Chapter Text
Sieun hasn’t come to school since he left Suho’s party. Suho texts him, calls him, even shows up at his apartment and knocks until his knuckles hurt. He can’t find Sieun. It’s terrible. The worst Suho has ever felt.
When he learns what really happened that day, he stops thinking. It’s like his mind shuts off and he goes on autopilot.
Because how dare they hurt Sieun? How dare they hurt him like that? He was in the hospital. Sieun was in the hospital, because of them . They deserve to be in as much pain. No, they deserve worse. They don’t deserve to live.
He goes to see Sieun, whose arm is bandaged, whose beautiful face is banged up and bruised. Suho can only imagine the blue and black bruises that litter his abdomen, under his shirt. And while he shivers at the thought of Sieun bare in front of him, he clenches his jaw at the thought of Sieun hurt . In pain. All because of them.
“See you tomorrow,” he says, voice light, heart heavy.
Suho knows it’s too much, when he slips the knife into his pocket. He knows it’s too much, when he corners the first guy. He knows it’s too much when he looks at his face and doesn’t even remember his name, just that he deserves nothing but hell.
And he knows it’s too much when he throws the first punch. Then the next, and the next. When he pushes the pathetic jerk to the ground and starts kicking, when he takes out the knife and sees the look of terror dawn on the guy’s face.
“This,” Suho says, leaning down to whisper in his ear, pressing the knife into his stomach, “is not even half of what you deserve. If I had more time, I’d feed you hellfire.”
All he gets in response is a garbled scream as he pushes the knife all the way in. He pulls it out immediately, watching blood soak the bastard’s shirt. Then, Suho stabs him a total of twenty-seven times in the chest. For good measure.
He stands, dazed, as he looks at his handiwork. The nameless, soon to be lifeless figure curled up under him, deep red blood soaking through his clothes, bubbling from his mouth. Suho’s hands shake in a way that he’s never felt.
This isn’t just adrenaline. This is justice. Suho is the judge, jury, and executioner, serving justice hot and potent. He was crossing the line. And it felt right.
He was protecting his Sieun. His beautiful Sieun. His lovely Sieun. Smart, perfect, cute Sieun. Suho thinks he might just carve Sieun’s name onto his chest. A constant reminder of who he lives for.
He throws out the knife and walks all the way to Sieun’s apartment. He’s not thinking, his legs are just carrying him where his heart longs to be. His heart, which is pumping violently in his chest.
A strange sort of energy thrums through his body as he stands at Sieun’s doorstep, looking down at his red, shaking hands, shirt and face definitely spattered with blood. Deep and red like him. Like his passion. Like his rage. Like his love. For Yeon Sieun.
He never rings the doorbell. He never knocks. He just stands there, a murderer. All for the one he loves.
The next day at school, Suho treats Sieun to lunch.
“What’s this?” Sieun asks, eyebrows raised in mild surprise.
Suho smiles. “I’m in a good mood today, so I’m treating you. Eat up, before I change my mind, weirdo.”
“Ah… Thanks, Suho-ya.” Sieun raises his spoon to his mouth and takes a bite.
Say my name again, please. Suho thinks, staring intently at his best friend. Only say my name.
Suho’s glad Sieun’s safe in front of him. And he’ll do anything to make sure he stays that way. Anything.
That night, Suho stays true to his promise.
There’s not one soul Suho has mercy for. Not tonight. Tonight they were bodies, dead on the ground. Tonight, Suho will paint a picture with their blood. He will write sonnets in deep red.
He drives his fists, his kicks, his knife into each one of those evil things. With each strike, each sickening squelch of flesh and tissue being ripped apart, Suho mutters the same thing over and over.
Yeon Sieun, my Yeon Sieun.
Again, and again, like a litany. All for Sieun, he’s doing it all for him.
When he’s done, Suho’s legs carry him to the same place they always do. His heart leads the way again, drawn magnetically towards the bookworm. He’s shaking all over, pure adrenaline and joy and justice pumping through him. More potent than any drug.
He stops at the door, and recalls something Sieun said to him earlier that day.
“My dad’s gone this weekend.”
Sieun. Suho. Sieun. Suho.
Together. Sieun, Suho.
Suho likes the thought of that.
He knocks on the door. Blood stains the metal where his knuckles knock against it.
“Who is it?” he hears a voice call.
“Delivery,” he responds.
The door swings open. Sieun’s eyes are wide.
“Suho? What’s this…?”
Suho stares at Sieun’s lips. He wets his own.
“I’m thirsty,” he says, “give me some water.”