Chapter Text
Suho cannot be blamed for the utterly bamboozled “what” that comes out of his mouth.
Before him, standing under the pouring rain with his sweater off and bundled in his arms, Sieun stares back blankly. It’s already a surprise to see him here -he almost never comes to Suho’s, but in this state ?
“A towel,” Sieun repeats.
Suho shakes himself and opens the door fully, tugging his friend in with fingers wrapped around his collar.
“You’re going to catch pneumonia out there.”
The thermic shock must be jarring, but Sieun wouldn’t be himself if he showed a sliver of weakness, and he remains standing there with his arms against his chest. Suho pushes the questions for later, when there’s not a dripping guy in the middle of his living room. For now he goes to get a towel from his bathroom drawer, and hands it over when he comes back out. Except, instead of lifting it to his hair or shoulder like he expected, Sieun loosens his hold on the sweater bunched up in his arms and opens the secret up to him.
A cat.
Well, if it can even be called that.
It’s a shivering, pathetic little bundle of matted fur and looks so small Suho could hold it with one hand easily. Its little head disappears when Sieun lowers the towel to it, and reappears with a small cry while he is placing it around and on it.
Suho is just staring dumbly. And then his eyes catch the way his soak-through shirt clings to the surprisingly broad shoulders and the definitions of his chest. He can’t be blamed for enjoying the sight just a second more. But there are goosebumps rising along the delicate curve of his neck, and his hair is just a wet mop, so Suho turns back around to the bathroom and takes out a second towel.
When he comes out once more, the wet sweater has fallen to the ground and Sieun is trying not to lose his hold on the cat as he stretches his arm towards it, eyebrows frowning in frustration. Suho huffs a small laugh and makes his way forward, not letting himself be distracted at the look sent his way while he picks up the sweater.
“Go sit,” he says with a jerk of his head towards the small kitchen table.
Sieun looks down at the shivering kitten now bundled up in the dry towel, eyes closed and nose twitching, looks back up at him. Instead of following the obvious direction and sit in a chair like a normal person, the position must not seem suitable to him. He diverts to the windowsill, where a nook leaves room for two persons to sit facing each other. He carefully props himself up there, arms not loosening one bit as he sits cross-legged, his silhouette cut out against the dark window.
With the light, with the sound of the rain, with the softness radiating off his friend, Suho feels weak. Weak, and so very much in love.
Trying not to let his feelings burst out, he follows the same path in order to place the newly fetched towel over his shoulders. A startled look lingers on the side of his face even after Suho has shifted his attention to the kitten.
There is so much to be said -and felt- about Sieun standing in the pouring rain, catching a cold just to protect a vulnerable kitten as much as he could with the only cover he had, and then demanding Suho help him take care of it. The gentleness seems out of place in his gestures and on his hands, as if they haven’t had to be gentle in years. Maybe never known gentleness themselves.
And still, he is delicate. He is careful and mindful of the little shivering thing as he looks back at it and attempts to dry it. And he fails to notice his own condition, heavy sleeves leaving trails of water everywhere in Suho’s home.
He doesn’t even mind.
He does mind Sieun dying of pneumonia though. That he minds quite a lot.
Suho shakes his head and moves his ass, hurrying up to his room without a word. He rummages through his drawers until he finds a clean white shirt and a sweatshirt that’ll fit Sieun, though they might be a little big. Best not to think about it. Best not to think about Sieun in his clothes at all.
For the third time tonight, Suho comes back into the room to a heart-warming sight.
Sieun is looking down at the kitten like he cannot believe it is still here, his fingers clenching around the towel. Maybe he wants to pet it but doesn’t know how to.
It is as if he isn’t quite sure how to care for a living thing. Papers and essays and pencil cases are all fine, but once you are responsible for something with a heartbeat and emotions and reactions to your behaviour, things get sticky.
Helpless, Suho feels his heart flutter. There is no urgency to his feelings now, no heat; just a bone-deep, gentle, endless affection. So he indulges himself a little while longer, watching from the doorway and committing the sight and feeling alike to memory. When he has waited long enough -enough that his ears have become deaf to anything other than Sieun’s breathing and occasional exclamation of surprise as the cat turns over or moves-, he forces his feet forward once more.
“Here,” he makes himself known, handing the clothes over.
Even though Sieun frees a hand to grab them, he does not make a move to get up. In fact, he remains frozen right there, gaze jumping between the clothes and Suho, and the small animal burrowed in its nest.
He seems hesitant to leave the kitten’s side, as if something terrible will happen were he to go for just a moment. Obviously torn between such a simple choice.
Perhaps it’s because everyone has always turned away from Sieun’s desperation, but Suho draws closer.
“Yah,” he draws his attention.
His face is still open with the struggle to chose, and it is such a rare sight it brings a smile to Suho’s lips. He tries to change it from overtly fond to reassuring.
“Give it to me,” he says softly, offering up his hands.
In an unexpected show of trust, Sieun immediately does. It’s with infinite carefulness that Suho takes the kitten, burrowed deep into the towel with its mouth opening in a faint cry at the movement. His arms cradling the bundle, he leans away just far enough to leave Sieun some space.
Tangled brown fur, quivering whiskers, ears twitching.
Its eyes are open in slits, and Suho can’t help but lean his head closer to it, almost going cross-eyed with the proximity.
“Hi there,” he coos at the thing, unable to do anything else while he gently rubs the thinnest layer of the towel over its sides. “You must have been scared, uh ?”
Another cry, so cute and tiny Suho has to chuckle.
“I’ll get you something to eat in a little bit.”
Tentatively, leaving his slow movement in the kitten’s line of vision, he lifts a hand. When no show of resistance or fear comes, Suho presses a delicate finger on its head.
A meow, white teeth yawning at him.
And then its leg flies out of the bundle, but instead of scratching him it just presses on his arm. Paws at the skin there, and that’s definitely too much cuteness for him.
“Ok, ok, I’ll get it now,” he amends.
There must be something adequate in the kitchen, he thinks, making his way there. While he is an utter disgrace, his grandmother would never let them live on instant noodles alone. One-handed, he opens the cupboards and rummages through until he finds a can of tunafish.
“Ah ah !” he exclaims, holding it up victoriously.
It’s a bit of a hassle to get it open while still holding onto the kitten, but he makes do. It probably is a bit dumb, but Sieun entrusted him with it, and that…
Yeah, he’ll hold onto it.
“Now hang on a second,” he muses, and exclaims again when he finally manages to get the lid off.
Next is picking up a fork to break the tuna into little pieces. Once that’s done, he balances the can onto the bump made by the towel, placing it so it’s slightly tilted forward and the kitten can access it easily.
Its nose twitches furiously and before long, it’s eating with its mouth open wide.
Only then does it occur to him maybe he should have waited after making his way back to where Sieun is, instead of awkwardly shuffling back while trying not to tip the can over. Oh well. Not like he has any dignity to uphold anyway.
“Oookay,” he drags out, finally back to Sieun’s side.
The sweatshirt suits him, in a way that is painfully unfair considering he has never thought sweatshirt suited anyone in particular. But it’s Sieun; and it’s his clothes. And it’s painful trying not to look at the domestic sight he makes, cross-legged and in his clothes, wet hair still falling into his eyes, the back ruffled with his attempts at drying them off. Suho’s gut tries to eat itself.
Suho props his hip up on the windowsill, close to Sieun’s knee. A stolen glance before his attention is back on the cat. Suho’s fingers clench in the towel, a desperate attempt at not reaching out.
Silence is only broken by the sounds of the kitten eating its heart out, and even though he’s concerned it’s eating too much too quickly he can’t find it in himself to put a stop to it. Poor thing must have been starving.
“Where did you find him ?”
Suho didn’t mean for his voice to be so quiet. Without questioning it, Sieun assumes the same tone, leaving the sound of the rain to muffle the outside world.
“A few blocks away,” he whispers, eyes half-lidded while he looks down at the topic of conversation. “It was almost dead.”
“Lucky kitten, to have stumbled upon you.”
A noncommittal hum. The silence eventually suffocates him, and he has to drag his gaze up. The line of Sieun’s jaw draws his attention first, a place he has no trouble imagining himself sucking a bruise. The curve of his lip is next, a bow that rarely turns up in a smile, but when it does it takes away Suho’s entire ability to think. The high cheekbones and the slope of his nose, inconspicuous in its banality. Still, there is no denying -and never was- that Sieun is handsome. A sculpted statue, shaped by a love-struck artist who wanted to show the softness of the world and the inevitable sharpness just under the surface, wrought as a response to the violence that same world forced upon him. No matter how hard he has tried to shake it, that kindness still clings to him. Suho is glad for it; glad that the jabs and the taunts and the overall cruelty of their peers and the world itself hasn’t stripped him bare of his compassion. He will do all that he can to preserve that, will throw himself in the crossfire without hesitation.
“Thank you,” Sieun eventually says, looking as if the words taste bad. “Sorry for bringing it in, I…”
“Come on,” Suho interrupts with a helpless laugh, “you know I can’t refuse you anything.”
Perhaps he should have made it more teasing, but it’s near impossible to take the honesty out of the words in this atmosphere; the quietness of the night, the rain pouring outside, the warmth of this room and the way Sieun looks at him as if he wouldn’t mind staying here forever. A dangerous thought, but it can’t be helped.
Even less so when the little genius remains dumbstruck, which is only perceivable because he doesn’t glance away and remains silent.
Feeling as if he needs to explain himself further, Suho struggles to find the words that could ever encompass his abrupt and definite devotion to Sieun. Unsurprisingly, he doesn’t manage. All that he can come up with is too raw, too vulnerable, and almost certainly too much for his friend to handle. Too close to a confession, his mind supplies. He cannot even deny it to himself.
As often, Sieun beats him to the punch.
“You always say I’m a weirdo.”
“You are,” Suho replies with a smile tugging at his mouth.
That doesn’t seem to clear things up for the little genius, who is staring as if drilling a hole through Suho’s skull will expose the answers he seeks to the light of day.
“You said I was insane to chase Kim Gil Soo.”
“I came after your dumb ass, didn’t I ?”
“You did,” he says, the expression on his face becoming pained.
Suho isn’t sure why, but he knows better than to ask. Either Sieun will offer information, or he won’t. But pushing the issue will only make him clam up, and then the mood will be ruined and Suho will punch himself in the face.
“You always do,” is added a while later.
He must be speaking of Suho picking him up from school, or cram school, or whenever he needs a ride, really, because Suho can’t help it. Blood rushes to his cheeks as he looks down, pretending to focus on the kitten. It’s still eating.
As jarring as an electric shock, warmth hooks around Suho’s neck. Fingertips like bursting matches searing into his skin, pressing until it seems his skin catches flames as well. The grip urges his head to tilt back up, a question on his lips that never gets to be fleshed out. All he sees is the sudden, uncharacteristically evident determination painted all over Sieun’s face before the unexpected kiss.
Suho cannot say he expected it; cannot say he did not want it. But never, not once, has he dared to think he could have this. That Sieun could ever feel that way for him, or at least be attracted to him. Couldn’t see Sieun being attracted to anyone, in all honesty.
Apparently he was wrong, and he has never been more glad for it.
Though still at first, Sieun’s lips become insistant after a moment, and it’s on pure instinct Suho parts his mouth and presses back. And then he realises who is kissing him and ok, now he’s kissing as furiously as he has wanted to for… longer than he can remember. In order to pull him impossibly forward, his own hands come up to Sieun’s cheeks. How many times has he poked them and pretended not to melt at the cuteness of it all, of his deadpan look and his flat expression and his plump cheeks that just begged to be bitten.
Under his touch, the working of his jaw is made entirely too noticeable, almost distracting. What’s more distracting though, is how opposite they are. While Suho kisses with the fervour of pressure finally being released, the hunger of a starving man, Sieun is tentative, even patient with the way he tilts his chin and deepens the kiss. Experimental, Sieun squeezes Suho’s neck once, then twice when the answer he gets is a low, choked noise Suho couldn’t have stopped if he tried.
The intensity builds and builds and the heat becomes almost too much, more than he has ever felt from a single kiss, and then-
A high-pitched sound startles them both, though Sieun only freezes whereas Suho flails backwards. It takes a beat longer than it should for them to look down at the protesting cat, who is staring up with accusing eyes. Or maybe that’s just his imagination. Like the phantom of Sieun’s mouth on his. Like the promising taste of his tongue, barely there before being whisked away. Like the heat lingering on Suho’s nape.
Like the heaviness to Sieun’s gaze when he glances his way.
“Was that-”
Fuck, his voice sounds hoarse. Thick with want. Suho swallows, looks away from the enticing sight of a worked up Sieun (most people wouldn’t notice the slight irregularity of his breathing, the redness to his cheeks, the spasmodic clenching of his fingers that seem to be reaching for an invisible shape). After clearing his throat twice, just to be on the safe side, Suho says without daring to face him head on :
“Was that another spur of the moment thing or…”
A shrug in the corner of his eye is all the answer he gets. Way less than he needs.
“Can we like… Can we have more of those ?”
And despite being a little genius, despite handling words like arrows to the heart, Sieun finds it more telling to let a smile break through. Bright and unbridled and utterly blinding in its preciousness. Suho would rush forward once more if he wasn’t so worried about startling the kitten again.
Still, when Sieun demands “Come here,” Suho goes without hesitation.