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It started small; a fleeting touch, a glance that lingered too long on a heartbeat monitor, a cold hand resting on a warm wrist.
Suho was alive.
That was something Yeon Sieun had to remind himself of everyday.
The first time Sieun checked was in the hospital, hovering over Suho’s unconscious form like he could will him back just by existing close enough. The second time, Suho had only been barely awake. He was groggy and confused, and Sieun had sat beside his bed without saying a word. When Suho drifted off again, Sieun reached out and checked for his pulse—just to be sure.
The habit never left him after that.
He didn’t know why he kept doing it. Well, not exactly. Subconsciously, he knew he was afraid that the moment he stopped checking, Suho would vanish again.
Sometimes, when they sat together after school, Sieun would reach over casually and lightly graze the inside of Suho’s wrist. And when Suho noticed, he’d just tilt his head in quiet amusement before offering his hand completely, almost as if he knew the reason behind it.
Sieun never explained it out loud. How could he?
How could he say, “I’m scared if I don’t check, you’ll disappear again”?
How could he admit that sometimes he woke up in the middle of the night thinking the coma never ended? That Suho never woke up?
And so he kept checking.
On late night strolls. Mid hang-outs. During breaks. Between quiet study sessions. Always with soft touches, tentative fingers, and an ache that slept deep within his chest that he couldn’t quite name. Suho never pulled away. He never asked questions either when Sieun reached for his wrist for the third time that week—or the tenth. Sometimes, Suho would even reach out first, hand drifting close until their fingers brushed. Until Sieun held on for as long as he needed.
Sieun always pretended it was casual. But deep down he knew it wasn't.
One afternoon in the library, Suho’s head dipped forward in exhaustion, cheek pressed against the table, and eyes shut. Sieun didn’t even think when his hand moved on its own to gently wrap his fingers around Suho’s wrist.
He’s here. He’s breathing. He’s alive.
He had to remind himself over and over.
Because sometimes, it still didn’t feel real. Like any moment now, Suho would slip away again. And Sieun wasn’t sure he could survive that a second time.
It’s stupid, Sieun told himself. He’s here. He talks, he walks, he laughs next to me. I know that. So why?
But then he’d remember the excruciating silence. The empty days that bled to weeks and years. The sterile hospital walls that were devoid of color. The unnatural stillness of Suho’s face, body attached with machines that breathed for him. It all made Sieun want to puke his guts out. Sieun remembered the fear most of all. That impossible, heavy kind of fear that sank deep till it festered inside his veins and didn’t leave. It was hard to explain. Even to himself. Maybe especially to himself.
That night as they walk down the sidewalk side by side in a quiet neighborhood, shoulders occasionally brushing, Sieun’s hand grazes Suho’s again. However this time, Sieun didn’t hesitate. He simply took Suho’s hand in his. Suho squeezed back reassuringly, his palm warm and grounding against his.
“You still do that,” Suho said after a while, voice steady and not looking at Sieun.
Sieun tensed. “Do what?”
Suho glanced sideways at him. “Check my pulse.”
Sieun’s grip instantly loosened and almost on instinct, moved to pull away but Suho held on tighter, keeping their fingers intertwined and preventing the distance before it could happen.
“I don’t mind,” Suho said gently. “I get it.”
Sieun swallowed, shame pooling in his chest. His eyes darted down at their hands, looking anywhere but the hazel of Suho’s eyes, his voice coming out smaller than he wanted it to be. “...It’s stupid.”
Suho shook his head in disagreement. “No, it’s not.” He gave Sieun’s hand another small squeeze, then lifted his free hand to cup Sieun’s jaw, guiding him to look up and meet his eyes.
“If it helps you,” Suho said with a small smile, gentle in its own wake. “Then it helps.”
Sieun stared at him for a long, suspended moment. His chest ached, but not with the crushing pain of before, the one he grew accustomed to. It was something quieter, tender, almost like relief tangled with old wounds. He wanted to say thank you, but the words got stuck somewhere behind his ribs.
So instead, he spoke honestly. “I got used to not knowing if you were still…” He trailed off. The word ’alive’ felt too sharp and cruel to say, leaving a bitter taste in his mouth.
He tried again. “After everything that’s happened, it’s like part of me is still waiting for the call, for someone to tell me you’re gone again. I don’t think that part knows how to stop.”
Suho looked at him, his hazel eyes that Sieun adored so much soft with sympathy. “I’m here,” he said in certainty, thumb tracing slow circles over Sieun’s cheek. “I’m not going anywhere.”
And Sieun believes him. Because Suho’s hand was warm in his. Because when he checked, Suho held on back. Because Suho was here, holding him and promising he wasn’t going anywhere.
Suho leaned in, closing the last few inches between them. Sieun’s breath hitched, but he didn’t pull back. Their lips met, and the relief that flooded Sieun’s chest was so intense it nearly took his breath away. Warmth unfurled where cold fear had lived for so long, seeping into every corner of his being. Happiness—overwhelming but grounding all the same—swelled in him like sunlight breaking through a relentless storm.
For the first time in years, Sieun felt whole. Fulfilled. Safe.
Alive.
Just like Suho was.