Work Text:
> sieun: Okay, serious talk |
Sieun typed with both his hands. His textbook lay open but untouched, notes half-written, and his pen long abandoned on his desk.
Jagiya. He added after a pause, thumb hovering the keyboard just a second too long before hitting send.
The three blinking dots popped up instantly.
> suho: yeah?
Sieun’s face stayed neutral, but heat crept into his ears and neck. He stared at the phone as if it had personally offended him.
> sieun: There’s no breaking up in this relationship
> sieun: If you're tired of me, take a nap
There was a pause. Then
> suho: lol ok
A lot happened between that lol ok and now.
Like Suho bleeding out in the boxing ring. A coma. Broken bones and shattered glass. Transferring schools. Gang wars and the likes.
It had been almost two years, but Sieun didn’t count it by calendar days. He measured it in different metrics: 1,372 messages sent, 213 missed calls, 17 silent breakdowns, 8 unsent voicemails, 1 thoroughly cursed vending machine at 3 a.m. that ate his change during a stress snack run. He still hadn’t forgiven it.
And then—after all of that—Suho woke up.
It happened a few days ago.
The reunion had been strange, and almost cinematic: Suho in a wheelchair under the too-bright sky, blinking against the sunlight like he wasn’t used to seeing color. Sieun had frozen at first, before bolting across the hospital garden like someone had knocked the breath out of him. Suho had never felt so warm in his arms.
Since then, he’d visited every day.
Today was no different.
The hospital room was quiet except for the steady hum of machines and the occasional muffled footstep outside. Afternoon light streamed in through the window, catching on the sterile tile floor and casting a warm stripe across the bed.
Suho was asleep again, chest rising and falling in slow rhythm.
Sieun sat beside him, chair pulled close to the bedside. His hands rested in his lap, thumbs occasionally fidgeting against one another. Every so often, he glanced at the heart monitor like he needed its steady beeping to anchor him in the moment. Like if he looked away for too long, he might blink and find it all gone.
He watched the way Suho breathed. The way his fingers occasionally twitched beneath the blanket. He looked different; his face was thinner, cheekbones more pronounced, hair longer and uneven. But the shape of him was still familiar in that unbearable, comforting way.
Suho stirred, his eyelashes fluttering open.
Sieun sat up straighter. “You're awake.” His voice cracked halfway through, more like an observation than anything hopeful.
Suho blinked at the ceiling. Then again, slower, eyes shifting toward the shape slouched beside him. Recognition bloomed in that tentative glance, a small, uneven smile tugging at the corner of his lips.
“Hey.”
Sieun stared. Hard. Like he could cross-reference this moment with every dream he’d had in his head over the last two years. Then in a voice too flat to be casual, he said:
“I said a nap.” His eyes narrowed, emotion slipping through the cracks despite the deadpan delivery. “Not a coma.”
Suho’s jaw agape, completely taken aback. A loud snort cut through him, followed by an eruption of uncontrollable laughter. Loud, ridiculous, full-bodied laughter—that was so stupidly him it made Sieun’s chest warm—that bounced off the linoleum floor and up into the sterile lights above. His shoulders shook, and within seconds, he was curled in on himself, wheezing.
“Agh—my stomach—stop—ow—hurts—”
He let out one last wheeze before covering his mouth with his sleeve, his laughter tapering off into quiet chuckles. His chest rose and fell rapidly, breath catching as he wiped his eyes with the heel of his palm, still grinning.
A nurse poked her head in, narrowed her eyes at the scene, and simply said, “Please don’t make the patient laugh too hard like that. He’s still recovering,” before disappearing again.
“You heard her,” Sieun muttered. His hand ghosted above Suho’s on the bed, unsure if touching would be too much.
“You called me jagiya.” Suho grinned wider, wincing slightly. “Back then. Remember?”
Sieun averted his gaze, opting instead to glare at the heart monitor like he was trying to slow it with sheer will.
Suho's grin softened. “You stayed.”
“Yeah.” Sieun looked at him again. “Couldn’t exactly break up with you. You were unconscious.”
Suho chuckled again but caught himself before he shook too much. “Yeah right. As if I’d let you break up with me even when I’m out of commission.”
“You know I wouldn’t leave your side anyway.”
The sincerity in his voice shut Suho up. For a moment, there was only the quiet beep of the monitor and the faint hum of hospital machinery. “I know.” Suho said cheekily.
There it was again. That unbearable warmth swirling in his chest. Sieun reached for a paper cup of lukewarm water on the table and handed it over without a word. Suho accepted it, sipping slowly.
“So,” he said between sips, “do I still get to be your jagiya, or did I lose my privileges while unconscious?”
“What privileges?” Sieun leaned back in his chair, voice dry. “You just declared yourself my boyfriend one day and didn’t leave.”
Suho smirked. “Worked out, though.”
“...It did,” Sieun muttered, almost too quietly. “If you ever pull a stunt like that again, I’ll kill you.”
“Bold threat,” Suho mused, “considering I just came back from the dead.”
“I’ll do it slower next time.”
There was a beat before they both started laughing again, Suho with half-choked wheezes and Sieun with a rare, fractured little huff that might pass for a laugh if you listened closely.
“Wait.” Suho suddenly said, realization dawning on him.
Sieun gave him a sidelong glance. “What.”
“Did you seriously wait days just to say that coma joke?”
Sieun rolled his eyes, face flushing bright red. “Shut up.”
“No, seriously. You were like—what? Sitting at home? Practicing it? ‘Nap not coma, nap not coma’—like some stand-up comedian?”
“Suho-yah, please shut up.”
“You did rehearse it. Oh my god, Sieun-ah! You’ve been holding it in for maximum dramatic effect—”
“You’re still on meds,” Sieun deadpanned. “Your brain is mush. None of this counts.”
Suho looked far too pleased. “It’s okay. It was a good one. Worth the wait.”
“Glad to know my emotional trauma was entertaining for you.”
“It really was.”
Sieun narrowed his eyes but didn’t move away. The monitor beeped steadily. The light through the window hit the hospital tile just right. It felt like a reset button had been hit.
Sieun let out an audible sigh, moving to rest his head against the side of Suho’s bed. “You scared me.”
“I know.” Suho hummed, reaching over to touch Sieun's head, gently running his fingers on soft brown locks.
“Don’t do it again.”
“I won’t.”
There was no breaking up in this relationship. Just naps. And, occasionally, comas. But they could survive those. Probably.