Chapter Text
The next morning, Sieun reported for duty like always, uniform crisp, face blank, mind quiet in that eerie, floating way it had been since the day before. He’d barely slept, but hadn’t noticed. Everything he did felt mechanical. Routine. Manageable.
Until Major General Cho stepped out of his office and fixed him with a look.
“Corporal Yeon Sieun.”
Sieun snapped to attention. “Sir.”
“You’re coming with me.” Sieun didn’t question it. Just nodded once and followed.
The walk through the administrative hallways was silent. Cho said nothing and Sieun didn’t ask. He didn’t have it in him to wonder where they were going or why, his body moved and his brain followed somewhere behind. They reached the gates and walked to a black car. Not a regular military transport, a civilian-model limousine.
Sieun faltered for just a second.
Cho opened the door and gestured inside. “Get in.”
He did. The interior was too soft, too quiet. Sieun sat rigidly, eyes forward.
They pulled out onto the road. Minutes passed. Then, Cho finally spoke, his voice low, almost awkward.
“My wife’s idea,” he said.
Sieun turned his head slightly.
Cho continued, staring out the opposite window. “She didn’t think you’d be able to focus properly with everything going on. And she… insisted.” A pause. “Said this would be better than pretending things are normal.”
Sieun blinked slowly, absorbing the words.
Cho turned to look at him now, expression unusually serious. “No one finds out about this. Understood?”
Sieun nodded immediately. “Yes, sir.”
“Good.”
The rest of the drive stretched in silence. The highway unrolled in smooth gray lines. Sieun sat still, only the smallest muscle twitch in his jaw betraying the swirl of thoughts behind his eyes.
Two and a half hours in, the landscape changed. Trees receded. The buildings grew taller. And then the car slowed. They turned a corner. And stopped.
Sieun finally looked out the window, really looked. His heart stuttered. This place.
“Sir…?” he asked, his voice quiet and brittle.
Because there it was. The familiar front of a hospital. The curve of the drop-off point where he'd stood dozens of times before.
His breath caught in his throat.
Cho didn’t look at him. He just nodded toward the door. “You have until eleven hundred.”
Then, more softly, but without looking away, “Go.”
Sieun stood in front of the door for a long moment.
From inside, he could hear murmured voices. Halmoni’s soft tone. A familiar low laugh, Keum Seongje.
He pushed the door open gently.
Halmoni turned first. The second she saw him, her hand flew to her mouth and her eyes filled with tears. “Sieun-ah…” she breathed, rising slowly.
Sieun barely managed a nod before he stepped forward, straight to the hospital bed. His hands trembled slightly as he looked down at Suho, sleeping peacefully, breathing slow but steady, color returned to his face.
“He just fell asleep,” Halmoni said softly, wiping her eyes. “About twenty minutes ago. He’s been doing so well.”
Sieun swallowed hard. “That’s… good. That’s really good.”
He turned to Seongje and gave a small, awkward bow. “Thank you for calling, Seongje.”
Seongje was watching him with an amused expression.
“You know,” Sieun muttered, “you could respond to your messages once in a while.”
Seongje leaned back, arms crossed. “Too busy catching deserters,” he said with a lazy grin. “You know how it is.”
Halmoni chuckled. “Boys…” she sighed fondly and sat back down.
The three of them settled around the bed, voices kept low so as not to disturb Suho.
“So,” Seongje asked after a moment, raising an eyebrow. “What are you even doing here, exactly?”
Sieun glanced at him, face unreadable. “I’m not at liberty to say.”
Seongje stared. “Seriously?”
Sieun raised a brow. That was all.
“…That’s absolute bullshit and you know it,” Seongje muttered.
Sieun didn’t deny it.
They talked quietly for a while, Halmoni explaining Suho’s new therapy plan, the doctors’ optimism, and how the first word out of his mouth had been “Sieun-ah.”
“He’ll need rehab, of course,” she added gently, “but the doctors say his cognitive function is intact. With time, he might recover fully.”
Sieun didn’t say anything. Just nodded, his hand holding Suho’s like a lifeline.
The hours passed without anyone noticing. Then, footsteps. Fast. Loud. Approaching. All three of them froze.
Sieun checked the clock on the wall and stiffened immediately, rising from his chair, still holding onto the hand. The door opened.
“We have to go,” came Major General Cho’s barked from the hallway.
Halmoni and Seongje both looked startled.
“Oh,” Cho said as he stepped inside and looked at Seongje, recognition dawning. “I know you.”
Seongje stood instinctively and bowed. “Private First Class Keum Seongje, sir.”
But Cho only grinned. “Handsome Oppa with glasses,” he said, shaking his head with a short laugh. “My daughter’s words.”
Seongje blinked. “Cho Yerim?”
Cho raised a brow.
“Uh— I mean, the birthday message… it was posted online. It got over fifteen million views.”
Silence.
Sieun looked at Seongje. Then at Cho. “…What?” they both said, nearly in sync.
Halmoni rose slowly, brushing off her skirt. “Be good, Sieun-ah,” she said warmly. “Don’t cause trouble for your superior.”
Sieun nodded tightly and gently let go of Suho's hand. He stepped behind the chair, gave one final look at Suho, still sleeping and bowed low to all three, Halmoni, Seongje and Suho.
Cho lingered just a moment longer inside the room after Sieun stepped out, eyes scanning over Suho, then settling on Seongje.
“Private First Class Keum,” he said, lowering his voice just slightly. “First Lieutenant Im Ji-seop isn’t to hear about this meeting. Understood?”
Seongje blinked once, then gave a dry little smile. “I’m currently on leave, sir. I haven’t seen anything or anyone.”
Cho gave a satisfied nod. “Excellent.”
Seongje tilted his head slightly. “Permission to ask… how close are you to Corporal Yeon, sir?”
Halmoni perked up slightly, her expression curious now.
Cho didn’t answer immediately. His eyes lingered on the closed door, then drifted back to Suho in the bed.
“I suppose,” he said at last, more quietly, “if I had a son, I’d hope he’d be like Sieun-ah.”
Halmoni gave a small, warm smile at that. Seongje, however, raised an eyebrow, sensing something else.
Cho sighed. “For a while, my wife kept saying I should try to make him our son-in-law. But…” He gave a dry little laugh and rubbed at his temple. “…After seeing just how appalled he was at the very concept of having a wife and getting to know him better, I’ve come to understand that this is absolutely never going to happen.”
Seongje couldn’t help the short laugh that escaped him. “Understood, sir.”
Cho smiled, almost sheepishly. “Though my daughter’s obsessed with him. With Private Park. And Park’s girlfriend. I get daily updates like it’s a drama series.”
Halmoni gave a small, incredulous laugh. “He really is that popular?”
“Apparently,” Cho replied with a long-suffering sigh. “Even on base, some soldiers make excuses just to pass by and catch a glimpse of him. During drills, they practically fight for a chance to be assigned under his supervision.”
Halmoni raised her eyebrows. Seongje looked vaguely amused.
“It’s worse when they start bringing him gifts,” Cho muttered. “Chocolate, mostly. He always hands it to me, says he doesn’t like sweets. I told him once to at least ask his little fan club to bring something decent. Tea. Dried persimmons. Ginseng. Anything.”
He shook his head, resigned, but not unkind. Then, after a pause, his tone shifted, quieter, more thoughtful. “I’ll admit… I’m glad Private Park is usually glued to his side when he’s not in my office.”
Halmoni and Seongje looked up, curious.
“It’s not because I think Sieun-ah can’t handle himself,” Cho clarified. “He can. But he attracts unwanted attention. Soldiers talk about him when they call home. Show pictures. Next thing I know, they’re getting pressured by their sisters or cousins to set up blind dates with him. People see that quietness and mistake it for something they can corner.”
His jaw tensed slightly. “In an environment like ours, where isolation and frustration build, it doesn’t take much for that kind of behaviour to take root.”
Seongje looked halfway between horrified and entertained.
“I brought it up once during a general behaviour reminder,” Cho went on. “But most of them assume I don’t notice. They think they’re being clever.”
He rubbed his brow. “It’s not subtle. And frankly, I don’t care for the idea of people scheming behind his back just to get his attention.”
He exhaled. “That’s why I’m relieved Park’s around. Not because I think Sieun-ah needs protection. But because people like that… they’ll push until someone stops them. And Park doesn’t hesitate. Also, he reports them to me.”
He stepped back to the door then, pausing only to glance once more at Suho. Then, with a faint smile and a polite nod toward Halmoni, he turned and left. In the hallway Sieun waited, already standing at attention, eyes still a little red, but back in soldier mode.
Cho didn’t speak at first. Then, without looking at him, he asked quietly, “Were you able to speak with your friend?”
Sieun quickly wiped his eyes and gave a small shake of his head. “No, sir.”
Cho sighed. “Too bad,” he said. “We can’t pull that kind of stunt again, they won't believe a second time that an in-person meeting will be canceled on such short notice… But if you submit a leave request, I’ll make sure it’s processed immediately.”
Sieun nodded, eyes still red. They walked the rest of the way in silence, the general’s steps heavy beside his, back to the black car waiting at the entrance.
The late afternoon sun filtered softly through the hospital window when Suho stirred. His eyelids fluttered briefly before he blinked awake, sluggish and disoriented. His head still felt heavy, but the dull ache had receded to something tolerable.
He turned his head slightly and saw Seongje lounging in the chair beside the bed, legs casually crossed, polishing off an apple with practiced ease.
“You’re finally up,” Seongje said around a bite, his voice light but unmistakably relieved. “Took you long enough. I was about to eat your pudding too.”
Suho groaned softly and tried to sit up a little.
“Just past four,” Seongje said, glancing at the clock. He set the apple core aside and grabbed a tissue to wipe his hands. “You’ve been out for hours. Halmoni’s napping and I’ve been keeping watch.” Seongje sighed. “Tell me, Ahn Suho, is poverty a disease of people with the last name ‘Ahn’? A senior who was at D.P. until last year or so is named Ahn Joonho and is dirt poor. Is he your cousin?”
Suho’s eyes narrowed.
“Also, my Sieunnie came by earlier,” he said, quieter this time.
Suho blinked slowly. His throat tightened. Seongje smiled, noticing the change.
“He sat right there for a minute,” he said, gesturing casually to the side of the bed. “Didn’t say much at first. Just held your hand for, like, thirty seconds. It was kind of sweet.”
Suho’s gaze sharpened.
“And then…” Seongje leaned back in his chair, stretching. “He sat on my lap and kissed me. I missed him so much.”
Suho’s whole body froze.
“Yeah. Full-on, no hesitation. Arms around my neck. Head resting on my shoulder after that. Warm. Soulful.”
Suho shot him a look that could wither crops.
“And before you ask, yes, it was nice.” Seongje grinned wickedly.
Suho glared daggers at him.
“…And he looked so cute in uniform. He’s gained quite a bit of muscle, all in the right places, but he felt nice and soft on top of me.”
Suho’s brows twitched, and he let out a low, gravelly sound that might’ve been a protest—or a death threat. Hard to tell.
“Oh, and guess what else?” Seongje said brightly, as if just remembering. “Apparently, he’s a big deal in the military. Like, capital-P Popular. Soldiers fight over getting him as their tactical drill supervisor. Some bring him chocolate or try to set up blind dates with him. His superior officer's daughter is obsessed with him. I mean, a video he recorded for her got fifteen million views. Fifteen million, Ahn Suho.”
Suho closed his eyes very slowly, then opened them again, glaring.
“And at night,” Seongje continued, pure glee in his voice, “he shares a room with someone named Baku. They sleep on one futon, Suho. They go to the shower. Together.”
That word hit like a brick. Suho tried to form a question—Who the hell is Baku?—but only managed a wheeze. His face was a mixture of blank horror and absolute betrayal.
“I know,” Seongje said, shaking his head. “That bastard moved faster than me. I should’ve enlisted with Sieunnie as my companion soldier. We’d be unstoppable. Imagine the aesthetic—matching uniforms, night patrols, sneaking away during those patrols—”
Suho let out a croaky, strangled sound of protest, his face flushing deeper with every passing second.
“Oh, don’t look at me like that,” Seongje laughed. “You’re not even mad at me. You’re mad because you don’t know who Baku is. And because Sieunnie kissed me.”
He leaned in slightly, voice dropping like a co-conspirator.
“But honestly,” Seongje added, tone dripping with mischief, “if Sieun weren’t such a stubborn mule and would just let go of this stupid crush of his, I’d have snatched him up by now and married him off somewhere abroad. For him, our relationship is purely physical.”
Suho opened his mouth, but only a frustrated grunt escaped. Seongje just laughed and offered him the melon slice like a peace offering.
“Aw, cheer up, lover boy. Get on your feet and fight Baku. Not sure you’ll win, but you can try.”
That shut Suho up for real. His fingers curled ever so slightly around the edge of the blanket.
Seongje smirked. Victory.
The door creaked open and Halmoni stepped inside, carrying a small tray of tea.
Seongje caught Suho’s eye with a devilish grin. “Halmoni, I was just telling him how glad Sieun’s superior officer is that Humin-ah is always glued to Sieun’s side.” He glanced at Suho. “Baku’s real name is Park Humin by the way, Ahn Suho.”
Halmoni laughed softly, settling into the chair beside the bed. “Ah, Humin-ah,” she said warmly. “I knew he was a wonderful young man the moment Sieun-ah introduced him to me three years ago, I believe. Such a steady presence, kind-hearted and thoughtful.”
Her eyes gleamed as she continued. “Handsome, yes, but it’s his character that truly shines. Strong, yet gentle. Always looking out for Sieun-ah, making sure he’s well-fed and rested. He cooks the most delicious meals.”
Halmoni’s voice grew even softer, full of affection. “And the way he cares for Sieun-ah... like a mother hen with her chick. Patient, protective, endlessly devoted.”
Seongje’s gaze flicked repeatedly to Suho, who was visibly crumbling inside. The shadow of quiet jealousy darkened Suho’s face, lips pressed thin as he struggled to keep calm. It was like watching a slow unraveling and Seongje savored every moment, delighted at how easily he could ruffle Suho’s composure.
Halmoni glanced knowingly at Suho. “I’m grateful Sieun-ah has someone like Humin-ah watching his back. It gives me peace of mind.”
Suho stared at the ceiling with a look that screamed he’d just been thoroughly betrayed by life itself, equal parts jealousy and helpless envy.
Halmoni smiled warmly. “And I’m so happy Sieun-ah found Humin-ah such a wonderful girlfriend too. They make a beautiful pair.”
Suho’s eyes snapped to Seongje, who responded with an annoyed tsk. Plan failed. But then he chuckled and stretched. “Alright, enough torment for today. Rest up, Suho-ya. Take care, Halmoni. I’ll see you soon.”
Halmoni poured tea into the cups with a gentle smile. “Take care of yourself, dear.”
Seongje gave Suho a final playful wink before heading for the door, closing it behind him with a light, teasing click.
After Seongje had left and the door clicked shut behind him, the room fell into a soft, peaceful quiet. Only the sound of the breeze outside and the faint ticking of the wall clock filled the space between Suho and Halmoni. She remained seated beside him, her hands resting in her lap for a moment before she reached down into the small bag she’d brought with her.
“I brought something for you,” she said gently, pulling out a thick envelope. Her fingers were gentle as she drew out a neat stack of glossy photos, carefully flipping through them. “Seongje-ah, this sweetheart, he printed these out for me. Said you might want to see how our Sieun-ah is doing.”
Suho blinked slowly, turning his head to look at Halmoni. His eyes widened slightly as Halmoni smiled and held up the first photo.
“This one’s from his birthday last year,” she said, her voice full of pride. The picture showed Sieun seated at a restaurant table, cheeks puffed out mid-blow as he leaned toward a cake covered in strawberries and whipped cream. A tiny paper crown perched awkwardly on his head.
“He insisted I sit beside him, even though I looked like a mess that day,” Halmoni chuckled. “Said it wouldn’t be a real birthday if I wasn’t there.”
She slid to the next photo, a candid shot taken in the living room. Halmoni was curled up on one end of the couch, and Sieun lay beside her, head resting gently on her shoulder, clearly asleep.
“This one,” she said with a fond laugh, “Seongje took this one. He said he didn’t want to wake us. He caught us napping during a weekend visit. I’d just finished scolding Sieun for skipping lunch again, and an hour later he was like this. Knocked out.”
Suho blinked, his gaze softening, lips slightly parted. His fingers twitched against the blanket. The next photo showed Sieun in the kitchen, sleeves rolled up, stirring something in a pot while looking over his shoulder with a shy smile.
“He’s gotten very good in the kitchen. Humin-ah taught him some recipes, he’s the one who always nags Sieun-ah about eating properly. Such a good boy, that one.”
Suho’s expression flickered again at the mention of Humin. A faint crease appeared between his brows, like a quiet protest he didn’t have the strength to voice.
Halmoni chuckled, catching it. “Don’t look like that,” she teased, flipping to the next picture. It was unmistakably from the time before his enlistment: Sieun with honey-blonde hair, wearing an oversized sweater that Suho recognised as one of his own and holding a pot of kimchi in one hand while grimacing at the camera.
“This one,” she said with a chuckle, “was Humin-ah’s idea. He convinced Sieun to dye his hair. I told him he looked like an idol actor. So pretty. The whole neighborhood wouldn't stop talking about it. He was embarrassed for weeks.”
Suho stared. His expression cracked, first with disbelief, then with helpless, overwhelmed fondness. He looked utterly done in. And yet he couldn’t look away.
Halmoni laid a hand gently over his. “He looked even prettier when he blushed. This poor boy can't handle compliments,” she added fondly. “And Humin-ah wouldn’t stop taking pictures. Said it was his best work.”
Suho’s face flushed faintly, his fingers curling under the blanket. His breathing was uneven now, eyes shimmering with quiet ache. Halmoni looked at him with a softness that only years of love could shape.
“I know that you miss him terribly,” she said, not as a question, but as a truth. “And he misses you just as much. I saw it today. He didn’t let go of your hand for even a second.”
Another tear slipped down Suho’s cheek. This time, he didn’t try to hide it. Halmoni wiped a tear from Suho’s cheek and smiled, her eyes full of quiet knowing.
“Exactly like five years ago, Suho-ya,” she murmured.
Suho’s lips trembled. His chest rose in a shaky breath and then, slowly, he broke. The tears came silent and steady, spilling down his cheeks as his eyes squeezed shut. There were no sobs, no sound, just the quiet unraveling of longing, guilt and grief he’d held too tightly inside.
Halmoni said nothing for a moment. She simply held his hand, her palm warm over his, thumb moving in slow, reassuring circles.
“He never left you,” she said softly. “Every time he could be here, he was. Even when he looked tired. Even when he had work. You were always the first place he came.”
Suho’s brows drew tight, tears still slipping silently.
“And just because he’s not here right now,” she added, brushing his hair gently from his forehead, “don’t think he’s gone. He hasn’t given up on you. He never has.”
A shaky breath hitched in Suho’s throat. He turned his face just slightly toward her, eyes red and glassy, his mouth forming no words. Halmoni leaned in and pressed a soft kiss to his temple.
“You don’t have to say anything,” she whispered. “I see it. I’ve always seen it.”
Suho let out a quiet, broken sound, half a breath, half a sob.
Nearly a week and a half later, the hospital room door creaked open again.
Suho, sitting upright in bed, looked up with mild curiosity, until a young man in uniform stepped inside. Broad-shouldered, sun-kissed, with a buzz cut and a grin far too cheeky for a hospital setting.
The stranger said nothing at first. He just strode in, pulled a phone from his pocket, and held it up without warning.
Displayed on the screen was a photo of Sieun: shirtless, smeared with dirt, clearly just finished crawling through some kind of military obstacle course. His skin glistened with sweat, and his freshly removed T-shirt hung over one shoulder. Muscles flexed naturally, expression somewhere between annoyed and composed.
“Hot, right?” the man said brightly, as if showing off a prize catch.
Suho’s eyes narrowed in immediate suspicion. His mind raced, who the hell was this guy? Why did he have that kind of picture?
Before he could snap back or demand an explanation, the door opened again.
Sieun stepped into the room, in uniform, his duffel bag slung over one shoulder. He froze in the doorway the second he saw Suho sitting up, pale, thinner than he remembered, but very much awake.
The larger man turned with a grin. “Sieunnie, he’s awake!”
And just like that, the stranger, who looked nearly twice Sieun’s size, lit up like a golden retriever seeing its favourite human. He practically bounced over to Sieun’s side with a kind of bounding joy that made the floor seem too small for him.
But Suho didn’t look at him. He looked at Sieun. Their eyes met and it was like the air left the room.
Tears sprang instantly to Sieun’s eyes. His lips parted, trembling, but no sound came out.
“Sieun-ah,” Suho whispered, voice hoarse, wrecked, but unmistakably his.
Sieun dropped his duffel without a word, crossed the room in seconds, and wrapped Suho in his arms. Suho stiffened at first, instinctively, shocked by the closeness, the touch, but then…
Then he felt it. Sieun was shaking.
His face buried in the curve of Suho’s neck, his arms wound tight around him, his body trembling from the force of trying to keep it together. Silent sobs broke through in shallow, ragged breaths against Suho’s skin.
“Over the past five years,” the big guy chimed in, folding his arms and leaning casually against the wall, “Sieunnie learned that hugs aren’t always evil. Sometimes, they’re better than glaring.”
He grinned.
Sieun said nothing. But Suho could feel it, the raw, unfiltered emotion in the way Sieun held him, the desperate clutch of fingers against the gray sweatshirt, the way he wouldn’t let go. As if afraid Suho would vanish if he so much as blinked.
Suho closed his eyes, his own tears returning quietly, freely.
Sieun collapsed into Suho’s arms like the dam inside him had finally shattered. His whole body was shaking, breath coming in short, ragged gasps as he clung to Suho with everything he had.
“I didn’t—” His voice broke, high and cracked, barely more than a breath. “I didn’t know—what to do—when they said you—when they—” His words spilled out like they’d been rotting in his chest for years. Frantic. Fragmented. Desperate.
“I tried—I tried to be okay—I really tried—I told myself you were alive, that you’d come back, that if I just stayed still enough, good enough, you'd find your way home—”
Suho couldn't breathe. Couldn’t move. He just felt.
Sieun sobbed against his shoulder, fists curled tight, like he was holding onto a ghost that might disappear at any second. “I looked for you everywhere,” he choked. “I—God—I fucking dreamed—when I woke up, I’d check the door like a goddamn idiot—like maybe—maybe—”
His voice cracked, rising higher with every word, every tear. “I kept your jacket—I wore it—when I couldn’t sleep—your voice—your smile—I forgot the sound of your laugh, and I—I wanted to die, Suho—”
Suho flinched, just barely.
“I missed you—I missed you so much I couldn’t breathe—I couldn’t fucking breathe—!”
Sieun was sobbing openly now, mouth trembling, words pouring out too fast for him to control. “Every time Halmoni cooked too much I’d think, maybe this is the day—maybe you’ll come—maybe—maybe—”
His hands clenched tighter in Suho’s gown. “I kept your shoes by the door. I dusted them. I cleaned them. Every goddamn week. Just in case. Just in case—!”
His face twisted, raw and ugly with heartbreak. “I didn’t even throw out your toothbrush—I couldn’t—Suho, I couldn’t—!”
He gasped, choking on his own sobs, his forehead pressing harder against Suho’s shoulder like he was trying to bury himself inside him. “I never stopped—I never—fuck—I never stopped waiting—loving you—!”
The words tore from him like a wound that had finally split open. And the second they escaped, everything went still. Silence crashed over the room like thunder.
Sieun froze. His body locked up like he’d just realised what he’d said. What it meant. What it ruined. Suho's eyes widened slightly, and for a heartbeat, neither of them moved.
Across the room, Baku slowly stood. No jokes. No grin. Just quiet understanding. He stepped toward the door and slipped out, closing it behind him with a soft click, leaving them alone.
Sieun was still trembling. His face was a mess of tears, mouth parted like he might try to take the words back, as if he could.
But Suho was already looking at him. Really looking.
There was something broken and breathtaking in Suho’s eyes, something wide open. He gathered all his strength and reached up with one shaky hand, cupped Sieun’s jaw, his thumb catching the tears still falling.
Then, hoarse and raw, Suho whispered, “…Say it again.”
Sieun’s chest still heaved, his breath coming in short, stuttering bursts. Tears streaked hot down his cheeks as he gripped Suho like he might vanish again.
“I love you,” he whispered—barely there. Then, again, louder this time but broken around the edges, “I—I love you… I love you, Ahn Suho.”
He looked like he didn’t even mean to say it. Like the words had slipped through a dam he couldn’t hold anymore. Suho froze, his heart stuttering in his chest. He stared at him, wide-eyed. And Sieun looked terrified.
“I love you too,” Suho said, low and cracked and so painfully sure.
Sieun’s breath hitched. His eyes searched Suho’s face like he didn’t believe him, like he didn’t know how to believe him.
“I’m sorry,” Suho murmured. “I’m so sorry I left you alone. I—”
But before he could finish, Sieun moved. Fast. To Suho’s shock, Sieun grabbed the front of his shirt and pulled him forward, rough, like something inside him had finally snapped. Their mouths collided in a kiss that wasn’t gentle or slow. It was desperate. Fierce. Sieun’s hand slid up, into Suho’s hair, tugging, anchoring him close.
Suho barely had time to gasp before he was pulled deeper into it. Sieun kissed him like he was angry. Like he was starved. Like five years of grief and wanting were clawing their way out of his chest all at once.
And Suho... Suho had imagined this a thousand times, but not like this. Not trembling under Sieun’s hands, keeping him upright because he has no strength left in his body. Not being kissed like Sieun was trying to burn everything they’d lost into this one moment.
Tears still streaked both their faces. It was sloppy, wet, breathless. But it was real.
When they finally pulled back, both gasping, eyes blown wide, Sieun didn’t let go. His forehead pressed to Suho’s, one hand fisted in the collar of his shirt like if he loosened his grip for a second, Suho might disappear again.
“You’re real,” he whispered. And then, almost choking on it, “Don’t leave me. I'll die if you leave me again.”
Suho shook his head, cupping his face again, thumb swiping gently beneath his eye. “I’m not going anywhere.”
The door creaked open again, just as the silence between Suho and Sieun stretched into something trembling and sacred.
Baku stepped in, a wide grin on his face, one arm looped gently through Halmoni’s to steady her. His other hand held a paper bag, probably full of something warm and homemade.
He took one look at the scene, the swollen eyes, the tear-slicked cheeks, the way Sieun was still clinging to Suho like he couldn’t breathe without him and immediately burst out laughing.
“Well damn,” he said, voice full of fond teasing. “I leave for five minutes and you two start making out?”
Sieun whipped his head toward him, startled, but still breathing hard.
Baku raised a hand in mock surrender. “No judgment! You’ve earned it. I'm happy for you!”
He led Halmoni the rest of the way inside and gave her arm a final squeeze before stepping forward and bowing lightly toward Suho.
“Park Humin,” he said with a grin. “But you can call me Baku. I’m Sieun’s best friend.”
At that, Sieun shot him a look, half fond, half exasperated.
Baku winked. “Well. Sieunnie, don't look at me like that. Suho-ya just got promoted to boyfriend—” He gestured between the two of them with an exaggerated flourish. “That means the best friend position officially opened up. And I called dibs on it years ago.”
Sieun groaned and dropped his face into Suho’s shoulder again, mumbling something about regretting everything.
Suho, still reeling but soft with stunned affection, let out a shaky, breathless laugh. Halmoni, meanwhile, clapped her hands together, eyes glistening, a radiant smile blooming on her face.
“Ohhh, thank heavens,” she said, voice thick with emotion. “Finally, finally. My boys.”
She moved to sit beside the bed and gently smoothed Sieun’s hair back, eyes dancing between the three of them.
“You’re all here,” she whispered.
Suho swallowed hard and reached for her hand. She squeezed it tight.
Baku, ever the golden retriever, just grinned wider and plopped himself into the nearest chair, arms folded behind his head like he belonged there.
“And here I thought I’d have to play matchmaker for longer,” he said smugly.
Sieun didn't lift his face, but Suho could feel the way his shoulders shook, this time not from sobbing, but quiet laughter.
Baku pulled out his phone with a dramatic flourish. “Alright, momentous occasion! Gotta document it.”
Click. The shutter sound was loud in the quiet room.
Sieun immediately lifted his head from Suho’s shoulder, face still tear-streaked, eyes red. “Yah! Delete that, I look awful.”
Suho turned to him, still dazed but instinctively shaking his head. “You don’t,” he rasped out, voice hoarse but sure. “Beautiful.”
Before Sieun could argue, Baku snorted. “Please. If I showed a photo of you, looking like you do now, back at base, the creeps would pay for it. Like actual cash.”
Halmoni raised an eyebrow in amused confusion. Suho blinked. Sieun froze.
“…What?”
Baku just wiggled his phone in the air. “Dead serious. You think I’m joking, Suho-ya? The real creeps never had the guts to talk to Sieunnie themselves, so guess who they all came crawling to for ‘intel.’” He put the air quotes up with exaggerated fingers. “‘What’s his favourite snack? Does he like dogs or cats? What’s his type? Do you sell his underwear? Would you sell me his nudes for two million won?’ Like I’m his manager... or pimp or something.”
Sieun’s mouth slowly dropped open, then he burst out laughing, loud, real, unfiltered laughter that crinkled his eyes and shook his shoulders.
It was the kind of laugh Suho hadn’t heard until now. He watched him, stunned, lips parted, heart fluttering and the look on his face must have given him away, because Baku grinned wider and started recording.
Suho barely noticed anything, too busy watching the way Sieun leaned forward, clutching his stomach, nearly folding in on himself with joy. It was so alive. So beautiful. So him.
Halmoni, sitting nearby with her teacup in hand, looked like all her prayers had just been answered. Baku glanced at her, then back to the two boys beside the hospital bed, his eyes softer now, despite the teasing glint still lingering.
“Yep,” he murmured, half to himself, half to the phone, “boyfriend and best friend, happy ever after.”
Halmoni just sipped her tea, smile serene.
Four and a half months later, the air outside the military base buzzed with anticipation.
A crowd had gathered, families, fans with phones out and even a few reporters, clustered near the gates. The reason? Kim Yuna had announced she'd be here in person to welcome her boyfriend back from service.
When the base gates finally swung open, all eyes were on Baku and Sieun. Both in uniform, bags slung over their shoulders. A roar of applause and cheers erupted at the sight of them, some people waved signs with their names, others called out thanks or congratulations. A few stepped forward, eager to talk, to snap photos, to ask what serving with “the Sieun-ah” had been like.
But neither of the two paused.
Their eyes scanned the crowd, searching for something or rather, someone.
And then, suddenly, Baku grinned wide and took off at a jog. “Jagiya!”
A ripple moved through the crowd as the petite woman stepped forward from the side, radiant in a long coat and wool scarf. Baku didn’t slow down, he swept her up into a tight hug, lifting her off the ground with ease and kissed her passionately.
The crowd gasped.
But before the excitement could settle, attention snapped to the left.
Sieun, now a step behind, had finally found his person. Seated calmly near the front, in a sleek black wheelchair, was Suho, hair even longer, still recovering, but looking healthier than he had in years. As Sieun approached, Suho opened his arms wordlessly.
Without hesitation, Sieun dropped his bag, stepped in and sat down Suho’s lap.
And then, to the absolute shock of half the onlookers… he leaned in and kissed Suho. Long, unhurried, and without apology.
The chatter died instantly. Mouths dropped. Someone let out a stunned, “Oh.”
Another echoed it, breathless. “Ooooh.”
But from the sides, where Halmoni and the others stood together with pride in their eyes, a loud burst of laughter erupted, joyful and unbothered.
Baku, still holding Yuna’s hand, threw his head back and laughed along. “Told you all,” he said loudly, to no one in particular. “Best. Discharge. Ever.”
Suho glanced up, smiling crookedly. Sieun still hadn’t moved from his lap.
“Ready to go home?” Suho murmured.
Sieun nodded, eyes never leaving his. “Always.”
After a moment, with a final squeeze of Suho’s hand, Sieun slid off his lap, still flushed, still dazed from everything.
As he stepped aside, another figure leaned in from behind, close to Suho’s ear and whispered, voice thick with amusement, “You owe me twenty thousand won, you fucking moron. Betting against your own boyfriend... what were you thinking?”
Suho’s brows knitted together in frustration.
“I told you he’d kiss you first,” Seongje added smugly. “You didn’t believe me... Guess I know him better than you do. Honestly... he should probably reconsider if I might be the better match. I'm tall, handsome and unlike you, I actually have a functioning brain.”
Suho turned his head slowly, narrowed his eyes, and hissed, “Fuck off, asshole.”
Seongje just laughed, eyes crinkling with delight. “There’s the Ahn Suho I missed.”
Suho rolled his eyes but couldn’t help the laugh that slipped past his lips. It was low and raspy, but real.
“Come on, dimwit,” Seongje said, standing upright again and grabbing the handles of Suho’s wheelchair. “Time to roll out in style.”
With one last glance at Sieun, who was now blushing furiously and being harassed by Baku and Yuna for all the juicy details, Suho let himself be pushed forward, grinning faintly as the warm sound of their laughter followed them all the way home. “I fucking hate you, Keum Seongje. I'll break your stupid face soon.”