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Even if he didn’t know Sieun got beat up, Suho thinks he would have figured it out a second into this conversation. It’s not like his friend is good at lying. Used to silence, he has never bothered to learn. He’s always frank and forward, even when he shouldn’t be, and that’s a quality Suho admires. Now though, now he hates the fact that Sieun is lying through his fucking teeth, all of it to hide the fact that he tried to protect him. And isn’t that the worst feeling ever ?
“Is…” he starts, gulps around the lump in his throat. “Is nobody home with you ?”
Sieun doesn’t make it a habit to spell out obvious facts, and so he doesn’t answer. Suho feels sick. His parents must know, right ? Sieun was in the hospital, for fuck’s sake. His parents must have been there.
He’s unconvinced. He feels like punching Beom Seok’s face until he can’t get up.
“Seriously ?”
The anger comes like a wave, rushing through him before he vigorously pushes it down. It never used to be like this; visceral. All to protect, to avenge.
Suho has to regulate his breathing, to force himself to stay in place, lest he runs out and does something absolutely stupid.
“Let me in,” he chooses instead. “I’m thirsty.”
Sieun starts to protest, but there’s nothing more to hide from him, and so Suho forces his way into the apartment.
It is empty. There aren’t even dirty dishes in the sink or anything to suggest someone might live here. The thought of Sieun alone, rendered unable by the cast and the other injuries Suho cannot see, brightens the anger like a meteor.
There’s blood in his mouth from where he’s biting his cheek. It doesn’t help.
When he turns around, Sieun’s valiant attempts at fisting his sleeve and hiding his cast are very noticeable. He stands in the middle of the room like he’s the guest here, like he isn’t sure how to act.
That makes two of them.
Suho clears his throat. Suddenly, he’s very aware of them being alone and of the responsibility he has over Sieun’s injuries.
“You got anything to eat ?”
“I thought you were thirsty,” he grumbles, but he makes his way into the kitchen anyway, while Suho is toeing off his shoes and coming fully inside.
A glass is filled and awaits him on the counter as he joins Sieun.
Though it was just an excuse, he’s glad to have it so he can shut his eyes and compose himself once more, before being met with the sad sight of his friend again.
He takes his sweet time studying him. The dark shadows under his eyes are like a punch to his stomach, as are his sunken cheeks and his visible uncertainty. Suho has never known him to be uncertain. No matter the situation, he is always assertive (which is very attractive, by the way). But now, once it’s about himself and his injuries, he can’t seem to decide how he should act and where he should look. He turns to the cupboards awkwardly, starts to look for something to eat with his only good hand.
He’s really, small, Suho realises, which is not what he expected to think about. But he is. Must be a head smaller than him. Maybe more.
His face is as blank as ever once he turns around, but he thinks he detects a note of dejection when Sieun states :
“I only have instant noodles.”
“That’s not a good diet, Sieun-ah,” he teases.
There might be an underlying concern for his health, but hey. He figures the guy isn’t well-versed enough in friendship to notice.
“Never mind the food then,” he brushes off with an unconcerned wave of his hand, making a mental note to go grocery shopping afterwards. There’s no way he’ll leave Sieun injured and malnourished alone in his apartment. It’s a fucking shame he didn’t know two days ago when it happened, he won’t have any regrets about what comes next.
“Is that your room ?” He asks with a jerk of his head towards the closest door, left ajar.
At his host’s nod, Suho walks towards it. He half-expects protests, but nothing comes, so he doesn’t feel bad about stepping inside the bedroom. As expected, it is immaculate. Not one sock or shirt laying abandoned on the ground, not one pen out of place, no forgotten half-empty glass of water on the nightstand. The antithesis of Suho’s room, really. They’re perfectly opposed, he believes, and yet they’ve managed not only to become friends but to intertwine their lives intrinsically. Soulmates, Suho would say if he believed in such things. As it is, he is aware it’s much less mystical; he caught feelings.
And Sieun got beaten up because of it.
The lamp on the desk is the only source of light and reveals the open textbook and half-finished equation.
He turns a blank stare towards his friend.
“Tell me you weren’t doing homework.”
A purse to his mouth, almost amusement, maybe, but not quite. Sieun remains in the doorway while Suho moves around the room and finally settles on the made bed, as if a simple observer of the scene. Suho thinks about provoking him into being an active part of it, as he always does. He likes it very much, when Sieun snaps, when all of his mind and body seem present and focused on the events (on Suho, most of the time). When he turns to action, it’s always unexpected. Be it bashing a bully’s head in or smiling in a hospital after he bought Suho soup. And Suho likes being kept on his toes.
He also hates thinking about what happened two days ago.
“You’re a real wacko, you know that ?” He states now, regarding the homework and other things Sieun can’t fathom, except maybe for the thickness in his voice.
There’s a phantom smile right there, in the crease between his lips, Suho can see it; it makes him dizzy with want.
“So you’ve told me.”
“Why don’t you ever listen to me, uh ?”
“That’s all I do. You just keep talking nonsense.”
It’s insane that he can now detect the affection in his voice, as surely as he can see it in his actions. Though he never thought he would go this far. Suho is the one supposed to hurt and be hurt, he’s the protector, he’s supposed to…
“Hey, come sit here a second.”
And it’s a wonder that he does. Sieun takes the few necessary steps, a suspicious look on his face that seems to be exclusively linked to everything Suho does or says. The bed dips when he sits, a careful distance between them. The way he favours his left side, right hand buried underneath the sweater’s sleeve to hide the cast, doesn’t go unnoticed. But today, Suho has decided to be selfless; he won’t yell at him, and he won’t go out there punching his way through the bullies -will do that later, for certain. Not now.
The quiet of the room is disconcerting: Suho isn’t used to quiet. The house, when he’s there, is always noisy with the radio or television or neighbours’ visits to his grandmother, the cooking and cleaning and chatting away at random moments of the day. The gym is always filled with noise as well, and the motor of his scooter has become a constant buzzing in his ears.
The silence now makes him calm; settled in his skin.
Acutely aware of the things he wants, in this moment.
“Hey.”
“What ?”
“Can I kiss you ?”
Sieun’s head turns so fast towards him he hears his neck crack, making them both wince. It also brings them closer, and Suho has to dig his nails into his palm not to surge forward before he gets a positive answer.
“Uhm.”
Suho tilts his head, watching his reaction carefully. The main emotion seems to be confusion, which is so very rare Suho enjoys it despite the nerves wracking his stomach. No trace of discomfort, or disgust.
In an uncharacteristic display of nervousness, Sieun gulps loudly, and Suho can’t help the way his gaze is drawn to the bob of his Adam’s apple.
“You need to write down the pros and cons, bookworm ?” He teases, though it sounds fake even to his ears.
Sieun huffs at him.
“Want me to quizz you about it ?”
“Oh my God, shut up,” Sieun grumbles, and, stupefyingly, cups Suho’s face with his available hand to join their mouths.
It’s a bit brutal, a lot shocking, and absolutely surreal. But Suho has been waiting for this, and he won’t have it spoiled being too surprised to reciprocate. So he takes to doing just that, applying pressure back. Sieun is clearly at a loss for what to do, and it’s expected; but he’s also very good at following guidelines, and so when Suho starts moving his lips to coax him into movement, he follows. Follows so well, actually, that after no time, his mouth is parted open in invitation, breaths lost in between them, kisses sliding one into the other, inseparable. Suho is careful to control where his hands go -where his hands remain, really, glued to Sieun’s neck like afraid to trail somewhere else.
Sieun has no such qualms, touching everywhere that’s available to him. Touch chases rapid goosebumps, trailing them all down Suho’s back and arms. There’s a tugging on his shirt, too, before fingertips reach the warmth of his stomach.
If he didn’t know any better, Suho would think Sieun was the one to initiate the kiss. As it is, he wonders if this is another way, a better one, to find an outlet for Sieun’s pent-up rage. If indulging in this will keep him from indulging in violence.
And shit, Suho can’t help but trace Sieun’s lip with his tongue, feeling the seam widen when Sieun’s own tongue meets his. Everything is very hot, suddenly, almost frantic, neither of them holding back.
It’s accidental, that his fingers happen to press somewhere that makes Sieun hiss in pain. The way Suho freezes, and then forces his shirt up despite the immediate protests, is absolutely deliberate.
The sight of the bruises spreading there, already a couple days old and looking like it, makes violence curl into his fists like poison.
The weight of Sieun’s cast pushing his inquiring hands away is jarring, maddening as well. He doesn’t want to imagine what expression he is wearing right now, given how carefully Sieun regards him. His fingers clench in the emptiness, wishing to hurt, wishing to hold, wishing to rub at the bruises until they fade away.
It takes too long for his voice to come back to him, and it’s too snappy when it does.
“Don’t get hurt again.”
“Suho…”
“Please.”
The tension thickens with the things neither of them has said.
“Don’t do anything stupid,” Sieun eventually replies, which is a confession and an agreement all in one and makes Suho grins. He can feel the dangerous edge to it, but it doesn’t seem to frighten the guy in the least, on the contrary.
“No promises.”
Before any protest can be uttered out loud, Suho steals them all from Sieun’s mouth, not letting up until he can feel the boy relax underneath him as he gets lost in the push and pull of their kisses.
If he had ever allowed himself to imagine this, Suho would have expected exactly the same intent, the same focus Sieun is displaying right now. He would not have imagined the sheer want that bleeds into his every movement, would never have dreamed of Sieun actively wanting him back as much. But he visibly does, one shocking initiative after another leading to Suho shirtless, being pushed down on the bed.
He finds the will to break away just long enough to gasp “Your cast”, and then he’s reverting their positions. Sieun’s pulse is a wild beat under his fingers when he grips his jaw to turn his head how he wants, sliding his tongue against teeth.
The ruffling sound of sheets gets drowned out in the loudness of the kiss, of the blood pumping into their ears and the punctual harsh breathing, stolen in the rare respite between them. The pressure on the back of Suho’s neck keeps increasing, smothering him in Sieun’s unrelenting fervour.
He doesn’t mind one bit.