet, lingering kisses that take Sieun's breath away.

He tilts his chin up in an attempt to capture Suho's mouth again, to drown out the tender ache
pulsing between his ribs, but Suho pulls back.

“What are you doing?” Suho asks. He gives Sieun a searching look. Like he can see right
through him, down to the marrow.

Drowning, Sieun thinks.

“Kissing you.” He says instead. They’ve reversed roles. Suho is the one against the brick wall
now, on a windy night, outside Hyejin’s gosiwon.

Suho stares at him hard, “Why?”

Sieun winds his fingers in the fabric of his shirt and stares back, his eyes soft. “Don’t you
want to?”

It's enough.

Suho dips down and kisses his neck in response. He licks and bites and sucks at the skin
under his jaw until Sieun is writhing under him, arching up off the mattress. Sieun knows
about erogenous zones. There are the obvious places—lips, chest, genitals, whatever. But his
neck feels like it's made out of pure nerve endings. Every time Suho's teeth so much as graze
the tender, abused flesh it sends a shock of pleasure straight to his groin.

Suho bites down hard, a little too hard, over his pulse point, and Sieun is genuinely afraid he's
going to come in his pants. “Suho,” Sieun pants, his hips shifting. “It’s too much.”

“Okay, okay,” Suho chuckles, pulling away, “You’re so sensitive. I like that.”

Sensitive. Tiny pinpricks of heat bloom all over Sieun’s face like bee stings. He doesn't get a
chance to catch his breath either. Suho is already moving on, leaving a trail of open-mouthed
kisses down his body.

Collarbones, chest, the soft curve of his stomach. Sieun’s abs flex at the light, butterfly touch
of Suho’s mouth.

Kiss, kiss, kiss, kiss.

Sieun exhales, lashes fluttering against his cheekbones.

Suho sucks another bruise near his hip bone.

Sieun doesn't whimper, he refuses to call it that, but something like it slips past his lips. He
has to bite his tongue to stop himself from gasping Suho’s name. Dear God. What is he
doing? He’s way in over his head. Sieun is supposed to be the one in control here, but he’s
already a mess.

Suho licks the sting away, lapping his tongue over the ‘V’ of his hips, and Sieun feels like
he's going to burst, right then and there.

Thankfully, Suho comes back up before that happens, smiling, big and goofy.

Sieun watches him, dumbfounded. Suho didn't try to take off his pants or slip his hand under
his boxers. He just… kissed him.

“Cute.” Suho pinches his cheek. “Should we order some food? There's a new office romcom I
want to watch. You're gonna hate it.” He snickers at that.

Sieun's eyes sting. This isn't how it’s meant to happen. Suho wasn’t supposed to be sweet.
Like this is a beginning instead of an ending.

Suho reaches for the remote on his nightstand, “I think it comes on at 9—”

Sieun turns Suho’s face and crashes their lips together, arching his hips off the mattress to
grind into his dick.

Even through the clothes, the contact is electric. It's Suho's teeth on his neck times a million.

“Yah,” Suho gasps against his mouth, his hand flexing around Sieun’s hipbone to keep him
still, “Do you have any idea what you're doing to me?”

“A little.” Sieun squirms under his pinned hand and Suho's cock jumps in his shorts.

He's already half-hard.

Suho laughs, half embarrassed, half rasping, like he's holding himself back. “We can slow
down,” He insists, “Let's cuddle. I want to hold you.”

Sieun didn’t come here to be held and cuddled. But Suho is already pulling away from him.
Shifting so that he’s lying next to Sieun instead of on top of him. If they end up watching that
stupid romance drama, he'll never want to leave.

“Hyung.” Sieun says.

Suho freezes, pupils expanding in real-time.

He's always begging Sieun to call him that, ‘please, just once?’ Sieun thinks it's corny—
they're only a few months apart after all—but it gets the job done. He has Suho's full and
undivided attention.

“I want to,” Sieun pleads, pitching his voice low and soft, “Can we?”

Suho stares for another second. Like he's trying to decide if this is real life or not.

Sieun clears his throat, “Unless you don't—”

“No, I do,” Suho says hurriedly, “But we're moving a little fast. I don't want you to feel
pressured or—or like you have to—”

Sieun puts his hand on Suho's bicep, “It's you, so it's fine.” And he means it. In his most
sordid daydreams, Sieun has imagined this moment more times than he can count.

Suho's Adam's apple bobs up and down.

This will be his punishment.

Sieun will be every fantasy Suho has ever had.

His heart is beating so hard he can't hear anything else as he sits up and tugs on Suho's arm,
guiding him back so he's sitting against the headboard again.

Sieun positions himself between Suho's spread legs.

Suho watches him, starry-eyed. He looks so boyish with his lower lip between his teeth and
his hair a ravaged mess.

It makes Sieun’s chest ache. With tenderness, with affection, with desire. He wants to do this.
He wants Suho to feel good because of him.

“Take off your shirt.” Sieun says.

Without hesitation, Suho pulls off the shirt and slings it across the room. Sieun thinks that
maybe all gyms should be closed and banned forever. Suho's muscles are Olympian.

“And your socks.” Sieun says stiffly, trying not to look at his pectorals.

“Am I getting a physical done or what, Dr. Yeon?” Suho laughs and slips off his socks,
tossing them on the floor. Sieun takes off his socks too. It would be weird to do this with
socks on. That’s all.

“Are you into that?” Sieun asks, partly out of curiosity, partly out of nervousness. “Doctor
stuff?” He doesn't think he can do roleplay.

Suho snorts, “Ah, no, I was just— I mean, if you want to, I wouldn't be opposed —I could
definitely get into it.” His tongue pokes into the corner of his cheek, “Dr. Yeon. It's kind of
sexy, right?”
Sieun suspects Suho would find just about anything sexy right now but it still makes his pulse
jump anyway.

“Isn't that unethical? A doctor-patient relationship,” He tries to keep his tone light as he pulls
on the waistband of Suho's shorts. “It doesn't seem very realistic to me.”

“That's why it's called a fantasy, it’s … ” Suho's voice turns breathy as he lifts his hips,
allowing Sieun to pull the shorts off in one go. There’s no point in being shy about it now,
right?

The nervous chatter stops and the mood shifts. Suho is fully naked and...

bigger than Sieun expected. Not that he thought his dick would be small or anything. But
isn’t it difficult to walk around like that?

His cock is almost fully hard, curving towards his abdomen, and Sieun hasn't even touched
him yet. He's strangely mesmerized. It's undeniable proof that Suho wants him.

Suho must mistake the pause as hesitation because he flushes, “Hey, you really don't have to
—”

Sieun wraps a hand around Suho’s cock and squeezes.

Suho makes a strangled noise from deep in the back of his throat, his hips twitching upward.

Adrenaline courses through Sieun's veins.

He's only ever done this to himself, so he moves his hand slowly at first, trying to get a feel
for the new angle. “How do you like it?” He asks. His voice sounds guttural, completely
unlike himself.

“Do whatever you want, I'll like it.” Suho's head lulls back, thumping against the headboard,
baring the column of his throat.

Sieun keeps one hand braced on Suho's thigh, steadying him, and the other around his cock,
moving in slow, tight strokes.

It's the way Sieun jerks himself off. When it's late at night and he's trying not to think about
Suho. He likes the symmetry of it. It's like he's gone full circle. Imagination becomes reality.

Suho moans. A soft, low noise that causes heat to pool in Sieun's belly.

He's making Suho feel this way. Sound this way. No one else.

Mine, mine, mine.

A drop of precome beads up from the tip, and trails down his cock, glistening. Everything is
hazy. Dream-like. Sieun is half-blinded by the fog of desire clouding his vision when he leans
down and licks an experimental stripe up Suho's length with the flat of his tongue. From base
to tip.
Suho jolts, “Fuck, Sieun.” His hands clench and unclench in the bed sheets.

Sieun pulls back, startled, “Is this okay?”

“Mm,” Suho's chest is heaving, eyes half-lidded, “Yeah. S'okay.”

He looks so. Fucked out. Like he's already teetering on the edge. Sieun wants to push him
over it and then some.

Tentatively, he takes the tip into his mouth.

Suho shudders again.

It's awkward at first.

Sieun has to get used to the weight on his tongue and the way his jaw stretches to
accommodate Suho's size. He’s hyper-aware of his teeth when he tries to hollow his cheeks,
and there's so much drool. It drips down, coating his hands as he gradually starts to work his
mouth around Suho's dick.

It's not an unpleasant sensation. The fullness. His head is airy. Light. He feels like he’s
floating somewhere above himself, watching this scene play out from a distance.

Suho doesn't seem to mind the clumsiness. Or the spit either.

He traces the outline of Sieun’s cheek, down to where his lips are wrapped around him, his
gaze unfocused with pleasure.

The gesture is somehow both tender and filthy at the same time and it makes Sieun blush
furiously. It’s embarrassing how much Sieun likes it—how much he wants to please Suho and
have him stroke his face and tell him he’s doing well. That he’s the only person who can
make it this good for him. The thought pushes Sieun to move his mouth faster, testing the
limits of his gag reflex as he finds a rhythm, inch by inch.

“Sieun-ah.” Suho's breath hitches. “Sieun-ah.”

His hips buck off the mattress and Sieun exhales, sinking deeper, throat tightening. He bobs
his head up and down, up and down, taking in more of him, as much as he can handle. He
wants everything, everything.

Suho rises off the bed again, his hips moving in small, involuntary thrusts that make Sieun's
jaw burn, makes him choke and pull back so he can breathe, then go back in with a slow, hard
suck.

Suho is breathing so loud it sounds like he's dying. Or maybe he's coming back to life. Sieun
likes the sound of that. Grim reaper and life-giver. The end and the beginning. A snake eating
its own tail. Ouroboros.

Sieun looks up through the thick fan of his lashes, tears pooling from the sting of the tip
hitting the back of his throat.
Suho lets out a broken, incredulous laugh. “Yah, if you look at me like that–I can't—” He's
slurring his words, all of them running together into mush. “Fuck. Fuck.”

He's close.

Sieun pulls away. Let's Suho's dick slide against his tongue, slow and torturous, then
nothing.

Suho shivers.

“What do you want, Suho?” Sieun asks, voice hoarse, “Tell me and I'll give it to you.”

Sieun isn't touching him at all now. His entire body is buzzing from the top of his skull to the
soles of his feet.

Suho pants, “Are you really gonna make me beg for it?”

Yes. Sieun stares at him. Impassive, unblinking, neutral. Like he hadn't just been sucking his
dick like it was his job. In reality, his gut is fizzling like a shaken Coke can.

“I want your mouth,” Suho says, “I want you to make me come.”

Sieun’s mouth fills with saliva. Like the Pavlovian dog. He's just as desperate as Suho is, but
Sieun lets him stew for another second.

Suho isn't embarrassed in the slightest. He's a picture of Adonis, leaning up against the
headboard like that. A Greek sculpture. But not even Michelangelo could think up Ahn Suho.

“Please?” Suho asks softly.

His heart thumps.

Sieun gives him what he wants. He always has.

He leans down again and takes Suho back into his mouth, still slick with spit and precome so
the glide is easier when he goes farther down, as far as he can go, then a little more.

Suho's hand finds its way to his hair. He doesn't push him down, just tugs at the soft strands,
like he's anchoring him in place. His thighs are starting to tremble and he's groaning his
name again, louder this time.

Sieun pulls back a little on his cock, then goes back down, his hand still working around what
he can't reach. The sounds his mouth is making are obscene. It's this wet, sloshing noise from
all the spit, from the way he's sucking on him. It makes Sieun's face burn like a star. But he
keeps going.

Above him, Suho sucks in a breath through his teeth.

His cock jerks in Sieun’s mouth.

Sieun doesn't pull off. His stomach spasms, he's nearly gagging, and now Suho is pulling at
his hair so hard it hurts, Sieun might really start choking—

“Sieun-ah,” Suho gasps again, “I'm going to– fuck —”

Suho comes hard and fast with another sharp exhalation of breath, filling Sieun's mouth in
hot, salty spurts. Sieun tries to swallow everything but there’s so much of it. He catches the
cum that leaks out of the corners of his mouth with his thumb before it can trail down his
chin.

His mind is fuzzy. Euphoric. Pure white noise.

Sieun re-enters his body again as he’s stroking Suho through the aftershocks of his orgasm.

He can hear the faint hum of the space heater in the corner. The video game is paused, mid-
boss fight, waiting for someone to pick up the controllers.

Sieun sits back on shaky hind legs. He doesn't take his eyes off Suho as he sticks his thumb in
his mouth, sucking it clean.

“You okay?” He asks.

Sieun isn’t sure if he’s okay. He’s feeling a lot of things—but mostly disbelief, mixed with
amazement. He can’t believe he just did that. And he wants to do it again. And again. That’s
the worst part.

“Mm. Mmhm.” Suho is beyond language. He’s flushed all the way down to his chest and he's
staring at Sieun like he's a dream made real. Like Sieun was made just for him.

Sieun thinks that he was made for Suho. But maybe Suho wasn't made for him.

Sarang can have him, but he’ll never be hers. Not really. Every time they touch and kiss
Suho will think of Sieun. He will think of this moment—

Sieun, looking down like a little god.

Suho, looking up, dazed and reverent.

Suho reaches for him. Sieun lets Suho pull him down, and their mouths slide together,
languid and hot with Suho's taste still on his tongue.

Do you like me better this way? Sieun wonders. Better than Sarang? Better than anybody
else? As long as I give you what you want?

He doesn’t realize he spoke out loud, whispered feverishly in between kisses until Suho
caresses his cheek.

“I like you every way.” Suho says against the corner of his mouth, “I like you always.”
Sieun’s cock pulses in his pants and his hips shift forward, mindlessly seeking friction—
relief. There are tears in his eyes. He finds relief when Suho's thigh nudges up between his
legs, then his body is moving, helplessly rutting against Suho, driven by pure sensation.

More, more, more.

Sieun isn't kissing Suho anymore. He’s panting, eyes squeezed shut, as Suho helps guide his
hips into a steady rhythm that makes Sieun gasp and claw at his arm. Suho is already hard
again—his stamina really doesn’t seem human—but the thought is there and gone before
Sieun can hold onto it, he’s drifting away as he grinds down on Suho’s leg. Harder, harder.
More, more. He can hear himself speaking but it sounds like it’s coming from a thousand
miles away, Suho, Suho, Suho please.

He doesn't know what he's begging for.

Suho slides his hand between them, under the thin fabric of Sieun's gray sweatpants, then his
boxers, cupping him.

Sieun shivers. He's already so hard, and leaking. This is going to be over embarrassingly
fast.

“Good?” Suho asks. His eyes are black. Blacker than Sieun has ever seen them.

“Yes.” The skin-on-skin contact alone is too much. Suho is touching him. He wants to touch
him. He could come just from this.

Suho starts jerking him off, twisting his hand at every upstroke, causing electric sparks of
pleasure to shoot up Sieun's spine.

He bites down on his lip to keep from crying out.

“You like that?” Suho asks. It feels a little mean—isn't it obvious how much he's enjoying
this?

But Suho is slowing up, so Sieun chokes out, “Yes—ah!” His thumb brushes over the tip,
teasing, and Sieun lurches up right into the hot fist of Suho’s hand, “I like it. I like it. Just—”

Suho gaze is molten, “Yeah?” There’s a wicked smile playing at the corners of his lips, the
one he gets when he’s teasing Sieun and he knows he’s going overboard.

Bastard. Sieun tries to steady his breathing, tries not to whine, “ Don't stop.”

Suho hums, satisfied, then increases the pace again, stroking him rough and fast. The friction
feels so good that Sieun goes boneless, his face sinking into the crook of Suho's neck, soft
moans punched out of him.

And isn't this a fantasy for Suho too? Having Sieun unravel like a spool, thread by thread,
until there's nothing left of him? Until Sieun doesn't know where he ends and Suho begins?
Suho's other hand threads into the back of his hair, caressing his nape with light reassuring
touches. The tenderness is so at odds with the filthy movements happening in Sieun's pants
right now that it makes his hips stutter, clumsy and frantic. Sieun is losing control of himself.
His body is moving on its own, trying to get as close as he can to Suho without climbing into
his body altogether.

Suho squeezes his dick on the down stroke, near the base, and it’s really—too much. Too
good. “Suho, Suho-yah, I—”

“I got you,” Suho murmurs, “You're doing so good.”

Sieun's nails dig into his shoulders as he starts to tremble. It must hurt, but Suho doesn't even
flinch. Stars are dancing behind his eyelids. Entire constellations. The whole universe.

His pulse surges and then—

"You're so pretty, Sieun.” Suho whispers. “So pretty for me.”

Then it hits him like a freight train.

Pretty.

Cho Sarang.

Sieun stops breathing.

He reaches down, catching Suho's wrist. His hand stills immediately.

Sieun's cock throbs at the loss of sensation.

“You okay?” Suho asks, brushing his lips across Sieun's temple.

When Sieun doesn’t answer right away, Suho slips his hand out of his pants altogether.

He isn't a god. Or even a man. Not yet anyway. Sieun is a teenage boy and he's in love and he
just wants to feel good, to let Suho make him feel good. But what good is it, if he can only
have it once?

Sieun won't eat this forbidden fruit. To know its sweetness, feel the crush of it between his
teeth, have the juice run down his chin. He'd go mad, knowing he'd never get to taste it
again.

“I'm tired,” Sieun says, and God he's still slurring a little, it's obvious how badly he wants
this, how badly he wants Suho. “Let's go to sleep.”

Suho looks stricken, “Did I do something wrong?”

“No.” He says. Then, “You can shower first.” It's cold. Dismissive. He's already turning
away. Sieun can't see the look on Suho's face.
Youngyi was right. He's a coward.

Sieun can feel Suho watching him. He looks for so long that Sieun thinks he may call him
out: Liar. Liar. Liar.

But he doesn’t.

Suho leans across the bed and presses his lips to Sieun’s forehead, his hand cupping the back
of his head, fingers tangling in his sweat-damp hair.

Sieun closes his eyes.

“I love you.” Suho whispers, soft as a dream.

Sieun holds himself very still. He doesn’t even breathe.

And then Suho is pulling away and Sieun hears him get up and move around the room,
picking up his scattered clothes off the floor, opening and closing the dresser.

Floorboards creak.

The shower turns on.

Sieun finally opens his eyes.

He could finish himself off if he wanted to. Clean up before Suho gets back. He won’t
though.

Instead, Sieun reaches for his shirt and pulls it back over his head. He tugs his pants back up
around his waist with shaking hands.

Suho can have everything else, but this.

The bed is a crime scene. The fitted sheet is hanging off the mattress, exposing the white
canvas underneath, and the blankets are a crumpled mess at his feet. There's glitter smeared
everywhere.

Sieun gets up and fetches the fresh sheets from the linen closet. Makes the bed with creases at
the corners. No wrinkles in the comforter. He tosses the old bedding in the washer and pours
extra fabric softener and detergent in.

It's like Sieun was never here.

He stands in the hallway, listening to the running water in the shower. Hesitates, for just a
second.

Then Sieun turns and leaves.

He doesn’t go home. He walks around aimlessly, a ghost drifting through the dark streets
with no destination in mind. He vaguely registers the wet pavement under his bare feet and
rocks digging into his skin. He forgot his shoes. At least he remembered to put his shirt back
on.

A few people pass by—a group of girls coming out of a club, and a guy walking his dog—
and they all look at him strangely.

Because Sieun is strange.

He’s alone and miserable and so full of shame it makes him sick.

Sieun is the strangest boy in the whole world.

Thirty minutes pass. An hour.

Sieun finds himself in a park.

He sits down on a bench to catch his breath. There’s a garden full of blooming white flowers
at his feet. The soft petals move in the breeze, scenting the air with their aroma. It’s a sweet,
light smell. Somewhere between vanilla and jasmine.

Sieun's thoughts are hummingbirds, flitting by at light speed.

It's cold outside.

He should probably go home.

Someone is coming. Easy, rhythmic footsteps approaching from behind.

Sieun knows it's Ahn Suho without having to turn around.

Suho rounds the bench and stands in front of him, fully dressed, his hair damp and his hands
stuffed in the pockets of his blue windbreaker.

He surveys Sieun from head to toe. The wind-blown tangle of his hair, his wrinkled t-shirt,
and his bare feet, blackened with dirt and grime from the road.

Sieun's lower lip quivers.

He doesn't look away from the flowers.

Without a word, Suho turns and leaves.

Sieun stays seated. There's nowhere he can go that Suho won't follow anyway.

Ten minutes later, Suho returns with a plastic shopping bag.

Suho crouches down in front of him, dumping the contents onto the sidewalk. A travel-size
pack of wet wipes, a new pair of socks, and… sneakers. Nike sneakers with the red check.

He lifts Sieun's left foot and wipes the sole off with a wipe. Then he wipes off the right one,
scrubbing at a patch of stubborn dirt on his heel. The cloth is cold and wet on his skin.
“How did you find me?” Sieun asks finally. He’s bone weary. There isn’t any fight left in
him.

Suho shrugs, and pulls a white sock over his foot, “I always do, don't I?” He puts on the other
sock, then slips on the sneakers and double knots the laces.

They fit perfectly. Like Cinderella.

“And if one can be found whom the glass slipper fits, then, by the King's command, that girl
shall be the Prince's bride.”

Sieun wants to laugh. Or take the shoes off and chuck them across the park, just to see what
Suho would do. But he already knows. Suho would go fetch them like a loyal dog and then
he’d put them back on Sieun’s feet again. He wouldn’t even be mad.

Sieun hates him.

Sieun loves him.

Suho takes off his windbreaker and drapes it around Sieun's shoulders. “Arms.” He says. His
tone leaves no room for argument.

Glowering, Sieun sticks his arms through the sleeves. Prick.

Content, Suho plops down right next to him, throwing an arm over the back of the bench.
Their arms and knees and thighs are touching, all lined up neatly like a puzzle piece. It's all
too much and not enough at the same time.

“I couldn't sleep.” Sieun says. Another lie. “I needed some air.” The truth.

Suho doesn’t say anything. He just slides his hand to the back of Sieun’s neck, and runs his
fingers across the soft skin there.

Sieun's eyes flicker shut. He's floating, buoyant in a hazy cloud of desire and guilt. He wants
this to end. Or maybe he wants to go back to the beginning. Before everything went wrong.

Suho starts, “Sieun-ah—” About Sarang.

Sieun's pulse leaps. “Do you know what kind of flower that is?” He asks, pointing at the
white blossoms.

Suho drops his hand and raises his eyebrows, “All of a sudden?”

Sieun feels desperate, “Well, do you?”

“No, I have no clue what kind of flower that is.” He says, half fond, half exasperation. “But I
have a feeling my favorite bookworm is going to tell me.”

Sieun ignores the nickname. Ignores the way it makes his lips want to twitch into a smile.
“Moonflowers,” He says, “They only bloom at night. Someone must be taking good care of
them since they've lasted this far into October. They typically only grow in warmer climates.”

Suho nods like he’s really interested even though Sieun knows he isn’t. “How do you know
everything, huh? Do you have an encyclopedia in that pretty little head of yours?”

Pretty. There goes that word again.

I don't know everything, Sieun thinks, Sometimes, it feels like I don't know anything at all.

Suho gets off the bench and crouches down beside the garden. He squints at the flowers,
contemplating, then plucks one blossom from the dirt. The smallest one.

Suho sits back down and tucks the flower behind Sieun’s left ear. Flower boy. “Are you going
to tell me what that face is about?”

Sieun exhales, “What face? There's no face.” He wants to take the flower and throw it on the
ground. Stomp it to pieces. But he doesn't. He lets it be.

“There's a crease between your eyebrows,” Suho tries to rub the crease away with his thumb.
Sieun—and his forehead—are incredibly stubborn, “And that pout. Tell hyung what's going
on.”

Sieun rolls his eyes, but it brings heat to his cheeks anyway. Hyung. He shouldn't be held
responsible for anything he said while he was horny.

"When high school ends, what do you want to do?" The question pops into his head and
leaves his mouth before he has time to take it back.

“Really?” Suho tilts his head, “That's what made you wander around Seoul barefoot in the
middle of the night? My future plans?” He sounds impatient. Like he doesn’t get why Sieun
can’t just be straight with him. Maybe Suho will get so annoyed he’ll leave. It would make
this easier for both of them.

“Just answer the question.” Sieun begs.

Suho relents with a soft sigh, "I want to be a taekwondo instructor."

Of course. That makes perfect sense. Sieun nearly smiles, "You're going to be a great teacher,
Suho."

"What about you?" He nudges Sieun’s knee with his. Always touching. "What does the
brilliant Yeon Sieun want to be when he grows up? Neurosurgeon? Astrophysicist?
President?"

Sieun takes the flower out from behind his ear and examines it, just to have something to do
with his hands, "I've never thought about it."

It’s a trumpet-shaped, delicate thing with soft milky petals.

"Wait, what?” Suho says, baffled, “So why do you study like your life depends on it?"

Sieun thinks of his parents. All of his academic awards lined up on the wall in their
apartment.

I'm proud of you, son.

"It's just what I'm expected to do."

A beat of silence.

Sieun twirls the flower stem between his fingers. They probably expect him to like girls too,
but that ship sailed a long time ago.

"Let's find you a dream," Suho says warmly, running a hand over the nape of Sieun's neck
again, "Together."

Sieun pulls away from him, and shifts so his hand falls, so their legs aren’t touching anymore.
"I can't rely on you forever."

Suho exhales loudly through his nose. "What the hell is that supposed to mean?" Good. He's
getting mad.

Sieun's dream flickers behind his eyelids.

“Samchon,” Little Sieun waves at him, grinning ear to ear, “Come wrestle with us!”

He glances back at Suho.

Suho is looking at him, but he still has his arm around Sarang’s waist.

“I'm coming.” Sieun says.

A breeze blows, and the fragrance of the moonflowers perfume the air, thick and heady. This
time, it’s stifling. "One day, you'll get married to a pretty girl and have kids," Sieun explains,
"Maybe it'll even be Sarang. You'll forget about me. You have to."

"Sieun—”

"I always thought you'd have two sons. Brothers." He says quickly, cutting Suho off. "One
will look like you, and the other will look like her.” Like me. “They'll laugh and fight and
protect each other, just like real brothers should." Real brothers. The words shouldn't chafe so
badly. They do though. Of course, they do.

"Where are you?" Suho asks softly.

Sieun blinks, "What?"

"In this imaginary life you've created for me, where are you?"
"We grow apart,” Sieun tosses the flower in his hand to the ground, “Not because we get in a
fight or anything. But because that's just how life is sometimes. People grow up, then they
grow apart." The moonflower landed on the pavement, next to the garden. It looks beaten
down. Sad.

“Sieun-ah,” Dream Suho says hesitantly, “Will you come over more often? To see the boys?”

"Sounds like a nightmare." The Real Suho says.

It felt like one, Sieun thinks. But Suho was happy. So it can't be called a nightmare. "I'll still
come visit on the holidays,” He continues, “You know, when I'm not busy with my
presidential duties. Do you think your kids will call me uncle? They'll have to, right?" His
voice sounds weak and insincere. Sieun's never been good at playing pretend.

“Yeon Sieun.” Suho pins him with a hard, unwavering stare, "There is no version of reality
where we grow apart. Unless I'm dead.” He puts his hand over Sieun’s, his grip is tight,
possessive, like he’s sinking under the waves and Suho is holding on for dear life, “And even
then, I don't think my bones could give you up. I'd crawl out of the grave if I had to. You
know that, don't you?”

When Sieun tries to pull his hand away, Suho holds fast. He won’t let him go anywhere.

Fresh tears spring to Sieun’s eyes. "Maybe your wife will let me move in." His voice is faint.
Barely audible.

"Maybe she will." Suho says harshly. "I'll have to arrange a spare room for her though. We'll
never all fit in the same bed. It'll be too crowded." He can't mask the hurt in his voice.

Sieun laughs like he doesn’t hear the hurt. "You're the worst."

Suho doesn't laugh though. Sieun didn't know it was possible to angrily caress someone's
hand, but Suho managed somehow. His thumb is stroking over his knuckles, back and forth
with surprising force. It's almost painful.

“So what happened with Sarang?” Sieun asks finally. The last nail in the coffin.

“There is no Sarang. She likes Kim Hyejin,” Suho says, annoyed, “God only knows why. She
has horrible taste.”

Wait, what?

No Sarang.

She's with Kim Hyejin?

Like they're dating?

When did that happen? How did that happen?

No Sarang?
No. Sarang.

“What did you say?” Sieun asks.

Suho scrubs his free hand through his wet hair, eyebrows furrowed, “I said she has horrible
taste. I don't know what she sees in that menace—”

Sieun leans forward, heart racing, racing, racing, “No, the other part.”

“That they're dating?” Suho says, confused, “I thought you already knew.”

Sieun shakes his head, “Why didn't you tell me?”

“I’ve been trying to tell you we broke up this whole time,” He cries, “But you wouldn't let me
talk. You kept distracting me with your bedroom eyes. And you know.” He gestures vaguely
towards Sieun's mouth. The mouth that was just wrapped around his dick.

Sieun turns every shade of red. “Yah!”

“Why are you acting shy now?” Suho is grinning so wide Sieun can see all his teeth, “I
seriously thought you were going to suck my soul out of my—”

Sieun clamps a hand over his mouth. “Shush.”

Does this boy have no shame at all?

Suho’s eyes sparkle.

The answer is no. He's utterly shameless.

Sieun knows what’s about to happen, but he’s not fast enough to stop it. Suho licks a stripe up
Sieun’s hand, his tongue hot and wet.

Nostrils flared, Sieun yanks his palm away, “You’re sick.” He wipes his hand on his pants
until the fabric stings his skin.

Suho throws his head back and laughs even louder. Even though it’s at his expense, Sieun lets
the sound wash over him. He thought he’d never hear it again.

“Wait,” Suho's laughter cuts off abruptly, mid-cackle, “If you thought I was still with Sarang,
why did you…” His eyes widen with realization. “Wah, you're cruel, Yeon Sieun. That's your
goodbye gift? Should I make you mad all the time or what?”

The tips of Sieun’s ears catch fire. He did things with Suho, thinking he was still in a
committed relationship. In the moment, it felt like winning. It was the only way he could
walk away with a part of Suho inside him, precious and preserved, unsullied forever.

It was beyond selfish. Beyond stupid. Beyond cruel.

Sieun has no words to defend himself. He's despicable.

“Sieun-ah.” Suho says, his voice suddenly soft and imploring, “What are you so afraid of?”

“Everything.” Sieun admits. And it feels like a weight off his shoulders to finally say it out
loud.

“It's me,” Suho says, putting a hand on his chest, “Just Suho, remember? Nothing has to
change. You're not gonna lose me.”

Just Suho. Motorcycle rides and finger hearts, grill restaurants and snack bars, soft snores
from the back of the classroom and a pink rabbit pillow.

Sieun's heart thumps.

My Suho.

“I was afraid too.” Suho continues. “That's why I started dating Sarang, I think. I needed
somewhere to put the love. Somewhere I knew it wouldn't hurt me. Or worse, hurt you.” He
pauses, jaw working, “If I could convince myself Sarang was enough, then I could have my
cake and eat it too, you know? But it was impossible right from the beginning. Every time I
was with her, I thought of you. Why aren’t you acting like Sieun? Why don’t you look like
Sieun? Why don't you get me the way Sieun does? Those questions kept going through my
mind, over and over and over.” He stares off into the middle distance, un-seeing, “That's how
I knew it was pointless. There was never any competition between you and Sarang. I'd
choose you a thousand times over. No contest. No do-overs. Just you.”

This is what Sieun wanted to hear all along. He thought he was being selfish. Mean. Evil,
even. To want Suho like this. To have Suho tell him he isn't second best, or even in first
place. There was never a scoreboard in Suho's heart. It was just Sieun. All along.

Sieun feels the knot in his chest unravel. Gradually, then all at once.

“I never once thought there was something wrong with you,” Suho says hoarsely, “You were–
you are perfect. I'm the problem. I'm the one who fucked up. So if you want to hate someone,
hate me, but for God's sake,“ He drops his head and whispers, “Stop blaming yourself. I can't
bear to see you this way. It really breaks my heart.” Suho wipes a tear away with his shirt,
then wipes another, and another.

And now he's crying for real. The tears runs off his chin and snot drips from his nose. He
wipes that away too, with the back of his sleeve.

Sieun’s heart turns to liquid gold.

He reaches out and catches a stray tear from Suho's cheek with his thumb. “I just want you to
be happy.” He whispers.

Suho closes his eyes and leans into Sieun’s palm, “You make me happy.”

"But we're friends," Sieun says tremulously, "Best friends."

"Yes." He replies, opening his eyes. “And we always will be.”

"And we're boys."

"So? I'm sick of overthinking it.” Suho says. “I don't need a hundred look-alikes. I just need
you.”

Sieun's throat constricts.

Do it scared.

“Sieun-ah,” Suho says desperately, “Do you…” He licks his lips, gaze flickering across his
face, “Do you still—”

Sieun kisses him first. It's tender and sweet, and everything he dreamed love would be.

When he pulls away, Suho stares at him, open-mouthed.

“I never stopped loving you,” Sieun says, “Not even for a second.”

Suho surges forward and they kiss again, two boys intertwined, like moonflowers on a vine.
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