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Ahn Suho is deathly afraid of heights. He’s known that for years now.
Ever since he went on the scariest rollercoaster ride of his life at the ripe age of eleven— that ended with him throwing up his breakfast, lunch and dinner — he vowed to himself to never go anywhere near high places ever again.
Halmeoni knows this, his friends know this, hell, even his boss knows this.
So imagine his surprise, when a very enthusiastic Youngyi barges into his room—acting like she damn near owns the place —asking him to go with her to try out the new rollercoaster at the amusement park downtown.
“Please, Suho! It’ll be fun, I swear! The rollercoaster doesn’t even go that high either!” She’s been begging for the past few minutes, Suho genuinely fears she might start crying soon.
“No fucking way, Youngyi. You know I hate heights. You couldn’t pay me to go on those death machines,” he says, his tone indicating the conversation over. That’s it. Full stop. He’s not wavering.
And Youngyi knows this, so she switches tactics.
She’s noticed it a few weeks ago, it wasn’t even that difficult to put the pieces together, because seriously — this boy cannot keep his feelings hidden for shit, he’s been so obvious about his feelings for a certain pouty, doe-eyed bookworm that Youngyi’s honestly surprised she hasn’t noticed sooner.
It’s in the way Suho acts— the way he talks, the way he walks, the way he exists — around Sieun, like he’d give him the moon and the stars if he so much as looked at him a certain way.
“Sieun says he might come,” she smirks, a hint of mischief in her voice. She totally half forced, half blackmailed Sieun into agreeing, but Suho doesn’t need to know that.
Suho stills.
Sieun might come? He thinks. They saw each other yesterday, yes, but you can’t blame him for missing his best friend. He feels deprived of him already— even though they talked on the phone a few hours ago.
That boy really might make him go crazy.
If Youngyi managed to drag Yeon Sieun into this stupid outing, then he supposes he has to go.
It doesn’t even come as a shock to him anymore, he’s long accepted the fact that wherever Sieun goes, Suho isn’t far behind.
He’s that down bad. It’s embarrassing.
Can you blame him, though? One look at Sieun, and you just know he’s Aphrodite’s favorite child.
Defeated, he sighs, “Fine, I’ll go. Who else is coming?”
Youngyi shuffles towards the door, “Just you two and Seokdae,” She’s halfway down the hall when he hears her shout something about dressing appropriately.
He gets dressed, appropriately , grabs his things— his phone, a power bank that Halmeoni insisted he carry everywhere, and the matching headphones he got for Sieun and him— puts on his blue windbreaker, and turns to leave just in time to hear Youngyi shouting at him to hurry up, dammit!
—
He should’ve seen it coming.
When Youngyi said the rollercoaster wasn’t that high , she was fucking lying. This is the highest, most terrifying rollercoaster Suho’s ever seen in his life— it looks even taller than the rollercoaster that caused his full-blown phobia.
They were standing in line for the rollercoaster, Sieun beside him, with Youngyi and Seokdae a few steps ahead of them, chatting idly.
Seokdae had been released from prison a few weeks back— a little while after Suho got discharged from the hospital. The taller man had seemingly gone straight, leaving his old life of misery behind. Youngyi has been dragging him around everywhere— with Sieun and Suho, or with their little gang of ex-delinquents —ever since.
It’s good for him, Suho thinks. He looks happier, more carefree— the furrow in his eyebrows is still there, but he looks relaxed now. At peace.
What’s not good for anybody here is the stupid rollercoaster they’re about to ride in a few minutes. He thinks he might start hyperventilating soon— that can’t happen in front of Sieun. He’d literally die of embarrassment, assuming the rollercoaster doesn’t kill him first.
As if sensing his discomfort, Sieun turns to look at him, his eyebrows furrowed, eyes locking onto his. He’s wearing the same look he had when Suho first woke up from the coma— he’s worried.
“You don’t have to go if you don’t want to, Suho,” he says, his voice quiet, drowned out by the noise around them, Suho has to lean closer to hear him, “I know you don’t like heights. I’ll stay with you here if you don’t wanna go.”
Something in his chest warms, his anxiety melting away to nothing. Seriously, this boy is still so warm-hearted, after everything that’s happened.
The world has been unbelievably cruel to Yeon Sieun, yet he still manages to find the good in him. It makes Suho’s heart ache.
“I’m fine, Sieun-ah, it’s nothing I can’t handle,” he smiles, throws an arm over the boy’s shoulder, “Besides, it doesn’t look that high. I’m sure I can manage,” he grins.
He absolutely cannot manage, but he’ll try his best.
Sieun looks at him like he doesn’t believe him one bit, but he smiles at him nonetheless.
All is well within the world.
—
All is not well within the world.
When their turn comes, there’s only four seats left, and to Suho’s utter horror, all of the remaining seats are directly at the front.
The employee managing the rides ushered them into the seats, giving them no time to choose as they pleased.
That’s how Suho found himself sitting at the very front of the ride— his face tense, palms clammy, his heart beating erratically— with a worried Sieun next to him.
Youngyi and Seokdae are behind them, still talking about whatever, completely oblivious to the internal breakdown he’s about to have if he doesn’t get off this ride right now.
Sieun isn’t oblivious, though. He’s staring at him with that furrow between his eyebrows again when he says, “Seriously, Suho. You still have time to get off the ride if you don’t want to. Don’t try lying to me again, I know you’re scared,” he pauses, worrying his lips between his teeth.
And Suho was about to cut him off, was about to tell him that it’s fine, he can handle it, when the ride abruptly starts, startling them both.
On instinct— or maybe not— he grabs Sieun’s hand, holds onto it bone-crushingly tight, close to his chest but not quite.
Sieun let’s it happen. He’s accepted the fact that Yeon Sieun’s personal space is also Ahn Suho’s personal space— and vice versa — a long, long time ago.
And, truth be told, Suho’s a little worried. He’s totally embarrassing himself infront of Sieun, he’s worried he might let himself slip, worried he might say something he’s not supposed to— at least not yet.
He looks at Sieun— who looks like he’s about to coach him through breathing exercises— just as they start ascending, moving up the chain lift, and now Suho’s really panicking, when he feels a firm hand wrap around his wrist, the touch reassuring— kind.
“Just breathe, you idiot,” Sieun tells him, voice soft and gentle, “Hold my hand if it feels like too much, okay? Close your eyes, too. I’ll be here with you during the whole ride, so breath, alright?” He says, but he’s not looking at Suho, he’s looking straight ahead.
If Suho wasn’t having a mini panic attack right now, he’d notice that the tips of Sieun’s ears have gone a pinkish red color.
He takes a breath, inhale and exhale, but he can’t seem to shut his eyes, like he might fall if he does. They keep moving up the chain lift, and now they’re halfway there and he’s still holding onto Sieun’s hand, but it doesn’t do much to soothe his nerves.
Sieun’s looking at him now, all pouty lips and worried eyes, and fuck, he can’t tell if his heart is beating this fast because of pure fear or something else. Suho really thinks he might die here, in this stupid seat on this stupid rollercoaster in this stupid, stupid amusement park. He never should’ve agreed to this.
They keep moving up the chain lift, and now they’re almost at the top, almost , and Suho seriously thinks he’s gonna die. The panic rising in his chest intensifies, and he makes the mistake of looking sideways, down at the crowds of people below them. They’re so high up— fuck.
He’s gonna die here, next to the prettiest boy he’s ever seen in his life, and he’ll never be able to tell him how much he means to him, how much he cherishes him, fuck , how much he loves him.
He’s turned his head to the side, looking directly at Sieun when he says, “Sieun-ah, I need to tell you something,” and really— this isn’t the right time at all, but Suho has to do this. Better now than never.
Sieun’s looking at him now, really looking at him , and it’s like he sees something in his eyes— like he knows what Suho’s thinking. He knows him so well, god, Suho’s eyes might start to water real soon.
“Really, Suho, you’re not going to die, don’t feel pressured into saying something just because you feel like you’re going to die,” he sighs, exasperated, “Just close your eyes, idiot, I’m right here with you.”
Sieun doesn’t get it, he’s not listening, Suho doesn’t think he’s going to die, he knows it. He has to say this now, or he might never get the chance to. They’re at the top now— the ride slowing to a stop.
“ No, listen , Sieun-ah, I love you. Fuck, I’ve loved you from the start, from the first time I saw you in that stupid classroom,” and now he’s practically shouting, heart beating erratically, “It’s always been you, you’re so pure, Sieun, so kind— so loving , even if you never say it, I know because I know you,” he says this as he looks at Sieun, and the boy is so red. His pupils are dilated— he’s staring at Suho with an expression he, for once, can’t read— and he’s blushing.
Don’t get him wrong— he’s seen Sieun blush before, but never like this. This blush takes over his entire face in seconds, spreads down his neck and disappears under his shirt.
“It’s only ever been you, Sieun-ah,” he whispers, tone a striking contrast from the yelling he was doing a few moments ago.
And Sieun looks like he’s gonna say something, opens his mouth to do so, but he never gets to. They’re already descending back to ground, and fast. Damn— this time, Suho really does close his eyes.
₊ ⁺ ✦ ₊ ⁺
In all honesty, the ride ends relatively faster than it started. Or so he thinks. He doesn’t know for sure, he’s pretty sure he blacked out at least once.
They’re back on the ground now, and his head is still spinning. He plops down on ground—feeling like he might throw up. He’s never letting Youngyi drag him anywhere ever again.
Speaking of The Devil, she left with Seokdae a few minutes ago, saying she has to go with him to see the other kids. So now it’s just Suho and Sieun, like it’s always been, like it always will be.
Sieun hasn’t uttered anything after Suho’s confession. He hasn’t said one word at all, and his gaze keeps wandering off, like he’s thinking hard about something.
This is so embarrassing.
Suho wishes the ground would split in half and swallow him whole. That’s the only way his pride can recover from this.
He stands back up, hands in his pockets, and suggests that they leave. The sun is setting already, shining an orange light on the horizon— they’ve been here for a while.
Sieun looks at him, something twinkling in his eyes, and nods. He looks so pretty, so ethereal, in the golden light of the evening. Like he’s something special, sent from heaven above. There’s a thin sheen of sweat on his forehead, a result of the unforgiving summer heat, and his face looks a little red. He’s all pouty lips and doe-eyes again, and Suho’s heart really, really aches for the millionth time today. God, this kid really might be the death of him. He doesn’t say anything else as they make their way over to his motorbike.
He grabs the beat-down, red helmet, and as always— makes a show of putting it on Sieun. The boy doesn’t protest, but he’s still staring at him— that something in his eyes never leaving.
He gets on the bike, motions for Sieun to do the same. Not only does he do that, but Yeon Sieun actually, honest to god, fully wraps his arms around Suho’s middle. Suho stills, thinks he might spontaneously combust. Normally the boy would just fist his hands in the back of Suho’s shirt, or when he’s really tired he’d hold his sides halfheartedly— but never like this, though.
Warmth floods his face, travels all the way down his neck, as he starts up the bike. He hopes Sieun doesn’t notice.
They’re headed to Sieun’s apartment complex, and Suho really, really hopes this day ends well. He can’t handle rejection, not if it comes from Sieun. The ride there is quiet, but not awkward. Distantly, he thinks, their friendship is too strong to break because of something like this, maybe they can get over this , he thinks. He dismisses the dreadful feeling in his chest, dismisses the way his eyes sting at the thought of rejection. It doesn’t matter, as long as Sieun’s happy, nothing else matters.
As long as the boy who never knew comfort— never knew the aroma of a homemade meal, the comforting smell of a warm, lived-in house, the warmth of a loved one’s hugs, of a loved one’s words, the comforting shoulder of a loved one when times get rough, Sieun never knew, never experienced any of that—as long as he’s happy, nothing else in the world matters.
Suho would give Sieun the moon and the stars, and the entire universe, if it meant that boy would be happy. He wouldn’t even have to ask.
They’re at Sieun’s apartment building now, and Suho parks his bike by the road, near the entrance. He climbs off, spins around and once again makes a show of taking off his helmet from the boy’s head. It’s like their little ritual. Sieun doesn’t protest, just lets it happen.
Suho walks him to his door— climbs up the stairs, through the hallway— and now they’re both standing there, with Sieun making no attempt to unlock his door.
He’s just standing there. Mind wandering off into space. Suho’s starting to feel nervous, and he was about to say something to snap him out of it, when Sieun starts talking.
“Suho,” he mutters, voice low and soft. Gentle. He’s turned around now, fully facing Suho. He’s wrapped his hand around Suho’s wrist— like he’s afraid he’ll leave. As if.
“ Did you mean it, really? What you said on the rollercoaster,” he pauses. He’s looking at Suho now, searching his eyes, his face, all watery eyes and pink lips. Sieun’s face is so, so red. Like at the amusement park. Suho can’t seem to drag his eyes away— and Sieun looks like he realizes that, so he leans up a little, barely an inch.
“Of course I meant it, idiot. I still do,” he says, “Do you… want me to mean it?”
A beat passes. Then two. And now Sieun isn’t replying, he’s just staring at Suho, still holding his hand. Then, between one second and the next, Sieun isn’t holding onto his hand anymore. Sieun crowds him against the wall, standing on his toes, hands coming up to hold his neck, caress his jaw.
“What—“ he whispers, “What’s wrong, Sieun-ah?” His hands are shaking, hanging at his sides, so he fists them into Sieun’s sides— holding, caressing. Sieun is still looking at him, something in his gaze— intense, wanting. His eyes skim over his face— eyes, nose, lips. It’s like he can’t drag his eyes away either.
And Suho’s about to say something, about to ask are you okay, I’m sorry, but he never gets to— because Sieun’s kissing him.
Yeon Sieun is actually kissing him. It’s a short, gentle, sweet kiss, Suho thinks. When it’s over, Sieun leans back down onto his feet, and he’s blushing again. He looks so pretty, all flustered by a kiss he initiated . Suho wants him so bad.
“Wah, Sieun-ah, does this mean you like me too? You have to, we’re forever now. There’s no escaping me,” he giggles. He feels so giddy, and he’s sure Sieun feels the same way, too, judging from the way his face is fighting back a smile.
“Shut up, idiot, of course I like you,” he says, voice clear and steady— like a bell. “It’s only ever been you, too,” and now he’s really smiling, all white teeth and crinkly eyes.
Suho feels like crying. Actually, he feels the tears already forming, so he hides his face in Sieun’s neck, arms wrapped around the boy’s waist. He feels Sieun’s hands making their way up his back, to his shoulders. “Stop crying, you big baby,” he mutters, voice muffled by Suho’s shoulder.
“Sorry, I’m just— I’m so happy, Sieun-ah, really, I’m the happiest person alive right now,” he says, his voice sounds wet. It’d be embarrassing if this was anyone else, but it’s Sieun, so it doesn’t matter.
Nothing really matters when it’s just them, not anymore. Somewhere in Seoul, in the small hallway of an apartment building, two boys stand there, holding each other— swaying back and forth, whispering sweet nothings to one another.
All is well within the world.