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When Seojun drags her out of class in front of every student, Kang Sujin is -understandably- pissed. 

His demands only serve to rile her up even more, especially given she has no clue what he’s on her case about. 

His grip on her wrist, though. 

That’s a hint of fear she can’t quite shake. 

“Let go of me,” she snaps as soon as they exit onto the roof. “And really, dramatic much ?”

“I know it was you.”

The day has gone horribly enough, Jugyeong being mocked and ashamed to show her face, and Sujin trying desperately to convince her there was nothing to be ashamed of. Her heart truly aches for her friend, because she remembers when she used her own coat to hide her, not because she thought there was anything to hide, but because Jugyeong wasn’t comfortable. She has herself been reduced her entire life to her grades and the value that her father put on her, and it kills her to think Jugyeong feels she has no value without makeup. Without beauty. 

All that to say Seojun’s abrupt interruption is far from welcome right now. 

“It was me that what ?”

“God, aren’t you tired of lying ? How can Jugyeong even think you’re her friend ?”

That sends a sharp pain through her; how many times has she wondered the same, and how many times has she come up short on the answer ?

“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” she interjects coldly, arms crossed on her chest to keep from smacking him. “Seems to me like you’re the one Jugyeong should keep her distance from.”

He frowns, wether at her provocation or at her unsatisfying answer. 

“Are you lying right now ?”

Sujin rolls her eyes, entirely fed up with his nonsense. 

“I have no lies to spare you, Han Seojun.”

She turns on her heels, ready to go back to class and tuck this interaction away for her latest grudges, but Seojun surges forward and grips her wrist again. 

With an animalistic hiss, Sujin whirls around and punches the inside of his elbow, making it bend and earning a yelp from him. 

“I told you to let go of me.”

The frown doesn’t leave his face as he shakes his arm out to dissipate the shock. 

“If you’re not going to explain your little outburst,” she starts, voice strained, “I’m leaving.”

“You’ve seen the pictures ?”

Her breath leaves her in a sigh, anger suddenly pulled out of her and replaced by a mix of anxiety and sadness. Her arms find their way back on her chest, crossed. 

“Of course I have.”

“You didn’t leak them ?”

Sujin actually barks out a laugh at that. 

That is, until she notices his seriousness. 

“What ?” She snaps, and it sounds too shrill, nothing like the Kang Sujin aiming for first rank. 

“I just…”

“You just what ? What the hell is wrong with you ? I was friends with her way before you, I defended her against you, I…”

“But with Suho…”

“You think I would screw our friendship over a guy ? You think I’d do that to her by jealousy ?” 

Who the hell does he think he is, to judge her like this ? To judge her relationship with her friends ? They’re the most important thing in her life, the only anchor she can count on when her life at home is slipping under her feet and her hands get scrubbed raw and bleeding in the sink. 

At that, Han Seojun seems at least a bit contrite, which doesn’t satisfy her very much. 

“I can’t believe you,” she finally huffs once more. 

After a shake of her head, she turns on her heels to effectively go back to class, hearing him follow close behind. 

“You were late to class,” are the words Doctor Kang welcomes her home with. 

Sujin hasn’t even closed the door behind her, but she does now. Because she knows where this is going, and we wouldn’t want the neighbours to overhear, would we. When she doesn’t reply, her father stands from where he was sitting on the couch, watching her approach with that cold gaze of his that always manages to make her want to crawl into a hole and disappear forever. 

“You were late to class,” he repeats slowly, dangerously, “because a boy brought you out. And came back in, with you.”

Oh. Oh no. 

Sujin has no idea how Doctor Kang, with his busy schedule and important concerns, manages to keep up $ with the rumours and events happening at school. She supposes he is still in contact with most teachers in order to monitor her behaviour, and that word travels fast, but still. This is just bad, bad luck for her. 

“Father, it isn’t what it…”

“Is he your boyfriend ? Is that why you ranked so low ?”

“No, he’s…”

The strength of his slap not only cuts her off, but also makes her bite on her tongue, blood invading her mouth. 

“Don’t talk back to me !” 

Sujin fixes her gaze somewhere on the wall, her father’s disapproval becoming white noise in the background as she shuts her mind down. 

She’s heard it all before, anyway; how she isn’t allowed to date, given the hindering distraction it would represent. He considers that women, once infatuated with someone, will give up studying hard, will pour their whole in that relationship. And even if, by miracle, she doesn’t, she’ll just rank lower because her boyfriend will drag her down. 

Yes, Sujin has heard it all, before. Has it memorised by now, and those are the words that she hears on a loop to try and escape for at least a moment. 

Gossip has made its way around school when she arrives the next day, accompanied by glances and whispers in the hallways. She’s never given much thought to how her peers perceived her, still doesn’t. But the more people talk about it, the more convinced her father will be, and she doesn’t want to think about the consequences. 

“Sujin.”

She halts in her tracks. And the classroom is so close, too. What a shame. 

“What ?” She snaps, unable to contain her venom. 

It’s probably visible on her face when he side-steps her to plant himself before the door, effectively cutting her exit. 

“I wanted to apologise.”

“Oh,” she breathes, eloquent as ever, still glancing around anxiously. 

“I misjudged you, I guess.”

“That’s not an apology.”

“Yes it is.”

Sujin rolls her eyes, trying to get past him but being stopped by his unwillingness to move an inch. 

“Do you mind ?” She says, trying to keep herself under control. 

His smile, when he leans down towards her, way too close for propriety, makes her fist clench.
“Not at all.”

From the corner of her eye, she notices people slowing down, whispering between them, and a sudden bolt of fear makes her step even closer to him. 

“Do you enjoy the rumours ?” she hisses, getting up close in his face. 

“I don’t care for rumours,” he replies, perfectly unimpressed with a raised eyebrow. “But knowing you do is a surprise.”

“Well, I do,” she snaps as she falls back to the ball of her feet. “So just… keep away from me.”

Sujin should have known that showing her hand so blatantly would smack her in the face later on.
Later is lunch. Later is Seojun dropping in the chair at her right for all to see, and then turning fully towards her. 

“Yah, Sujin-ah,” he greets, making their friends gape, and her hand tighten on her fork so violently she feels the metal bend between her fingers. 

“What ?” She hisses through gritted teeth, not glancing at him. 

Before he can tell her what he wanted though, Jugyeong finally picks up her jaw from the floor and stutters : 

“You… you…what ?”

“Can’t a friend pay another friend a little visit ?” 

“We’re not friends,” she counter-attacks immediately. 

“But we were, weren’t we ?”

Worst is, it’s the truth. Suho, him and her, they were an unconventional trio, but they worked. 

Until their best friend died. Until Seojun got lost in his grief and she got lost in her father’s approval and Suho got lost in the things he couldn’t take back. 

But they’re different now; they’re adults, broken by too many pieces held inside, broken by the world and life and the weight of expectations. 

“We’re not friends,” she repeats harshly. 

“You wound me, Sujin-ah,” he whines with a hand on his heart. 

“What are you doing ?” She asks, floored at his behaviour. 

She can understand he’s trying to get a rise out of her, but it’s so out of nowhere that she can’t help the confusion. 

“Problem ?” He asks her with a small, provocative smile. 

Stabbing her potato as forcefully as she can, Sujin meets his eyes dead on. 

“None.”

So the rumours keep going. And her father keeps not hearing her, and keeps getting mad. Sujin doesn’t even have time or energy to deny it anymore, doesn’t even have the motivation to send Seojun away each time he slows by her desk or leans a bit too close. She just purses her lips and ignores the resentment churning at her guts. 

It’s getting harder though, harder not to slap him in the face, harder not to scream at the top of her lungs that his actions have consequences, though he has no way of guessing that on his own. Given she’s sure as hell not the one who’ll tell him, she supposes she’ll have to endure it for now. 

It gets more complicated quickly. 

Usually, Doctor Kang is careful not to leave marks that can be seen. He knows the intricacies of the human body, and knows where to hit so it hurts but doesn’t break anything necessary for her studies, or something that would draw too much attention to her injury. 

This day, though. When Doctor Kang returns from the hospital, Sujin knows she’s in for it. He slams the door on his way in. 

That’s the only warning she gets. 

The problem comes in the form of her trying to rush to her room; her father grabs her arm and yanks her back so abruptly he pulls it out of its socket. 

Sujin almost blacks out from the pain. 

There’s nothing much to say about it. After a while, Doctor Kang calms down enough to put it back in its socket, and it hurts so much Sujin cries herself to sleep. 

When she wakes up the next morning, she’s careful not to use her left arm, glad her father is already gone. 

Her mother watches her with sad eyes, but Sujin doesn’t have anything to say to her, not even a goodbye as she leaves for school. 

“Sujin-ah,” Jugyeong greets her as soon as she sits at her desk, “you’re never going to guess who got caught breaking into the teacher’s office last night !”

“Who ?” She asks just to indulge her, a smile on her face and her arm safely pressed against her side. 

Jugyeong launches into a grand explanation, stutters when Suho arrives and purposefully leans on her desk to tuck his chin on her shoulder. His eyes crinkle at his girlfriend’s being flustered, and Sujin feels a painful tug at her heart. 

It’s not jealousy, not like it was at first. It’s more… envy. She wishes she could have that; wishes she could feel safe and comforted and that someone could make her heartbeat quicken in something other than fear. Wishes she could think about dating like a normal person, instead of a threat to be watchful of. 

Instead of something she can never choose. 

Startling her out of the dark thoughts, her phone chimes. 

Her gut clenches. All her friends are here, so it’s no use wondering who’s texting. 

Go to the hospital straight from school. 

Sujin works her lower lip as she sends back a simple “yes Father”, rubs her shoulder with a frown, not noticing Suho’s attention on her until it’s too late. 

Too late becomes a confrontation in the staircase, because that seems to be Suho’s place of choice for discussions that concern her family problems, apparently. The silence of the place lasts a whole blissful second. 

“What’s wrong with your shoulder ?” He immediately asks, but he knows, it’s visible in his stiff posture and his careful fingers reaching towards her, stopping short of touch. 

Sujin debates telling him, but Suho is not one to stop searching for answers he wants, and maybe… Maybe she won’t feel so alone then. Maybe this situation will stop feeling like a trap that keeps closing in on her. 

So she makes the decision. She looks him straight in the eye, inhales. 

“I’m not allowed to date,” she tells him slowly. 

Watching the realisation dawn on Suho’s face is heartbreaking for many reasons, but she can’t dwell on it now, not when her shoulder still aches, not when her hands are bleeding from the places she scrubbed too raw. Her eyes burn with tears she wants to keep hidden for a while longer, just a while….

His arms are engulfing her in a surprising hug before she can say anything more. 

And it’s amazing, really, how safe one person can make her feel, even though he’s failed to protect her before -but then again, that was never his job, and she wouldn’t want it to be. It’s useless, really. 

But Suho’s hug, Suho’s affection is enough to breathe right now. Breathing lets her tears fall on his shirt, but it’s not like there is anyone here, and it’s not like she cares. 

Well, she doesn’t. Until the door flies open. 

“Wow, Suho, didn’t know you went after so many girls,” Seojun snaps from his place in the doorway. 

Sujin scrambles backwards, turning around to quickly hide her tears from him. He’s the last person she wants to see her like this. 

“You asshole,” Suho suddenly rumbles, growls almost. “Do you have any idea…”

“Yah, Suho,” she snaps before it’s too late, turning to grab at his wrist. 

Either the touch or the tone turn his attention back on her. She gives him a little shake of head. 

“It’s no big deal,” she says under her breath. “I’m going to the hospital after class to fix it.”

“Is he…” Suho interrupts himself, grinding his teeth, fist tightening once more.

 She tugs at his wrist more harshly this time, forcing him to focus on her words. 

“It’s no big deal,” she repeats. 

It might hold a threat to it -it definitely does-, and Suho looks torn before finally nodding. With a last look at his childhood friend, he pushes past him and gets back into the hallway. On the contrary, Sujin avoids eye-contact as she moves forward. 

Seojun steps right in her way out, and his outstretched hand connects with her injured shoulder. 

The pain is so striking Sujin staggers on her feet, a small cry breaching her lips, vision going dark. 

It’s only a matter of seconds, but it’s enough for Seojun to frown. 

“What’s wrong with you ?”

“None of your damn business,” she hisses through her teeth. 

But he doesn’t hear it, fingers back to reaching for her. She flinches back, right arm flying to protect her injury, but she took a step too wide. The feeling of ground giving out beneath her is not a new one -her father made her fall down the stairs more often than once- but the terror striking is still as intense as ever. 

Before Sujin has even thought of closing her eyes, Seojun’s arm wraps around her waist and hauls her back up, punching the breath out of her with the force of it. 

It sends another wave of pain up her arm, and once straightened up, she has to press her forehead against his collarbone just to catch her breath through gritted teeth. 

“Are you alright ?” 

It’s a question that sounds genuine and concerned, but Sujin can’t handle that right now, almost laughs. Can’t handle anything, it seems, but especially not Han Seojun’s need to catch her in the act of something she doesn’t even think of, of his need to back her into a corner for no other reason than his own amusement. 

His chest rises steadily under her forehead, and she focuses on that during the moments it takes to compose herself. 

“I’m fine,” she bites back as soon as she can utter something more than a pained hiss. 

In the same breath, she pushes herself back. His arm falls uselessly to the side as she readjusts her bag. Seojun is watching her with more intensity than she is used to, than she has ever seen from him. No amusement now, no teasing, no idol pride. He’s just a teenager, looking at her up close, and the concern evident in the crease between his brows surprises her in that she has the sudden urge to smooth it out. Why the fuck would she ? 

“Are you going to move ?” Sujin snaps, carefully shifting so that her injured arm is entirely out of his reach. 

Probably out of defiance, he remains where he is for a few more seconds, until she huffs and starts forward again. 

Only when she almost collides with him does Seojun startle to the side, leaving room enough to slip through with a last glare. 

Dealing with her shoulder is a quick and silent affair, as it always is. Her father has already put it back in place, so they just need to check nothing else is wrong with it, and get a brace, which they do pretty quickly once she’s in the hospital. 

The problem emerges after. 

When her father and Sujin get out of the hospital, and make their way to the car. 

The problem emerges in the form of Han Seojun, looking everything of a gangster leaning against his motorcycle and raising a pierced eyebrow at their approach. 

Sujin feels a panic attack coming. 

Her eyes are on him, probably too wide, probably too obviously filled with fear, but Han Seojun has never been known for his observing skills. A very distant, recluse part of Sujin knows why he’s here, knows seeing her with Suho only antagonised him more, wether because he is always seeking to up-do Suho, or because he’s taking a stupid jab at him in Jugyeong’s name. 

But right, now she can’t think about any of that. Wouldn’t be able to if she tried.

“Kang Sujin,” Seojun says, a smile that looks too genuine on his face. 

Her father abruptly halts in his tracks, and that alone is enough to make her breath stop in her chest. 

Seojun is not crazy enough to come up to her, but he is defiant enough to tilt his chin up as Doctor Kang stares him down. 

“And who are you ?” He greets, sounding for all intent and purpose as if he’s addressing a gnat. 

It doesn’t deter Seojun. 

“Han Seojun. Pleased to meet you, Doctor Kang.”

The name must spur up memories of the rumours, must flesh them out before his very eyes, because next thing her father’s gaze is on her. 

Silence won’t do it this time. Nothing she says will do it.

“What makes you think you can greet either of us so casually ?” He still asks, as if he doesn’t know, as if he’s looking for an excuse, for irrefutable proof. 

Sujin has her mouth open to try and minimise the damage, but Seojun is quicker. He chuckles, brushes a few strands of hair out his eyes in what he attempts to look like bashfulness. 

“We’re dating, Sir. I’m sorry I got carried away.”

That’s it. 

If the last fights with her father are anything to go by, Sujin is pretty sure this is not something she’ll recover from easily, and the knots of her stomach get so impossibly tight she feels like throwing up. Even worse when Doctor Kang glances back at her, notices the paleness of her face, glances back at Seojun. 

“Stay away from my daughter.” He warns, cold as ice, before resuming his way. 

She follows dutifully, feeling dizzy with nausea. 

Her hands are shaking. 

Seojun watches them go. 

The car-door is not even closed behind her when her father jumps on her. 

That in itself is more worrying than his hands clutching at her throat. 

“That piece of trash ?” He screams at her, unbothered by her struggling beneath him, legs awkwardly bent and injured arm useless pressed against her stomach. 

Doctor Kang is known for his impervious calm, his frightening composure. He will wait and he will be patient, and it will hurt like it never has before. 

For him to lose control like that, it makes Sujin scared for her life. It makes the pressure of his digits in her skin more real, and the breath is slowly fading. She tries to say something -dad, maybe- though she’s sure it won’t help, but his hold tightens, and that’s when adrenaline kicks in. In that instant, her father’s rage chocking her, she’s certain that she’ll die here if she doesn’t act. 

With her free hand, she scrambles for the handle, nails raking uselessly against the door before she finds it. 

Throwing it open makes Doctor Kang lose his balance, and then she’s stumbling out. 

She falls to her knees on the asphalt at the same time he yells something, but quickly gathers her wits to get the hell away from him. She runs through the parking lot without a look backwards, runs to the side of the building where she can hide behind the concrete wall. 

In public, she thinks frantically, they’re in public, and they’re standing before his hospital. He won’t dare chase her out, won’t dare make a scene in the open. 

Sujin, though. 

Sujin can’t breathe, feels the tears on her face, can’t move her right arm. All she can do in that moment is fish out her phone with trembling fingers, and dial the only number she can. 

“Sujin ?” 

Suho’s voice is a fucking lifeline. 

“I’m sorry,” she gasps, hears how rough it sounds.” I didn’t know who else to call, I…. Can you come get me, please, I…”

“Whoa, Sujin-ah, slow down. Where are you ?”

“I’m at the hospital, but he… He went crazy, he…”

“Ok, ok, I’ll be there, alright ? But it’s going to take some time, so you need to find someplace…”

“Kang Sujin ?”

Startled, still scared out of her mind, Sujin whirls around, phone stuck to her ear, throat sore, entire body shaking with a mixture of adrenaline and fear. Seojun, of course, motherfucking Seojun that she wants to murder right now. 

“What the-” is the only thing he manages to say as he takes notice of her appearance, of the tear tracks and disheveled hair and clothes. Sujin glares and glares, hoping to see him drop dead at this point. The marks on her neck are probably not visible, which is a blessing in disguise, but really, she can’t think. She can’t think through the anger, can’t even… 

“Sujin-ah, are you still here ?” Suho says on the line.

“Yeah, I’m…” she clears her throat, looks away. “I’m here, Suho. Just when…”

Suddenly the phone is out of her hand, and Seojun is staring at her as he shamelessly brings the device to his own ear. 

“Yah, Suho ?”

She doesn’t hear what the other guy says, but there is a lot of noise, and Seojun’s expression shifts so quickly she can’t keep up with it. It’s barely a moment longer before he makes a noise of assent, and then he’s handing her phone back. The screen is black, Suho having hung up. 

“Suho wants me to take you to his,” he declares easily, a shade of irritation on his face that disappears as soon as he looks at her again. 

Sujin clenches her jaw, the dilemma making her shake even more. Maybe it’s anger now, or still adrenaline, or… before she can think on it a bit more, Seojun, jerks his head backwards and says “Come on.”

Sujin stares in that direction for a second, two. 

Says :

“I can’t… I…”

Her father may be waiting, and if he is, in that state, and sees her coming back with Seojun ?

Well, she isn’t exactly eager to know what he’d do. 

Suddenly, her anger snaps. 

“You’re an asshole, you know that ?” She shouts, finding a shred of satisfaction at the way he recoils from her words and tone along. Her finger points at his chest, and that’s the moment she realises how close they are, given he’s stepped forward to get her phone and give it back. 

“You’re an asshole,” she repeats, but her voice is shaking, fragile. 

He ruined everything. 

She was going to get better in class, she was going to rank first by a miracle, keep ranking second at worst. But even ranking second, she’d bear it. She’d bear the slaps and the humiliation and the way he showed her off to his friends and sponsors, or the way he put her down before them, depending on his mood.
She’d bear it, and then she’d take off. 

After high school, she’d take off. 

That was the plan, that was always the plan. Get good enough marks, go to whichever university she wished -United States, Europe, whichever the furthest- and never answer a call from her father ever again. She had a plan, not good, not great, but efficient. A long-term plan that now seems like a dream, because she can’t for the life of her remember when she wasn’t afraid of going home at the end of a school day, can’t remember when she elaborated that plan, thinking there was a way out. 

It’s all gone to shit now, she supposes. 

She’s never hated someone more than she does Han Seojun in this moment. 

“You’re not so…” he starts to reply to her insult, but she does not have the patience now, and she doesn’t feel in her right mind. 

“Why couldn’t you just stay away !” She screams, her right fist connecting with his pectoral, and she hears his breath whoosh out but it’s not enough. “I told you to fucking stay away from me ! Why… Why would you…”

Suddenly she’s not shaking with anger, she’s shaking with sobs, sobs that hurt her ribs and her shoulders and her throat, sobs she can’t contain and won’t, no matter how much they hurt. 

His hands wrap around her arms, a steady anchor she doesn’t care for, not right now, and so when he starts pulling her in, she fights him off. 

Sujin pushes him as hard as she can, retreats agains the wall. Seojun is looking at her with wide, dark eyes that seem so lost it’s almost laughable, hands still outstretched towards her. She hunches on herself, trying to regulate her breathing to its normal rhythm, but it’s impossible. 

He ruined everything, everything, and now her father is madder than she’s ever seen him, and Seojun still doesn’t get it, that absolute idiot. 

So it’s all down to her, again. Sujin has learned long ago there’s no one to rely on but herself. 

She allows the breakdown for a few minutes, top, until she can stifle the sobs and straighten up once more. And if her entire body shakes, it doesn’t matter. 

“Let’s go,” she tells a very confused-looking Seojun. 

“What happened ?” Is Suho’s first question when they cross his threshold, the panic clear on his face.

Sujin, still shaken up but now bound to the absolute resolve of resenting Seojun forever, bites back : 

“Ask him.”

The concerned throws his hands in the air. 

“I have no idea what you…”

“You were just there to provoke me,” she spits before he can even try to defend himself. 

“I was there to see my mother.”

His words are cold as ice, but he has no right to. She doesn’t give a shit if his mother is in critical condition, he chose to walk up to her, chose to talk to her father and lie to his face. This is his fault and he won’t get away with it so easily. 

“Oh, so you telling my father you were my boyfriend was accidental ?”

Suho inhales sharply, looking back at his childhood friend with wide eyes. 

“What ? What did you do ?”

Suddenly it’s too much, those two boys, and she has to breathe and to count her heartbeats -6, 7, 8- before she can say as calmly as possible. 

“Suho, can I…”

Except her voice snaps him back to reality, and next thing she knows her friend is cupping her chin and tilting her head this and that way, trying to check for any injury. Clinically, he inspects her face, and then his eyes drop to her neck. 

Given the virulent curse he lets out, she supposes it looks bad. 

“What the fuck,” he whispers, and then louder, as he takes a corner of her collar to push it out of the way, “What the fuck did he do to you ?”

“I didn’t do anything,” Seojun defends himself, and really, she cannot be blamed for snapping her gaze back on him. The sight of his confused expression and innocently raised hands enrages her further. 

“You didn’t do anything ? You made it a point to antagonise him,” she shouts, surging towards him in anger and being stopped only by Suho’s hold on her arm. “You came to the hospital, you stopped him, you told him… You told him we were dating.”

“Oh no,” Suho breathes behind her. 

That small interjection is enough to startle her out of it, and to notice how she’s heaving, how Seojun’s face is now obviously pulled by realisation, a look of horror painting his every feature. 

Sujin works her jaw, tears her eyes away. 

“I can’t go back tonight, he’ll…”

“Of course,” Suho breathes in her direction, and although he sounds calm, his hold has tightened painfully on her arm. 

“Shit,” she curses under her breath, tears burning her eyes. She blinks up at the ceiling, exhales slowly. 

“Did I…” Seojun starts, stumbles all over his words, all over himself as he gets closer. 

Though she wants to step back, she stands her ground and tilts her chin up defiantly. 

“Oh God,” he breathes, fingers reaching for the necklace of bruises. 

Her hand snatches his at the last moment, thumb pressing in the palm where she knows it’ll be painful. 

“Just leave,” she tells him, pushing him backwards. “You have no reason to be here.”

Hesitant, he stands there for a few more moments, heavy and overwhelming for her, while Suho looks on with a status of referee that’d be laughable given his previous reaction. Eventually, Seojun takes a step backwards, though it looks unsteady as his gaze remains fixed on her neck. 

“I…” he starts roughly, stops. 

His mouth is still open, but no word seems ready to come out. 

“I’ll walk you out,” Suho says quietly, his composure back on track, his voice quiet. 

Both men send her looks, very different, before disappearing in the hallway. The door makes next to no noise when it closes, but she knows Suho is outside. 

Now she’s alone. 

Now, she feels the soreness of her throat, feels the skin there too tight, the points her father squeezed screaming in pain. 

Now, Sujin wants to scream and rage and cry, wants to take the first thing at hand and smash it against the wall. But she is Kang Sujin, and she is at Lee Suho’s, and she does not get the luxury of doing what she wants. 

So she just sits on the couch, leans back against the cushions. 

Despite her certainty that she won’t be able to sleep, either because of the adrenaline or the sheer fear still lingering, Sujin is out before Suho even comes back in. 

The morning after is… a lot. 

Sujin wakes up with heavy eye sockets on a couch that is clearly not her bed, and it takes her a few seconds to remember where she is and why. The brace on her arm certainly helps the memories along. 

It’s not the weekend, which means she’s supposed to be at school in… 

Sujin straightens up harshly. 

“Whoa, easy,” Suho immediately soothes from the kitchen, putting his tea down as he makes his way to her. 

He stops a safe distance away, for which she’s grateful. Sujin rubs her palms into her eyes, feels them dry and heavy with the trials of yesterday. 

“What time is it ?” 

It’s her first question because it is, sadly, her first concern. She can’t miss a day of school. Suho, despite the obvious reluctance etched in his furrowed brow and curved lips, seems to understand that. 

“It’s only seven fifteen,” he declares, going back to the kitchen and fidgeting with something. “We’ve got at least twenty minutes before going to class.”

He sends her a look. 

“If we go to class.”

Sujin snorts, flips her hair out of her face, and glares. 

“Yeah, we’re going to class.” 

“You don’t even have your stuff,” he tries, which she waves aside. 

“Juts let me borrow paper and pen, I’ll be fine.”

“And…”

“Suho, we don’t have time for this. I’ll go get ready, and… And we can talk about all of… this,” she gulps, gesturing vaguely towards herself, “after school. Alright ?”

There is silence for a few moments, broken oddly by him handling a cup and then walking towards her to place it on the small table. Only when she takes it does he sigh, and says quietly : 

“Alright.”

Sujin has a sole smile to offer him above her teacup. 

The shower she takes is quick, and she is careful not to glance at the mirror when her skin is bare of any layer. It’s a bit more complicated to get into her clothes as it was to get out of them, with her shoulder and all, but she manages. 

She supposes it is a small mercy that she went to the hospital in her uniform, and that she doesn’t have to borrow one of Suho’s shirt. 

In any case, they makes their way out of his apartment in silence, not a lot of pleasantries exchanged between them. They were never ones for small talk, anyway, even less so since they entered high school and their competition took on a darker shade. Sujin supposes it’s her fault, for letting her father’s approval taint her everyday life, taint her friendships and the way she thought about people as well as her own value. 

But that’s a knowledge she has held for a long time. There’s no use dwelling on it now. 

Sujin keeps tugging at her collar involuntarily, and huffs at herself each time she notices. Suho has the decency not to comment on it, and instead offer her a notepad and pencil case wordlessly.
“Thank you,” she simply says as she holds them against her chest. 

She means for more than that, of course; means for yesterday and offering her a place to stay and his concern and friendship. Though he’ll get angry and sad, Suho doesn’t judge her. Doesn’t judge her lack of action, her fear of retribution. He doesn’t look at her like she’s fragile and he should lower his rank just to please her father. She supposes that’s what she cherishes the most. 

“Seojun knows now.”

Ah. Sometimes his lack of consideration is painful. 

Sujin holds the notepad tighter. Tilts her chin up. 

“So ?”

From the corner of her eye, she picks up his shrug. 

“He freaked out yesterday. Thought you should know he’d have never acted that way if…”

“Doesn’t matter,” she snaps, unwilling to continue this conversation. For now, she simply wants to go to school and not think about what awaits her after. 

What is she supposed to do now ? Avoid her home ? Avoid her parents altogether ? 

Live with Suho ? Get an apartment ? What about her stuff ? 

She has no idea. This wasn’t the plan. 

But it might be time for a new plan. 

No one bats an eye when they enter the classroom together, Suho having started to hang out with her group of friends, Jugyeong especially, more frequently. Plus, she has taken cautious care of her appearance, so that no one would guess she didn’t spend the night home. It is a bit odd that she does not have her backpack flung across her shoulder, but she doesn’t get any comment on it, not even from Sua, who frowns at her brace but accepts easily her simple shrug and “I slipped”. 

Suho tenses beside her, but can’t show anything, especially not as Sua glances at him too pointedly, probably surprised that they’re walking together. 

It is better for Sujin to be walking at his side, actually; he draws all unwanted attention on him so that her brace, and unusual appearance, go almost entirely unnoticed.

It’s kind of a pain to explain again to her friends that she is fine, really, it’s just a small thing, she just fell down and caught herself on her hand, and she shouldn’t have done that, she laughs. But Seojun’s absence is kind of distracting, she won’t lie. He misses class. 

Sujin hangs back to talk with the teacher about her last mark, and when she finally exits the room, her attention catches a few feet away, to Han Seojun, head bent down talking to a very intimidated-looking Jugyeong. After a second of observing, she determines this is not his usual flirty interventions, or even a normal conversation. Her friend keeps glancing away, legs half bent as if ready to bounce away. 

Seojun doesn’t notice her as he leaves, but Sujin keeps scowling at his back anyway while she makes her way to Jugyeong. 

“What the hell did he want ?” Sujin frowns harder at her friend’s disturbed face. 

Jugyeong shakes her head, a smile emerging as if the shock was never there. 

“Nothing important, Sujin-ah. Should we go to lunch ?” She asks, transferring Sujin’s -Suho’s- notebook atop hers so she can loop her arm through Sujin’s free one. 

The position is uncomfortable with the brace, and the way she feels crowded, but Sujin will take any discomfort to bask into the light that is Jugyeong’s easy, unconditional affection. 

“Sure,” she says, and already knows she will excuse herself early and seek out the motorcycle-riding terror. 

She finds him, predictably enough, outside of the building, walking around school grounds like he owns it, parading before his group of friends like a peacock. Maybe she’s imagining his cockiness, but she wouldn’t be so sure. 

“Yah, Han Seojun, are you a gangster ?” She snaps, an echo of easier days. 

Her voice halts him in his tracks.

His shoulders visibly tense as his friends turn their heads to her, looking terrified, for which she doesn’t blame them. Even with an incapacitated arm, she can kick their asses. 

When he turns around, his jaw is tight, and his eyes hold that glint that makes her want to rip out his eyeball. His knuckles are white where he’s gripping the strap of his bag. All in all, the opposite of the careless, lackadaisical idol attitude he has so carefully crafted for years and enjoys displaying to everyone. 

“What do you want ?” He bites, aggression as a defence mechanism. 

She’d like to say she doesn’t recognise it, but God she does. 

It makes her narrow her eyes, makes her grit her teeth before she can say without yelling : 

“To talk to you.”

It’s not, not really, but last time she went and screamed at him before his friends, it didn’t lead them anywhere, did it ? And maybe, just maybe she wants to check that he won’t say anything about her father. 

To check he doesn’t treat her differently, as well. 

Sujin fully expects him to reject her without a second thought, but oddly enough, he doesn’t. Looking like he’s walking to the slaughterhouse, Seojun turns on his heels and passes by her, wordlessly urging her to follow him. 

She does, a safe distance away, so that when he turns around to face her, there’s still at least three feet between them. 

“Talk,” he states, eyes cautiously away from hers. 

“You need to stop harassing Jugyeong,” she snaps without any preamble, attempting to cross her arms on her chest but being hindered by her brace.
Uh.
She almost forgot about this. 

“What ?” He asks, visibly startled. 

She can see his surprise by the way he’s now staring at her, having forgotten pretending she’s not here. 

“I don’t care what’s your problem with Suho, or her, but you need to back the hell up. You’re freaking her out way too…”

His laugh is a bark, harsh and rough and so unexpected Sujin recoils at the ugly sound from his mouth. 

“You’re worried about Jugyeong ?” He asks, sounding bewildered and bordering on crazed. 

Sujin stares. 

“You’re worried about her,” he yells again, “when you have your fucking arm in a brace, and you were in the hospital, and your father…”

His words get lost in incoherent panting, and then he’s leaning on the wall for support, chest heaving and head hung low. 

Oh, shit, she thinks, a bit late and a bit distantly. He’s having a panic attack.

She isn’t certain what to do as he breaks apart, gasping for air in all the wrong ways, like his chest is being stepped on and won’t expand lest it crumbles to dust. She has had panic attacks before, with her father trying to kick the door in, with her hands almost bleeding from scrubbing too hard, with her new grade crumbled in a fist on her desk. But it’s not like she found a way to magically solve them, especially with another presence there, given that she always breaks down alone.

“Seojun,” she breathes out, unable to help the tight knot lodged in her throat, a mixture of guilt and something else as she witnesses his walls crumble.

Sujin crouches before him, tentatively reaching for the side of his neck. When she makes contact, the boy’s eyes snap to hers, wide and panicky, and she abandons all pretence in favour of leaning completely forward, almost flushed against his crouched form.

There isn’t much to do, really, so Sujin settles for pressing her fingers hard enough into his skin to try and ground him, and murmurs reassurances in his ear until he manages to breathe normally again. 

It takes much longer than she expected, longer than she takes to calm herself down. She supposes it’s because he hasn’t let himself break in a long, long time. 

“I’m so sorry,” he says, so quiet she barely hears it. 

Sujin considers pretending not to have heard it, but he’s still breathing heavier than normal, and she figures keeping a conversation going will only help. 

“For what ?”

“I’m so sorry for what I did to you. I never meant…”

His sentence vanishes into a thick, quivering exhale against her collarbone. The bruises are still there, an inch  higher. 

“You didn’t know,” she speaks up, feeling the words lodged in her throat even after she’s said them. 

The anger she has held against him is still there, but it’s subdued, dimmed to an ember. 

“I’m sorry,” he repeats anyway, almost inaudible on her skin. 

Sujin doesn’t answer this time. 

It would be useless anyway. She’s not about to forgive him, but nothing else she can say will make it better. She supposes they just have to live with it for now, and deal with each in their own way. 

If it means her hands scrubbed raw and his panic attacks, then there’s nothing much they can do about it. 

Every time Seojun is around, her world seems to shatter. She looses the control she holds so dear, loses the composure and pride that make the character everyone sees. He strips her of everything with barely a glance, and she falls without meaning to. 

Now is no different, though she cannot find the anger, cannot find the fear or anxiety. Strangely enough, there is a kind of relief accompanying his understanding. A certain kinship she cannot help feeling as he remains there, unmoving and torn down, unfolded for her to see. 

“You have every right to be angry at me,” he murmurs, as if hearing her thoughts. 

“I am, still,” she admits quietly. There’s no need to be loud, anyway, not with the way they’re pressed against each other. “But this wasn’t exactly… You didn’t know,” she repeats with a shake of her head. “No one did.”

“Except Suho.”

Her lips tighten in a thin, bitter line. Seojun leans back against the wall, putting some distance between them. She can still feel the ghost of his breath, of his regrets, running on her skin. Sujin lets her knee dig deeper into the ground as she sits back on her heels, eyes roaming his features. She doesn’t really know what’s there, how to decipher all the nuances. 

“Suho…” she starts, stops. Gulps, and fixes her eyes on the concrete wall above his shoulder. “I don’t know how long he’s known, not really. And it’s not like it matters, anyway. There’s nothing to do.”

“There is now.”

“What ?” She startles back as his hand reaches for her, falling short from holding her arm. 

“He almost killed you, Sujin,” Seojun hammers with a wild stare. “You’re not going back there. And if he tries to take you anyway, you can engage legal pursuits.”

“Then what the hell am I supposed to do ?” She exclaims, but it’s more out of desperation than out of anger. “Where am I supposed to live, uh ?” 

“I’m sure Sua or Jugyeong would be pleased to have you.”

“I’m sure they would,” she mocks, the suggestion like a cold sharp of ice in her stomach, “but I don’t want them to know. And Suho… I was lucky yesterday that his parents were out of town.”

“What are you saying ?”

“I’m going back,” she states simply, hollowly. “I have to, I can’t just up and…”

“Come live with me.”

The interjection is so abrupt she flinches back from it, and the words take a moment longer to register. Even when they are, clear as day in her head, Sujin doesn’t understand. Only when gravel digs into her skin does she regain her ability to speak, and even then, all that comes out is : 

“What ?”

“Come live with me,” he repeats, seemingly more assured as he leans towards her. 

They’re too close, closer than she should allow on school grounds, with Han Seojun of all people. 

“As you know, my mom is in the hospital, so I live alone.”

“I can’t… It’s not… what ?” She says again, shaking her head and blinking as if it’ll change his words. “I can’t just come live with you.”

“Why not ?” 

“I… My parents, and… And I don’t have any money for rent, I…”

“I don’t need rent.”

“I… I don’t…”

“Sujin.”

It’s the way he says her name, she believes, that makes her stop. Makes everything stop, really, as she stares back into his black eyes. It’s an intense stare, Seojun’s. Intense and still kind, still gentle. She never used to think that before, but she can’t help it now. 

Tongue heavy in her mouth, Sujin forces herself to part her lips and say through a tight throat : 

“Is that your shitty way of trying to apologise ? Because if it is, I’ll…”

“No, Sujin, it’s not. I swear,” he says, and it’s only when he squeezes her arm that she realises his hand is on her. “I don’t want you to go back there.”

Suho might have known that her father hit her, might have known the intricacies of their relationship and the way he made her feel less than, but he never said those words to her. 

Be it because he’s as emotionally constipated as she is, or because he never wanted to utter those feelings out loud when they couldn’t do anything about it. Her mother certainly never said anything. In any case, this is the first time Sujin hears those words. 

There’s no way not to believe them. Not when his fingers press into her skin, not when his exhales are shaky and still thin with panic, not when his gaze won’t shift. 

Amazingly enough and shocking them both, the next word out of her mouth is : 

“Ok.”

Suho’s reaction to the news is eyebrows jumping to his hairline, wide eyes, and that’s it. His mouth opens a few times, but eventually he simply asks if she needs his help to move. 

She accepts gratefully. 

All three of them arrange to meet at her parents’ house when she knows they will be out. It feels way too easy to pack her things, way too easy to close the door to her room, to her house, and to this part of her life. 

It feels too easy, and Sujin is scared. 

Her mother calls her exactly three weeks after she has moved out. 

Despite the lump in her throat and the slight dizziness, Sujin answers. 

The conversation doesn’t deserve to be retold, but there’s a lot of crying, and begging, and some guilt-tripping. Sujin listens to it all, answers mostly with apathy. Her mother hangs up after a while, still crying, still angry, but mainly confused. She supposes it makes sense, this confusion. 

The conversation -or lack thereof- makes her queasy the entire evening. She sits on the couch, unable to do anything more than stare blankly at the Tv, her tea gone cold. 

That’s how Seojun finds her. 

Distantly, she is aware of him, in her periphery. Aware of his moving, and when his questions remain unanswered, of his sitting beside her. His shoulder nudges her, and Sujin startles back to reality. 

“What ?” She blurts out, almost a gasp as she whirls her head to face him. 

“What’s wrong ?”

She regards him for a moment, a moment longer. Debates telling him. Before her brain can come to a logical, thought-out decision, her mouth opens of its own accord. 

“My mother called.”

“Oh.”

“It wasn’t a curtesy call,” she uselessly adds. 

Seojun looks at her, eyes jumping between hers, before settling on a simple question. 

“Are you alright ?”

Shrugging is difficult, because her shoulders feel pressed down by the insanely heavy weight of the years and all the times she begged her mother to help, until she stopped asking. It’s a pathetic attempt at brushing it off, and Seojun see right through it. 

“My father was an asshole,” he unexpectedly says. 

Sujin’s attention is effectively captured, drifting from his face to the hands clenched and the elbows perched on his knees. Nothing betrays his feelings. 

“He died, a while back. And I know he was an asshole, but I still miss him. And I still think about… About what ifs. What if he hadn’t died ? Where would we be now ? What I’m trying to say,” he breathes in, as if gathering courage, “is that you’re allowed to be affected by your mother’s absence. Even if it’s missing her.”

“I don’t know if I do.”

It flies out of her mouth, so abrupt she almost misses the words. She glances at Seojun with shame brewing inside, but all she finds is tolerance. Acceptance. She never would have associated that with him before, but she has been learning much about him since she moved in. It’s as if his layers have been peeled back at once, like you rip off a bandaid. As if it’s an invitation to his home as well as his mind. 

Sujin doesn’t think she has ever understood anyone the way she understands him. The opposite is probably true as well. 

“You’re allowed to. But you don’t have to, either.”

Sujin brings her knees up and wraps her arms around them, nestling her cheek on her knee to watch him. 

“I guess I wish she’d do something for me. At least… At least apologise. Wish me the best. I don’t know.”

The truth is, she may have escaped her household, but she doesn’t know what lies ahead of her. She’s lucky her year is already paid for, but… But what does her future hold, exactly ? Now that she doesn’t have to go to medical school. Now that her father’s expectations aren’t guiding her life, despite having grown beneath her skin like cancer from the age of nine. There’s the money, of course, but there’s many other things as well. Sujin isn’t even sure what she enjoys. What are her hobbies ? What is her motivation to find a career ? What is she passionate about ? She has no idea. All the more to figure out, with no real safety net to catch her were she to fall (she’ll never go back there, now that she has grasped the chance to get out). 

As if he can guess where her mind has gone, Seojun looks forward and states :

“You know you’re going to get through this, right ?”

In spite of everything she has just listed in her head, in spite of the precariousness of her situation, Sujin smiles. 

“Hey.”

The soft greeting makes her look up instantly, lips already twitching despite the lack of reason to. Pavolvian effect, she supposes. 

Seojun hands her the paper due for today that she can’t believe she forgot home this morning. 

Home. 

That’s a new concept, one that doesn’t fill her with dread or the impression of never being enough. Home -the cosy, warm, welcoming haven they’ve managed to build for themselves with Han Seojun. The small apartment, the two bedrooms where their personalities bleed through. Seojun’s is always clean and tidied up, not a piece of paper to be found anywhere, bed always made, sheets always fresh. Sujin’s is messier, clothes thrown on the chair in the corner, shoes scattered on the floor, pen and papers and books overlapping on her desk. Now that she’s allowed to be less than perfect, the standard her father set for her have all but crumbled, and she lets herself be. She lets herself laugh, and tease, and even dance in the middle of the living room when Seojun puts a playlist on his speaker and a song she likes comes along. She lets herself eat messily and make food that isn’t necessarily the best, just for the hell of it. She eats packs of ramen and leaves her brush out in the bathroom. The day she comes back in and notices she forgot to put the cap back on the toothpaste, she could have cried. The pressure on her lungs is gone, and so is the fear of coming back home, of closing her bedroom door, of hearing the main door open and close.

But it’s not until she looks up at Seojun this morning, at the way he hands her the paper she forgot, at the energy bar he sets on her desk, that Sujin realises she’s happier. She’s happier, and the main reason is him. Because he has taken all this change in stride, seems happier the longer she remains, the more she laughs. Even her friends have told her she looks better, and have asked what could provoke such a drastic transformation. Her eyes had betrayed her, drawn to Seojun like to a beacon in the night, but thankfully they hadn’t noticed. Often, people don’t notice much unless it involves them. 

“Thank you,” she says now, and it must sound too genuine, too full of things she can’t well say in front of the whole class. 

They’re already attracting a bit of attention, though it’s more and more common to see them talking these days. 

The wink he gives her would have made her scoff, before, and it still does; but it’s not out of annoyance this time. Sujin is aware of the expectations he himself faces at school, though they’re the perfect opposite of her own. She knows him now, though. Knows him like she didn’t think was possible, knows his quirks and his awkward dance moves and his shyness when the flirting he so promptly offers gets a response in kind (she has had fun with that one a lot, watching him trip and stumble all over his words with eyes wide as saucers as soon as she complimented him back, or considered his ludicrous proposals). He starts to retract back to his seat, then hangs back. His fit knocks on her desk, making her look up again, and he asks : 

“Is Fast and Furious good for tonight ?”

Sujin aches a brow. 

“Which one ?”

“Who cares ?” He shrugs, but he’s smiling. “It’s not like we watch it for the plot.”

“Perfect then.”

With another knock on her desk, he’s gone back to his seat, leaving her to her thoughts. 

Seojun has taken to showing her movies, since she admitted her father only allowed her to watch those deemed “classics”. So most of their evenings are spent with snacks between them and their eyes captivated by a dumb plot and too many explosions. Those movies are by no stretch of the imagination good, but that’s exactly why she enjoys it so much. Doing something for the sake of it is new to her. 

And Seojun opens up and opens up and lets her in, lets her roaming in his mind with an invitation to do so. He tells her of the expectations he himself knew, before. Of the fallout between him and Suho. Of his mother. 

Though Sujin never dares to take his hand or rest head on his shoulder, she is surprised to find that she wants to. She doesn’t know where this odd sense of kinship came from, or why it grows inside her ribs like vines, wrapping around her bones. But it does, and the more it does, the more she grows attached to him, until she can safely say that she wants him in her life. Now and, if possible, in the future. 

“You’re so passionate,” she tells him one night, after having spent a few minutes in silence, watching him wash the dishes singing from her place in her bedroom’s doorway. 

He jumps, splashes water all over the counter and his shirt, and turns to glare at her. Sujin bites her lip, but it can’t quite contain her laughter. 

“Sorry,” she chuckles. 

“I do find washing dishes entrancing,” he replies. 

“I meant the singing.”

“Yeah, well.” 

Nothing follows that awkward answer, and so Sujin steps forward, until she can lean onto the counter beside him. He doesn’t look at her. The plate he’s washing is obviously clean. 

“You don’t have to tell me,” she says, because she wants to make that perfectly clear. “But I’m here if you want to.”

“What use would it be ?” He asks, and it sounds like a genuine question. As if he’s seeking an answer. 

“It doesn’t have to be useful. Just… you said it yourself. We were friends. And I think… I hope we’re friends again. That’s what friends do, right ?”

Her own question is awkward and makes her feel out of her depth, because she truly doesn’t know. She never told anyone about her father, or her home-life, or her fears, because those three were intertwined. She is used to keeping things close to her heart, and although she listens to her friends and hopes she is a helpful ear, she can’t exactly know what’s the kind exchange that is a guarantee of friendship. 

At her words though, Seojun visibly softens and turns towards her. He regards her for a second, and then says :

“Yeah, we’re friends. And I will tell you all about it, but not today. Alright ?”

Sujin nods with a smile that hurts her cheeks. Seojun laughs and flicks water at her face, making her yelp. 

Domesticity, she thinks. She knew this word before, but never had anything to associate it with. 

Seojun calls her in a panic one day, and it takes all she has not to hyperventilate when he tells her it’s an emergency. 

“Can you come to the hospital right now ?”

That does nothing, literally nothing, to soothe her terror. 

“What’s going on ?” She asks, sounding much calmer than she feels. 

“I made a whole lunch basket for my mom and I forgot it at home. Could you bring it please ?”

Sujin deflates, has to let herself sit on the floor at the way her knees buckle and threaten to stop working altogether. 

“Are you actually insane ?” She hisses in the phone, wishing she were there to strangle him. “What the fuck Seojun ?”

“Wh-”

“You don’t start a conversation like that, you idiot ! Don’t ever start a conversation like that !”

“I’m sorry, I…”

“I’ll be there in 20.”

When she arrives at the hospital, she asks at the front desk for Han Seojun’s mother, and the nurse points her in the right direction. Now certain he is alright, and no one died, and no one is on the verge of dying, Sujin can fully be upset at him. And she makes it known as soon as his idiotic face appears at the door. 

“You are the single most unaware, idiotic person I have ever met,” she greets, pushing her way past him. 

“In hindsight, I shouldn’t have started like that,” he admits, looking more sheepish than she’s ever seen. 

It’s probably because his mom is here. 

Oh. His mom is here. Sujin turns towards the bed with a polite, rehearsed smile on her face. 

“Hello Miss.”

“Yah, don’t put that mannequin smile on your face,” Seojun waves at the general vicinity of it. 

“You mean politeness ?” She shoots back. “Social cues ?”

“Sujin, I presume ?” His mother calls her back to the present. 

With an apology on her tongue, she turns back to the woman on the bed. Even with taunt lines on her face, dark shadows under her eyes, paleness too white to be healthy, and sharp angles betraying how thin she is, she is very beautiful. 

“Oh, he has told you about me ?”

“Absolutely everything,” his mother grins. “I can’t get him to stop talking.”

Sujin steals a glance at the glaring but bashful concerned. 

“None of us can.”

“Please, call me Mi-hyang,” the woman says, and then gestures to a vacant chair on the side of her bed. 

“Oh, I wouldn’t dare to…” she starts, but then Seojun’s hands are on her shoulders and forcing her to sit. 

“I would love to hear more about you.” 

She expected to feel inadequate, before what a real family should look like, but they have this ability to make her feel welcomed, included. Seojun presses their shoulders together when some questions border on her father, her parents, though Mi-hyang stays suspiciously clear of delicate topics in a way that tells her Seojun must have warned her about… parts of it all. She isn’t as annoyed as she thought she would be. 

Eventually, Seojun stands up, and tells his mother :

“It’s really sunny outside. Do you feel like taking a stroll ?” 

When his mother grins, Sujin would have to be blind not to recognise that tilt, that shape of the upper lip. 

It takes some help for her to settle in the wheelchair. Once they’re in the doorway, Seojun turns his head and raises a brow at her. 

“Go on,” she smiles. “I’ll tidy things up here. Enjoy your walk.”

He gives her a smile of his own, one where gratitude is obvious and beautiful. 

Once they are both gone, Sujin gathers the rest of their dishes and cleans the small folding table, being mindful of the person laying in the bed next to Seojun’s mother’s. Though a curtain is drawn between the two beds for privacy, she can hear them moving around under the sheets, and ponders going over and offering them something to eat. 

Before she can, the door opens. 

It takes a micro second for her gaze to travel to the newcomer. Instantly, she drops to her knees, rushing behind the trolley stacked with cleaning supplies. 

“Hello Miss Lee.”

“Hello Doctor Kang.”

She crouches behind the trolley, shallow breaths breaking in her ribs, in her throat. 

Her father’s voice keeps resonating in the room, the even tone of it, the steel she is so acquainted with. The fear is the worst, terror of being seen, of his anger, of anything coming from him. She hates that she feels like this, hates that she’s hiding, knees clutched to her chest, unable to breathe properly for fear of being heard. 

The voice echoes in her head way after he is gone from the room. Still, she remains there, nails digging in her palms, scratching the skin that barely had time to heal. 

It is like this that Seojun finds her. 

“Yah, Sujin-ah,” he gasps, crouching down beside her, wandering hands reaching out. “What’s wrong, what’s…”

“I’ll be fine,” she tries to reassure him, but her voice breaks. 

Pressing her forehead against her knee, Sujin presses her eyes shut tightly, too tightly, until all she can see are flashes of white. His fingers are warm points of pressure when he places them on the back of her neck, squeezing only enough to anchor her in the present. 

“I’ll be fine,” she says again, more for herself this time.

She still doesn’t believe it, but saying it enough might make it work. 

(it doesn’t, it won’t work, not even when she manages to stand up leaning on Seojun, eyes checking every corner of the room as if her father is about to bounce from the shadows; even when they say goodbye to Seojun’s mother, and she lays a gentle hand on hers and tells her she’s glad they’ve met; even when they make their way back, Seojun more attentive than she’s ever witnessed him; even when they arrive home, and she still feels sick to her stomach; even when she falls asleep on the couch, Seojun’s hand holding hers)

Time passes quicker than she expected, and soon they are approaching the end of the year. 

Sujin realizes that one evening, as she comes back home. She toes off her shoes, puts on her slippers, and steps into the living room. Seojun is there, phone in hand, a small frown on his face, sitting on the white couch. The sight of him warms her from the inside out, so comfortable and just… there. At home. Hair falling in his eyes, first buttons of his shirt unmade, tie thrown away somewhere, socked feet crossed at the ankles. 

The words are tumbling down her mouth before she can even think to stop them -not that she would. 

“I never thanked you, did I ?”

Seojun turns his head towards her, still distracted by his phone. 

“Hmm ?”

Sujin moves towards him, glad that all distraction vanishes as he watches her movements. The phone is thrown on the cushion while he blinks at her. 

“For offering me a place to stay. A place to call home.”

“Sujin-ah,” he breathes. 

There are so many things she still wants to say, needs to say, but the words don’t seem to take shape. 

Fractured breaths, fractured silence, she’s never been one to hear what was contained in the fullness of moments. The cracks are where secrets are spilled, in the shatter of his eye and the scarceness of his whispers, the spasms of his fingers and the hesitancy of his lips. 

It is not long before those lips meet hers, delicate without fear, forward without insistence. Sujin drops into his lap, knees on each side of his hips, seeking his tongue out, seeking to taste the kindness she has discovered behind the harsh words. The kiss lasts longer than she expected, though she can’t say she expected much. But she gets entirely lost in it, pulling him closer and closer, uncaring of the way her skirt has bunched up on her thighs, leaving room for his touch to climb on naked skin. Seojun is reaching up to her mouth, head entirely tilted back, which brings their chests flush against each other. 

Despite the insistent way he kisses her, Seojun seems to want to say something, humming in her mouth a few times. Still, it takes a while for him to draw back, forcing her still with a hand on her throat when she tries to chase his lips. 

“I should be the one thanking you,” he whispers, shaky but determined. “Thank you for trusting me. You showed me a part of you no one else knew. I guess that’s why I couldn’t help but fall in love with you.”

Everything freezes, the world turning still, except for his fingers on her thigh and throat. 

“You…” she starts, stops. Isn’t sure what to say. 

The sight of his smile is tempting enough, and so instead of answering, she leans down to press hers there, too, on his skin, feel the words on her lips and in her heart and feel loved in this place they made home.