Archive of Our Own

Sieun met Suho in high school.

They were both a little small, a little awkward, still trying to get used to their bodies and navigate the world at the same time.

Suho had braces most of high school, he got them taken off the summer before senior year, coincidentally right before he got to properly meet Sieun. He came back that year with a new found confidence, a relaxed posture, and a job that paid well. 

Sieun was lightyears away from where Suho was. And it always made Sieun unbelievably insecure how sure of himself Suho was. Like he managed to figure everything out at 18—nearly 19. Meanwhile, Sieun still felt 14, barely getting used to high school and focusing on his studies. 

His entire high school life had passed by and there wasn’t a single part of him that had changed. He was still all jagged around the edges, still unsure, there was something broken inside of him that couldn’t be fixed. 

Suho helped in some ways. Sieun doesn’t remember the last time he had a friend after all, and someone like Suho no less. He dragged Sieun just about everywhere, if there was an errand he needed to run, if there was a new restaurant he wanted to try, Sieun was always there. They went from never once crossing paths to being stuck at the hip. Their coupled routine was comforting, and Sieun had a new reason to wake up in the morning.

His life finally had meaning. 

But throughout the year they spent together in high school, and all the time they’d spent getting to know one another, there were still so many things that Suho didn’t know about Sieun. 

Suho was an open book in a lot of ways, when Sieun asked him something, no matter how sad, how tragic the answer was—Suho would answer. Like he’d been waiting for someone to ask him that for years. 

Sieun, decidedly, was not like that.

He had skeletons in his closet, ugly and disfigured, blurry parts of his childhood that he didn’t want anyone to see, his pre-teen years were spent hunched over a toilet or standing over a scale—and Sieun didn’t want Suho to see any of it. 

Sieun wanted Suho to see the pretty parts of his life—not that his life was very pretty, but he wanted to pretend like it was. He could do that for Suho.

He learned to hide the textbooks about nutrition, the ones that Sieun would read to see how far he could push it, how little he needed to have to survive. Sieun just needed enough to study and not pass out at school—he learned his lesson from freshman year. 

Sieun learned to hide the wrappers of convenience store food, the ones that held the evidence of every calorie, Sieun’s guilt could be measured in numbers. 

But, he swallowed that too. 

If he binged, if he purged, if he starved—Suho didn’t need to know any of it. 

And Sieun couldn’t remember when it started really, just remembers it coming in waves. Little moments, dips in his brain, voices that would ruin his perception of himself. And it worked, it always worked. 

He wasn’t exactly the thinnest boy in any of his classes, and growing up just made that more clear. His thighs were always the biggest, his cheeks the roundest, he was always… pudgy. His classmates always made sure he knew that. 

And Sieun found his bad habits resurfacing even around Suho, who had been nothing but kind to him. 

Suho wasn’t thin per say, but his thighs were a little smaller than Sieun’s, and even through his loose windbreakers and huge shirts, Sieun just knew he didn’t have the small pudge on his stomach like he did. Which is fine, Sieun wasn’t exactly one who cared that much about his body, he was pretty neutral about it. It’s not even the main reason he started… doing all of that anyway.

He just… kinda wished he looked different.

Sieun looks at someone like Suho, with broad shoulders and thin muscular arms and there’s a pang of jealousy in his chest. He’s so… proportionate. Sieun has thick thighs and a short stature, there’s a small pouch on his stomach, sometimes his hips spill over his jeans. Something like resentment builds every time he thinks about it, followed by an intense wave of guilt. 

Sieun shouldn’t be like that to his best friend, not to Suho. 

Suho has never once commented on Sieun’s body, not even his height—which is a whole other conversation—and has never treated him any differently because of it.

Yet he still—he still…

“Sieun,” Suho’s in Sieun’s face now, waving a hand in front of him. They’re at the restaurant Suho works at, sitting at one of the empty tables, he’s on his break, shoveling down food as fast as possible, taking big bites of everything. But he had momentarily stopped to scoot closer to Sieun, who is currently staring down his portion like it might kill him. And he thinks it really might. “Are you okay?”

Sieun just nods, picking up his chopsticks to pick at the kimchi. It’s one of the only foods he can stomach. He doesn’t particularly like hanging out with Suho during his lunch break since they always end up eating, and Sieun has to pretend like his so-carefully-created meal plan isn’t getting destroyed in front of him, but his class ended early. Sieun would be lying if he said he didn’t want to see him. 

The grill sizzles between them, Suho flips some of the meat on it, the juices of the fat seep into it. Sieun tries not to gag when the smell hits him. “You haven’t really touched anything.” Suho says suddenly, his voice is leveled, his face unreadable. He’s not even looking at Sieun.

“I had a big breakfast.” Sieun answers quickly, ignoring the tremble in his hands. 

Suho hums. Then he smiles, the sweet one that’s only reserved for Sieun. “I’m glad you’re eating, I know college is stressing you out,” Suho places a piece of meat on Sieun’s plate, “still, you should eat a little.” 

Sieun has practically memorized the calories and different nutritional values to most Korean foods, or at least the ones that Suho tends to drag him to. And from that, he knows this type of food will send him into a quiet spiral. “I’m okay,” Sieun says, picking up the meat and placing it on Suho’s plate. “Eat more.” 

“You’re sweet, Sieun,” Suho then shoves the piece in his mouth, Sieun watches steam escape his lips as he breathes through the heat of it. Then he swallows, continuing, “but really, you’ve lost a lot of weight recently, I need to take you out to more restaurants.”

Sieun tenses. 

He knows Suho doesn’t… know. And Sieun doesn’t exactly blame him for speaking so casually about it, not really, there’s a sick part of him that’s relieved. All his hard work has been paying off, even if it’s hard to tell when he looks in the mirror, apparently he’s losing the weight he’s been trying to shave off his whole life. 

Still, being perceived like he is, by someone like Suho, makes him shift uncomfortably. He doesn’t respond right away, thinks about not saying anything at all, but the sick part of his brain has to know. “I have?”

Suho blinks, like he isn't expecting that, his eyebrows furrow. His eyes start drifting towards Sieun’s shoulders, then his chest, then his legs. Sieun squirms under his gaze. Maybe he shouldn’t have asked. “Yeah,” Suho whispers, Sieun almost doesn’t hear it, then he locks eyes with him again, “I’m worried about you.” 

“Don’t be,” Sieun smiles, small, it doesn’t really reach his eyes, “I’m okay.”

They start dating after Sieun finishes his first semester of college.

Suho had been tip-toeing around asking him out properly because he knew how Sieun saw school, and the last thing he wanted to be was a distraction. Sieun tells him he’s always a distraction, dating wouldn’t really change that. 

Sieun would still think about him while reading a textbook, while taking an exam, and he’ll still visit him at the restaurant whenever he can. The funny thing about them pining over each other for years and becoming official was that nothing really changed.

But Suho was a lot more affectionate, no surprise there, and tested a million different nicknames on Sieun to see which one he liked best—the contenders were as follows: baby, princess, babe. Not that he would let anyone but Suho know that.

Sieun decides he does not like the nickname: “dumpling”.

And no, Suho still didn’t know about that.

When Suho had first used that nickname, Sieun, frozen, asked Suho what that was supposed to mean. 

“It’s because you’re cute, like a dumpling, and you have round cheeks.” Suho had said, reaching forward to pull at the skin on his face. 

“Have I gained weight?” It had only been a few months since the last time they had that conversation about weight loss at the restaurant. Sieun’s heartbeat was pulsing in his ears at Suho’s silence.

Suho pouted, scratching his chest with his finger, something he did when he was deep in thought about something. He nodded, “yeah,” Suho had said it so easily, like it didn’t make Sieun’s stomach drop at the implication, “but not a lot, just enough to bring your cute cheeks back.” 

It wasn’t reassuring.

There was something utterly sick about the way Sieun was treating Suho, keeping the darkest part of himself away in favor of Suho’s honesty. If Suho didn’t know, he didn’t have to bite his tongue. He could be unequivocally honest. Telling him would just complicate everything, at least this way Sieun had a measurable way of seeing his weight loss and gain.

The problem is, actually dating Suho changed Sieun in a lot of ways.

For one, he couldn’t necessarily just avoid eating. If they were stuck at the hip before, it was nearly impossible to get away from him now. And Sieun didn’t mind, Suho made him happy, the happiest he’s been in a really long time.

So, he eats.

Sieun lets himself indulge, Suho distracts him from the darkest parts of his thoughts, Sieun can eat a whole bowl of noodles if Suho’s there making mindless conversation. It helps. 

Even though the aftermath is less than pretty.

Sometimes Sieun finds himself in the bathroom, hunched over the toilet, sometimes he locks himself away in his bedroom, buried underneath all of his blankets in order to pretend that he doesn’t exist. Even just for a blip of time.

There’s something wrong with him, a part of him that’s so broken beyond repair that no one will be able to save him.

He blames himself, his parents, and in his loneliest moments he blames Suho, too. He doesn’t really know why.

He tries to stop his thoughts from trickling in when he’s with Suho, he doesn’t want to taint the memory with his own inner turmoil. But it’s easier said than done.

Right now, curled up into Suho’s side, knees tucked in—nearly all the way to his chest—that couldn’t be more clear.

They’re on Sieun’s couch, there’s some drama playing that Suho’s been obsessed with recently, but Sieun’s not really watching it.

He’s focused on something else.

Suho’s arm had slipped out from in between them a few minutes ago, and is now draped over Sieun’s shoulders, down, down to his waist. Sieun immediately sucked in a breath, making himself as small as possible, Suho’s palm felt like fire on his body, burning through his clothes. And on that part of his body no less.

He tries to take a few deep breaths, ones that slowly transcend into soft hyperventilation, and Sieun tries to still himself. Torn between wanting Suho’s hands on his body and the reality that his body isn't beautiful enough to be touched that intimately. 

Then Suho’s hand twitches, moves up, then down. Trailing down to his hips, then over his ribs. Even through Sieun’s thick hoodie, the gesture feels like knives across his skin.

Sieun jerks backwards, sitting up and shifting further away. Suho’s gaze that had been directed towards the screen now snaps towards Sieun.

His eyebrows are knitted upwards, his lips parted into a pout, “baby?” He asks softly, his arm falling to his own thigh.

“Sorry,” Sieun lets out a shaky exhale, pulling at the front of his hoodie that suddenly felt like it had been choking him, the fabric started brushing against every part of his skin and Sieun's much too aware of it. “I’m sorry, I just—”

“It’s okay,” Suho says quickly, he leans forward slowly, like trying to calm a feral animal, “you’re okay, I get it.” 

“You do?” Sieun fidgets with his sleeves, studying the fabric of his hoodie, avoiding Suho’s eye. 

“I do,” Suho whispered, “I know this is all new to you, I’m sorry if I scared you.” 

That’s another thing, too. Expectations.

Realistically, the rational part of Sieun’s brain tells him that Suho doesn’t care about any of that stuff. It’s nice to just exist together, they don’t even have to be touching or kissing or whatever it is they’re expected to do. Sometimes just being next to each other is enough. It is enough. 

Sieun can’t want anything more. 

If he did—if he does—that means Suho has to see him, really see him. He has to see every part of Sieun, the parts that he tries to hide under hoodies and sweats, the parts that he doesn’t let Suho touch.

So right now, it has to be enough. It is enough. 

Sieun just nods. But he doesn't go back to Suho’s side after that. 

Sieun knows Suho wants more.

Or at least, he thinks he does. He’s pretty sure he does.

There’s a certain… look that Suho gives him sometimes. It’s always brief, but it’s enough for Sieun to catch, it’s always enough for him to catch.

The most recent time was when they were kissing on Sieun’s bed, soft and lazy. Sieun was sitting on his lap, licking into Suho’s mouth. His mind blank, clouded with want. His hands were roaming, from Suho’s cheeks to his nape, to his chest.

And it was fine when it was like this, when Sieun could map out Suho’s body and memorize every mole, every blemish, every muscle. The problem came when Suho’s hands started doing the same thing.

Sieun could feel heat licking up his spine, small whines and moans were trapping themselves in his throat, he was shaking with want. And Suho was good, he was good at kissing, good at reading Sieun’s signals—he listened to Sieun's little sounds, did whatever made him the loudest. 

He tried not to let the thoughts bother him, and not just the ones about himself, but the ones about Suho. Suho had been with other people just like this, in a spot just like this, and Sieun tried not to think about a faceless person with a perfect body. One that doesn’t look like Sieun's at all. 

Sieun had separated from him then, licked his swollen, bottom lip, and watched Suho’s face carefully. Suho mimicked his movements, his gaze went from his lips to his eyes, and there it was. The look.

Eyes half-lidded, mouth parted, leaning forward, silently asking for more. 

Suho’s hands, the ones that were resting on Sieun’s cheeks, moved to his shoulders. Sieun’s breath hitched in his throat, feeling them move down, down.

They were on his waist again, this time the only thing that was hiding Sieun was a too-thin, stretched out shirt that he thinks belongs to his dad. And Suho’s grip wasn’t tight, like he wasn’t sure if it was okay.

It wasn’t.

Sieun slapped his hands away, the tension between them was thick, but for much different reasons now. “I’m sorry.” Suho said first, keeping his hands away, like he was afraid to shatter him.

“It’s okay.” And that seemed to be his answer for everything nowadays—”it’s okay” “I’m fine” “don’t worry about me.” 

Suho frowned, but only for a second, and then he nodded. 

They didn’t kiss after that.

It’s getting worse. 

Sieun knows it’s getting worse because every waking moment his thoughts are about food, it’s hardly about studying, not nearly enough about Suho. He uses his methodical brain to calculate calories and see how far he can go, he uses his poker face to lie about how many meals he’s had. 

Nothing really triggered it either, Sieun doesn’t think so, it just sort of happened. One day he realized he was being too lenient on himself, that for the first time in a while he let himself get wrapped up in his own little world—in his and Suho’s. 

And in the time they’d known each other, it had never gotten this bad. Sieun’s pants have never felt so loose, he’d never felt so… fragile. 

He was drunk on it. Completely and utterly lost in it.

And Sieun should have known he went too far. “Sieun, can I talk to you?” 

They were laying on Sieun’s bed, it was still early, but Sieun’s energy was already quite low. He just wanted to sleep. “Yeah?” Sieun’s eyes were shut, head pressed against his pillow, his headaches have been getting worse, one was currently pounding against his skull. 

“Yeah, um,” Sieun feels him shift against the mattress, it dips with his movement. His eyes flutter open, adjusting to Suho. He's drawing random shapes into the sheets, fidgeting with them. “I just, I don’t really know how to talk to you about this.”

To that, Sieun lifts his head up, propping himself up on an elbow, the movement hurts and he winces, but he doesn’t lay back down. Anxiety spikes in his stomach. “What is it?”

Suho takes a sharp inhale, “I’m worried about you,” he mumbles, finally looking up to meet his eye. “Sieun-ah, you’re…” 

Suho doesn’t need to finish, Sieun knows what he’s trying to say.

Sieun-ah, you’re killing yourself.

Sieun swallows instinctively, now he can’t look at him. “I don’t know what you’re trying to say.” 

“I don’t want to see you like this,” Suho says softly, his voice cracks. “I love you, I love you so much.” 

Sieun’s hands tremble. He sits up fully and the room spins. “I’m sorry,” he wraps his arms around himself, he wishes so desperately that he could disappear. “This was a mistake.”

“What was?” Suho asks, sitting up, Sieun notes that he keeps his distance. 

“This, us,” Sieun runs his hands through his hair, he doesn’t think about the way some of the strands fall through the gaps of his fingers. “I’m making you worry.”

“No-it’s–Sieun,” Suho’s voice is wobbly, “I want to worry, let me worry.” 

“I don’t want you to,” Sieun whispers, he’s convinced himself that if he looks at Suho he’d break down, that everything he did would amount to nothing. He would listen, he would give up, he would get better. But the sick part of him doesn’t want to. “You can’t save me, Suho, I've been like this.” 

Sieun feels everything coming to a head, his emotions are stuck in his chest and it’s making him shake. It’s silent for a long time, enough for Sieun to remember to breathe. He wants to sleep, he really wants to sleep. “I don’t know what to do.” Suho finally admits, a sniffle follows his words. 

Sieun’s heart shatters. 

He’d unintentionally brought Suho into this, into his fucked up mind, thinking he could keep it a secret. But he can’t. Sieun can’t do it all, he can’t control everything. He can’t control his body, he can’t control his food intake, he can’t control Suho. 

“Don’t do anything,” Sieun finally says, his arms falling from his sides, they suddenly feel so heavy. The next words feel even heavier, he feels them at the tip of his tongue, cold, sharp. “We should break up.” 

“What?” Suho croaks. 

“I don’t want you to worry about me,” Sieun feels his throat constricting against his words, bites down a sob, “you shouldn’t… you shouldn’t have to deal with this, this is my problem, you have enough to worry about.”

“Sieun-ah,” Sieun watches Suho wipe his tears from his cheeks from his peripheral vision. “I can’t just… leave you like this.” 

“Why not?” 

“Because.. you’ll…” Die .

Sieun feels a stray tear roll down his cheek, then he nods. Sieun knows he can’t change his mind. He's so, so tired. “Okay, I’m sorry for worrying you, I’ll get better.”

“Will you?”

No. 

“Yes.” 

Sieun reaches forward to kiss Suho’s cheeks, wiping his tears. Suho presses his forehead to Sieun’s. “I don’t want to lose you, my love.” 

Sieun just nods, bites down his wobbly bottom lip. 

Sieun doesn’t get better.

No surprise, this is the deepest in his headspace he’s ever been. He’s passed the point of no return, the nutrition book that’s torn at the edges, bent from how many times he’s opened it, is neglected now. He lost reason a long time ago.

Sieun doesn’t even know why he’s still trying so hard. 

One thought keeps him going—he can always go further.

But it’s different now, he supposes. Suho’s there. He’s always kind of there.

Eating is a nightmare, they’ve argued like they never have in the past few weeks. Whether it’s over text, over the phone, in person—they’re arguing. 

It’s about food, it’s always about food, Sieun refuses it, Suho gets upset. Sieun can recite the argument by heart, it’s always the same.

“I’m not hungry.”

“I haven’t seen you eat at all today. Please eat.”

“I don’t want to.”

“Sieun-ah.”

“Suho-yah.”

“Please eat, baby, I can’t watch you do this to yourself.”

“Then leave.”

Sieun knows he’s being unreasonable, he knows he’s being mean, he knows he’s putting Suho through hell, but he just can’t stop. He’s addicted, in some way shape or form, to that feeling. 

A part of him hopes that the worse he gets, the more Suho will want to leave. Sieun can let himself get worse alone, he doesn’t have to feel bad about putting someone else through it.

-

Suho really has no idea what to do.

His search history nowadays is filled with different eating disorder websites, ones with different meal ideas, ones with different tips to help. He writes down certain things, ones to never bring up, ones to bring up more often.

Never comment on their bodies—God, he wishes he knew that sooner. Suho wishes he knew from the very beginning. He would’ve been a lot softer, more sensitive. He wouldn’t be scrambling to learn every possible thing about this sort of thing, before Sieun-before Sieun—

No, Suho wouldn’t let that happen.

He should’ve been paying more attention, the way he always refused food, the way he always locked himself up in the bathroom after he did eat. Suho should’ve seen the signs, should’ve been more perceptive when he saw the weight rapidly falling off Sieun’s body.

It was only when he had seen Sieun’s cheeks, sunken in and his jaw suddenly sharp, when he could see his skin stretched over his collarbones, he knew something was wrong.

Suho had never dealt with eating disorders before, no one he ever knew had one, and he’d never had a problem eating, he was content with his body. He worked out and ate well to compensate for it. He’d been with a few girls in the past too, and they always seemed to appreciate his body. 

He’d even been with girls that were insecure about their body, but it wasn’t like this. Not really. This was new.

Suho chalked it up to stress at first, assumed he was worrying for no reason, Sieun would gain the weight back like he always did, Suho just needed to invite him out to more restaurants, distract him from their break coming to an end and whatever else was bothering him.

Except, it wasn’t just that. If it even had to do with school in the first place.

Suho remembers the day vividly.

He had entered Sieun’s apartment, knew the code like the back of his hand and had toed off his shoes at the door. His normal routine, nothing was out of the ordinary. 

Sieun wasn’t waiting for him at the door like he usually was, Suho had sent a message just a few minutes ago that he was at the apartment complex. It was short notice, considering he hadn’t sent a text that he was even on his way. But he assumed it was fine, this was normal for them anyway, they always hung out like this.

But the apartment was eerily quiet. 

That’s, again, not new. Maybe he was just studying, Suho had thought. He studied sometimes even on breaks when he had nothing else to do. Sieun loves learning, even if it doesn’t have to do with school, sometimes he’ll just buy books about a topic he knows nothing about.

Maybe he got a new book.

Suho scans the kitchen and the living room as he walks past it, about to walk past the bathroom towards Sieun's room, when he hears it.

It’s quiet, but he hears gagging. 

Then, coughing, it echoes throughout the small bathroom, followed by a small whimper. “Sieun? Are you okay?” He asks through the door, reaching for the doorknob, feeling it jiggle under his fingers.

“Suho-yah,” he answers after a beat, soft and raspy, “I’m okay. Just ate something funny.” 

Something in Suho tells him that isn't true. “Do you want me to get medicine? I can go to the store.”

“No,” Sieun answers quickly, followed by the flush of the toilet, then the sink getting turned on. “I’m fine, I already feel better.”

The sink turns off, then the door opens.

Fucking hell.

Sieun looks horrible.

His eyebags are sunken in, much more than usual, he looks dazed, like he’s not really there. His hair is a mess, and he looks pale. His lips look more dry than usual.

Suho makes him lay down, pampers him with affection and practically forces him to chug a bottle of water. Suho even takes Sieun’s temperature.

The thing is: Suho’s had food poisoning before. Enough times to wonder how he’s even alive right now, and it’s never worked that fast. 

Because when he reads Sieun’s temperature, he notices it’s fine. Completely normal. 

But if it was food poisoning he’d have a fever, a huge one. Suho would know. Really, he would.

And it just doesn’t look like it’s food poisoning, it looks like it’s something else. “Are you sure it’s just the food you had?” Suho asks, glancing up from the thermometer. 

“Yeah, I’m sure.”

Suho didn’t believe him, but there was nothing else he could really say about it. 

That was the first time he noticed it. Then he lost more weight, and then even more.

Then it finally clicked. It wasn’t food poisoning, it was hardly even stress—it was an eating disorder.

He thought he was crazy the moment the idea popped into his head, that really couldn’t be it, is it? Had he really hid it from Suho for this long? Maybe Sieun didn’t even know what was wrong with him.

But the way Sieun refuses food, the throwing up thing, the secrets, he’s even been unnaturally snappy lately. 

Like he’s hungry.

Suho spends an entire night just doing research. It’s overwhelming information, that there’s multiple eating disorders, some that aren’t even well known, some that can’t even be treated right, and finally, how to talk to someone who has it. 

He pens down writing points, practices it in the mirror, goes through his script nearly 10 times and he only gets through about half without crying. 

Pick a good time. 

Suho can do that, that parts easy, he waits until Sieun’s truly comfortable, they’re in Sieun’s bed, and Sieun’s laying on his side. They’re not touching, Suho makes sure to keep his distance just in case he makes things worse. Then he takes a deep breath, “Sieun, can I talk to you?” 

There’s no going back now.

Explain why you’re concerned.

He can do that. He can make the jumbled words in his brain come out coherently. Suho just needs to make sure he doesn’t say the wrong thing. He just can’t.

Sieun’s already so fragile, he’s on the teetering edge, Suho’s not even sure if this will make things better or worse. But he can’t just sit by either.

“Yeah?” Something about Sieun’s movement freaks Suho out, the fact he wasn’t looking at him till then made things a lot easier. 

“Yeah, um, I just, I don’t really know how to talk to you about this.” Fuck. He can already feel the tears building behind his eyes, he already sounds so pathetic and small.

The words just can’t come out.

“What is it?” 

“I’m worried about you,” use a lot of “I” statements, “Sieun-ah, you’re…” 

Fuck. How can Suho even confront that reality? 

He can’t. 

“I don’t know what you’re trying to say.” But Sieun does. Suho knows he does because he avoids looking at him. He looks like a scolded child.

Be prepared for denial and resistance.

“I don’t want to see you like this, I love you, I love you so much.” 

Be patient and supportive.

He tried it all, and yet, all he got was a half-hearted “I’ll get better” that neither of them believed.

And no surprise, things got worse. Not just in Sieun’s mind, but in their relationship too. It was hanging on by a thread, Suho was watching Sieun slip from his grasp, in more ways than one.

In his darkest moment, he went home, curled himself into his grandma’s side like he used to do when he was small. And he certainly felt that way, like he couldn’t do anything no matter how big or tiny he was. “I don’t know what to do.” He had cried, shoving his face into his grandma’s shirt, now stained with his tears, she smelled like flowers and his childhood.

That seemed to be the only thought going through his head nowadays. That he really, has no idea what to do.

“I know,” she whispered, petting his hair, she started rocking him back and forth, “you’re okay, baby, you can both get through this.” 

Suho nodded, only because he wanted to believe that so badly. 

Things don’t get better. 

Not right away. Not for a long time. 

They go through the same arguments, again and again, Suho gets tired, Sieun gets tired. Sieun is especially tired these days.

Suho comes to his place after work every day, sometimes he takes days off, especially on the days where Sieun doesn’t respond right away—he drives over to make sure he’s okay—or on the ones where he doesn’t even want to get out of bed, where he doesn’t want to shower. He takes care of him, everyday, Sieun still snaps at him, still glares at him and hisses out curses under his breath.

The comments don’t hurt, Suho knows they’re coming from a wounded part inside of Sieun, like a thorn that Suho can’t pull no matter what he does. Sieun has to pull it out, he’s the only one who can. 

Sieun was right, Suho can’t fix him. He can only give support where he can, where Sieun will let him.

They’re at Sieun’s apartment when it happens.

Suho’s currently toweling off Sieun’s damp hair, and he’s sitting on the bed in nothing but sweats and one of Suho’s hoodies. Suho tries to ignore the fact he practically swims in it.

The air between them is still thick from their last scuffle, Suho’s still running his fingers through Sieun’s hair with unexpected tenderness. “You should leave, I think it’s going to start raining soon.” Sieun mumbles, breaking the silence between them.

This isn’t new, Sieun tries to kick Suho out every time he comes over, especially at this hour. But to his credit, he’s pretty sure it is going to rain. “More of a reason for me to stay.” He fires back, pulling the towel off his head, his hair ends up a little fuzzy and soft. 

Sieun doesn’t say anything, but he looks up at Suho with this dazed look. 

Suho doesn’t make eye contact with Sieun a lot these days, but in this proximity, Suho sees his eyes are a lot more sunken in than they were before, the bone in his nose has become more prominent—Suho didn’t even know that was possible—and his jaw looks sharper.

Suho frowns, hesitantly reaching out to run his fingers over Sieun’s skin. His fingers dip into the thin skin over his cheeks, he can’t grab at it like he used to be able to. Sieun doesn’t shy away like he usually does when Suho touches him, but his gaze looks more glossed over than usual. “Yeon Sieun,” Suho calls softly, bringing his other hand to cup his cheeks properly. Sieun doesn’t respond, but his eyes flutter close, “Sieun-ah.” Suho calls louder.

Sieun’s body goes slack.

He feels it, Suho feels the moment that his body gives out under his fingertips. Panic shoots up his spine. When he lets go, Sieun’s limp body falls forward into Suho’s chest. 

Suho’s fingers find Sieun’s pulse point, it beats slowly, rhythmically. Suho doesn’t know how much time he has left.

He doesn’t want to think about it.

He pulls Sieun forward, tucking an arm under his knees and another under his neck. He weighs close to nothing. But despite that, he can’t carry Sieun on his motorbike, there’s too high of a chance he’d fall off, he can’t walk there either, the hospital isn’t close enough for that.

Suho groans, placing back on the bed. He pulls out his phone to dial 119.

With every ring he feels his throat constricting, “Hello? What’s the emergency?” Suho lets the question hang in the air for too long, watching his boyfriend lay lifelessly on the bed, his mouth feels dry. “Hello?”

“My boyfriend,” Suho starts, blinking back tears, “he passed out, his pulse doesn’t… it’s fading.”

“What’s the address?” Suho briefly wonders how many calls she must take, how she's able to respond with such calmness when Suho feels like the world is closing in on him. 

Suho doesn’t know how, but he has his route to Sieun’s apartment memorized, down to the number and code. 

“They’re on their way now,” she speaks softly, “is it okay if you stay on the line?”

Suho nods involuntarily, making a small noise of agreement, it comes out like a strangled groan. He can’t tear his eyes away from Sieun. 

He hears the faint sound of fingers clacking against a keyboard. “How did this happen?” 

Suho’s knees buckle from underneath him, he falls to the soft carpet with a thud. He lets out a choked sob from deep inside his chest, his vision blurring with tears. “It’s my fault,” he whimpers, “it’s all my fault.”

The line goes quiet, “what do you mean?”

“I couldn’t save him, everything I did made it worse, he-he–” Suho lets out a convulsive gasp, “it’s all my fault.”

“Take a deep breath,” and Suho tries, every breath trembles through him, cutting into a sob, turning into gasps, quick breaths that make him lightheaded, “listen to my voice, take a deep breath.”

Suho closes his eyes.

Inhale.

Exhale.

“He has an eating disorder,” he mumbles, his voice hoarse and wet, “I couldn’t help him.” 

“What’s your name?” She asks after a moment.

“Suho. Ahn Suho.” He mumbles it with practiced ease.

She lets out a breath, something of relief, “you’re his boyfriend, not his doctor,” she answers, “I’m sure you did everything you could, he’s going to be okay, Suho.”

Suho lets out another cry.

There’s a moving line that Suho’s been watching on the heart monitor for a few minutes now. There’s a bunch of different lines and numbers on the screen that Suho can’t read, but he knows the one with the spikes is Sieun’s lifeline, so he watches it carefully, he makes sure it doesn’t flatten.

The hospital is small and Sieun’s saddled between two other patients, the only thing that separates him is two curtains, and his bed is quite small. There’s an IV injecting fluids into Sieun’s body, a pulse oximeter on his index finger, and a bunch of different wires coming out of him, attached to the heart monitor. 

Sieun’s still asleep, but his pulse is a lot more steady. 

Suho’s sitting by Sieun’s bed, a shitty uncomfortable chair pulled up next to him, but he’s close enough he can hear Sieun’s breathing. It brings Suho comfort.

“Yeon Sieun?” A deep voice says, the sound makes Suho jolt and he stands up instinctively. A man in a doctor’s coat approaches with a clipboard. “Ah, you must be Ahn Suho, correct?”

“Yes, sir.” Suho answers, his voice still feels too raw to speak clearly. 

He hums, makes a tsk-ing sound in the back of his throat, “you said he has an eating disorder?”

“Yeah… Well, I mean, I think so, but he won’t really talk to me about it.” Or anyone, he wants to add.

“Okay,” he says, then flips the paper back, “based on everything I have written on here and how malnourished he is, that’s quite likely, so, you have a few options.”

Suho nods. 

“I wish there were some magic pill I could give him to make him better, but it’s just not that simple,” he places his hands on his hips, he tsks again, “there’s an eating disorder treatment center we can admit him to, or one that’s at home, and you check in a few times a month at a nearby clinic to see his progress.”

Suho nods, he can practically see Sieun’s begging puppy eyes, ones that tell him he wouldn’t want either. But he would hate the option of seeing Suho less.

Before Suho can speak, the doctor does, “In most cases, the second option might be better, and if he’s more reluctant to treatment it might help if it’s with someone he knows.”

Suho blinks, “what do I have to do?” 

The doctor smiles, “just make sure he’s doing his meal plans, make sure he keeps a diary of what’s working, what isn’t. We can get him into therapy, maybe a psychiatrist if he needs medication for a separate issue.” Then he waves a hand, “I know that’s a lot of information, you can discuss it with him when he wakes up.”

“Okay, thank you.” 

The doctor gives him one last smile, then leaves them alone. 

Suho slumps back against the chair. 

He looks back at Sieun. Suho would do it all over again, the exact same way, he would take care of Sieun even if he was kicking and screaming. 

But still, Suho's so, so tired. Like the weight of the past few months have finally gotten to him, he leans forward, putting his arms onto Sieun’s bed, right by his waist, and lets his head fall into his elbows.

“Suho, Suho-yah.”

Suho wakes up with a start, sitting up, he blinks, his vision still adjusting to the bright hospital lights and the abrupt movement. 

He looks at Sieun.

He’s awake. His eyes are open and he’s looking at Suho. His hand was reaching forward to shake Suho awake, the IV is still connected to that arm. “Sieun,” he tests the name on his tongue, “Sieun, you’re awake.”

Sieun frowns, “how long have I been asleep?” 

Suho glances at the clock, only a few more hours have passed since the last time he checked, but it’s dark outside by now. “Not long,” Suho answers, leans forward to squeeze his hand gently. “How are you feeling?”

“Tired.” He says.

“I know, baby,” then he inhales, sitting up a little straighter, he knows there's no simple way to bring it up, so he blurts out: “there’s a few options, you know, for treatment.”

Sieun tenses, his lips had been ticked upwards until that point, then he looked down. 

Suho continues, “I know you don’t want to, I know,” Suho mumbles, bringing up Sieun’s hand to kiss it, “but I think it would really help.” 

Sieun stays quiet, but there’s a pout over his lips.

“Sieun, I love you,” Suho says, “I want you to get better, I’m going to be there for you every step of the way, even if you don’t want me to. I promise.”

Sieun’s bottom lip wobbles.

Maybe it’s the sleepiness, maybe it’s the environment of the hospital, the shock of waking up in such a foreign place, but his eyes fill up with tears. 

He lets out a soft cry. “I’m sorry,” Sieun says, bringing his wrists up to wipe at his cheeks, “I’m sorry.” 

Suho leans forward, grabbing his face, “hey, none of that,” Suho whispers, “it’s okay. You’re okay.” 

Sieun sniffles, he lets his head fall forward into Suho’s shoulder. “I love you, I’m sorry.”

Suho cradles the back of his head, feels his figure shaking into him.

"I'll get better." Sieun whispers.

Sieun does.

It’s a nice change, it feels like their world had flipped upside down, in the best way. 

It wasn't easy at first, Sieun was still reluctant to change, he would "forget" to write in the little diary he was given and there wasn't a lot of progress at first. But they learned that the meal plans the clinic was making him helped a lot, it helped to incorporate it as part of his routine, Sieun described it as "instructions how a teacher would give him". When he looked at it from that angle, it was easier to stomach.

They learned the diary didn't really help, he was much more comfortable talking to Suho about it. At the end of things it was more like Suho was the one with the diary. 

Once they had a nice routine, Sieun was getting better a lot faster. 

They still get into little scuffles, even now, sometimes Sieun relapses and it feels like they’re right back where they started. But it's good nowadays. There’s a life to Sieun’s laugh that wasn’t there before, it doesn’t feel so empty.

Sieun smiles with his teeth, with his eyes, his cheeks get all full and big, sometimes it’s small and lazy, reserved only for Suho at sunrise when they’re still tangled in the sheets and sleep is still tugging at their eyelids.

Suho still holds his breath when it’s time for breakfast, lunch, or dinner. Mostly because it's hard to tell what type of day it’s going to be, and Suho’s never quite sure. Sieun's never quite sure either.

But he’s eating, and he’s mostly happy. Dips in his mood are to be expected, and Suho knows how to take care of them now. Mostly.

Most of the time he just holds Sieun tightly, tries to distract him with anything that isn't food, sometimes even that's not enough, and those days are never easy. 

But Sieun wants to get better, he makes an effort. He's at least making an effort. 

Their relationship has improved in a lot of ways too, but Sieun still shies away whenever they’re just about to cross anything besides kissing.

Like now, Sieun’s sitting on Suho’s lap, he gets a flashback from the last time they were in this position, now months ago. Sieun’s whimpering softly into Suho’s mouth, his fingers curled into Suho’s hair, mouth open and kissing him deeply.

Suho tests his limits. 

His hands, rubbing Sieun’s cheeks comfortingly, move down to his nape. He feels Sieun shudder, but he doesn’t pull away. 

Suho pushes, lets his hands roam to his shoulders, Sieun loops his arms around Suho’s neck. A green light.

Suho’s hands hover over Sieun’s waist. And Sieun separates for a moment, Suho thinks he’s going to jump off again, but he just nods. “Do it, I want… I want to go further today.”

Suho hesitates, “are you sure? We really don’t have to.” 

Sieun nods.

“Use your words, baby.”

“I want to.” 

Suho smiles, then his hands grab Sieun’s waist. It feels soft, tender. Sieun sucks in a breath, but then he exhales, relaxing, giving a shaky smile. “You’re okay, I got you.” Suho whispers, “can I switch us?” 

Sieun nods, he holds onto Suho’s shoulders as he places Sieun on the bed. 

His hair fans out behind his head, “you’re so beautiful like that.” Suho mumbles.

Sieun hums. 

Suho reaches down to kiss him again, trailing down his jaw, to his neck. “So pretty, so perfect.”

Sieun lets out a breathy moan, “Suho-yah.”

One of Suho’s hands reaches for the hem of Sieun’s shirt, “can I?”

Sieun hesitates a moment, but then, “yes, please.”

Suho pulls it up to Sieun’s chin, presses kisses all the way to his stomach.

Suho’s never gotten a good look at his bare stomach till then, and he knows not to stare for too long, Sieun will pull down his shirt just as quickly as he pulled it up, but still, Suho admires it. Admires everything about him.

He loves the soft bit of skin that spills over his shorts, he loves that he can grab it in his hands, squeeze at it. Suho presses extra kisses on his hips and stomach. “Perfect.”

Sieun squirms, “it tickles.”

“Sorry baby,” Suho giggles against his hip, “is this okay?”

“It is, I like it,” then he fists his hands into the sheets, “I know I said I wanted to go further, but, is it okay if we can stop here?”

Suho moves back up, locking eyes with him, “of course it is, I was thinking you could go help me make dinner?”

Sieun hums, pulling his shirt down, “I can do that.”

Before Suho can get off, he presses another kiss to his forehead, “I love you, I’m so proud of you, have I ever told you that?”

“Only the last hundred times this week.”

“I can make it two hundred.”

“Make it three hundred and we’re even.”