Work Text:
“See you tomorrow,” Suho says with a smile.
“Wait—”
Sieun reaches out and grabs his wrist.
He doesn’t think about it. His hand just moves, fast and unplanned, fingers curling around Suho’s wrist. The moment hangs there, weirdly still, even Sieun blinks at his own reaction, unsure what his body just did without permission.
Suho glances down at the contact, then back up. There’s a flicker of surprise in his eyes—then something close to amusement.
“What’s this?” he says, scoffing lightly.
Sieun let’s go, fast. He blinks again, slower this time. His hands fall to his sides like they don’t know where else to go. His pulse is loud in his ears. He doesn’t do things like this. Not unless it’s absolutely necessary. And this didn’t feel necessary—just… sudden.
“I don’t know,” he mumbles, mostly to himself.
But there’s a reason. Something quiet and sticky inside his chest that doesn’t want to be alone just yet. Not tonight.
“It’s late,” Sieun says, shifting his weight. “And it’s raining.”
Suho raises an eyebrow, waiting. His head tilts slightly like he’s trying to read more than what’s being said.
Sieun swallows. “It’s not safe.”
Then Suho leans against the doorframe, lazy and smug, a grin tugging at his mouth.
“Are you saying you’re worried about me?”
Sieun doesn’t answer. He stares at a spot just past Su-ho’s shoulder, jaw tight, hands stuffed into the pockets of his hoodie now.
But Suho doesn’t need words to keep going.
He leans in a little, his voice softer but still teasing. “If you want me to stay, just say it. I get it… it’s because I’m so handsome and—”
Sieun exhales sharply and moves to close the door.
The joke dies in Suho’s throat as the door comes toward him—he slips his foot into the gap just in time. The frame knocks against his sneaker with a soft thud.
“You gonna let me in,” he says, smiling, “or make me sleep on your doorstep?”
Sieun doesn’t answer at first.
He just stands there, staring at his foot like it personally offended him. The hallway light buzzes faintly above them, casting soft gold shadows across the floor. Outside, the rain keeps falling—louder now, like it’s waiting too.
Then Suho speaks again, “you really don’t want me to go?”
Sieun finally lifts his eyes. He looks at him like he’s trying to solve a puzzle. His face doesn’t move. No nod. No blink. Just… stillness.
But he doesn’t look away.
And that’s enough.
Suho’s smile drops into something smaller, gentler.
“Okay,” he says.
Sieun steps back.
It’s wordless—barely a motion, but it’s permission.
Suho pushes the door open a little wider and slips inside, shaking rain from his hair with one hand. He toes off his wet shoes by the door like he’s done it before, like this is familiar.
And obviously it was.
The apartment is quiet. Dim.
Suho stands there, watching Sieun from the entryway. His jacket’s a little damp, and his bangs cling to his forehead but he’s still smiling, just faintly.
“You always this dramatic when you miss someone?”
He rolls his eyes but doesn’t argue.
Instead, he walks past him, not looking back. “There’s food if you’re hungry.”
Suho follows, his smile growing again. “That’s a yes, then.”
.
.
.
The food’s eaten. The bowls are stacked by the sink. The apartment hums with quiet now—low, warm, and a little sleepy.
Sieun’s back in his usual spot at the desk, pen in one hand, shoulders tense as he flips a page in his textbook.
Behind him, Suho’s lying on his bed like he owns it. One leg kicked up, the other hanging off the edge. He’s tossing a soft rubber ball in the air and catching it again with a soft thup every few seconds.
It’s been like this for a while.
Sieun doesn’t say anything about the sound, even though it’s clearly distracting.
Suho lets out a small sigh, just to be dramatic.
Then he sits up.
Walks over.
“Hey,” he says.
No response.
“Hey,” he repeats, nudging Sieun’s chair with his knee. “Hey, hey, hey.”
Sieun finally glances up, annoyed and exhausted, pen still hovering over his notes. “What.”
He grins, tilting his head. “Come on. Let’s get to bed already.”
Sieun exhales through his nose and looks back at the textbook. “You go. I’m staying up a bit longer.”
He puts his hand on Sieun’s shoulder, warm and heavy through the hoodie and shakes him slightly like he’s trying to wake a stubborn toddler.
“No way. It’s too late. You’ll fall asleep with a pen in your hand and wake up with it stabbed into your cheek.”
“That only happened once.”
“Still counts.”
Sieun tries to focus again, but his shoulders tense under Suho’s touch. Like he doesn’t know what to do with the warmth there.
Suho leans in a bit. Not joking now. Just quieter. “Just… sleep. You can be a genius in the morning.”
Sieun doesn’t answer. His eyes are on the page, but they’re not moving anymore.
A long pause.
Then finally, Sieun caps his pen with a tired click and sighs. His shoulders drop slightly, like he’s giving in— just this once.
Suho lets out a soft, satisfied sigh when Sieun finally stands. “God, finally,” he mutters. “I thought I’d have to carry you to bed.”
Sieun ignores that.
But before he can walk past, Suho stretches his arms over his head with a lazy yawn—and doesn’t miss the way Sieun’s eyes flick downward, just for a second.
“You know,” Suho starts casually, rolling his shoulders, “I had no idea you kept baby tees around.”
Sieun frowns. “What?”
He gestures loosely to himself—the shirt stretching across his chest, sleeves tight around his biceps, the hem riding up just enough to flash a glimpse of his skin when he moves.
“This,” he says, “the shirt. Kinda feels like it was made for a twelve year old.”
Sieun blinks. His brain short-circuits for a moment as he fully processes how the shirt fits on Suho. It’s tight—way tighter than he realized when he handed it over earlier. It hugs every part of him too well, the fabric clinging around his shoulders and arms. Even the stretch of it when Suho lifts his arms feels… indecent.
“I didn’t—” Sieun starts, but immediately stops. There’s no excuse. He didn’t think about it. He just grabbed the first clean set in the drawer.
He rubs a hand down his face, already regretting every decision that led them here. Sieun gave up. He didn’t even feel like explaining anything—he knew Suho was teasing. He wasn’t dumb.
“You’re sleeping on the floor,” he muttered, turning to leave the room.
“Hey—what?!” Suho called after him. “I’ve been working all day, that’s bad for my back!”
But Sieun was already gone.
By the time he returned—face washed, hoodie swapped for an old sleep shirt, he found Suho on the bed. Eyes closed. Blankets pulled halfway up. And—
Snoring.
Seriously?
Sieun scoffed, the corner of his mouth twitching. He stood there for a second, just staring.
“Suho,” he said flatly.
No answer.
He stepped closer. Looked down.
Suho’s eyelids fluttered like he was in a low-budget dream sequence. The snoring was too rhythmic to be real, and the faint, twitch of his lips gave the whole performance away.
“Suho,” Sieun said again, this time lower. “I know you’re awake.”
Still nothing.
Sieun sighed and bent down just a little. “You’re a terrible actor.”
Nothing.
So Sieun reached out and tugged the blanket back with a quick flick. “Get up.”
Suho’s eyes shot open. “Wha—hey!”
“Floor,” Sieun said simply.
Suho groaned dramatically and rolled onto his side. “You’re cruel, you know that?”
“Should’ve thought about that before faking sleep.”
“So you didn’t find it funny?” He asked as he rolled onto his back again, arm tucked behind his head as he looked at the ceiling then back at Sieun.
He didn’t answer right away.
Instead, he knelt by the closet, pulling out a folded blanket. His movements were quick, like he was trying to finish the task before the conversation could go on.
“Am I laughing?” he muttered without looking over.
Suho sat up slowly. “I’ll sleep on the floor.”
That made Sieun pause.
Just for a second.
He didn’t turn around right away. Just stood there, hand resting on the closet door, fingers curling a little too tightly around the edge.
Like he needed something to keep himself from turning around too soon.
Sieun exhaled, quiet and tired, like something in him just gave way.
“…Don’t.”
“Don’t what?”
“Don’t sleep on the floor,” Sieun said, still facing away. “You’ll complain about it all week.”
His voice was low and it came out sharp, almost annoyed. Like always.
But Suho wasn’t fooled.
The way his shoulders stayed tense, the way he didn’t turn around—it gave him away. Suho didn’t say anything. He just watched the shape of him, small and still against the open closet, and knew exactly what this was.
Sieun had always been good at logic. At packaging his care into reasonable excuses, like that made it safer to offer. Like saying ‘I don’t want you to go’ was too much—so he’d say ‘you’ll just whine about your back’ and call it even.
But they both knew what it really meant.
Sieun closed the closet softly. He hated how quiet the room suddenly felt, like it was waiting for something he didn’t know how to give.
He could feel Suho watching him.
And maybe that was the worst part—not the gaze itself, but what it felt like to be seen and not looked away from. Not dismissed. Not ignored.
Just seen.
He turned slowly and set the blanket at the foot of the bed.
.
.
.
It was late.
Way past midnight.
The room was still. Neither of them had said a word for what felt like forever, but it wasn’t awkward.
What was awkward was the way Suho was flat on his back, arms glued to his sides like a stiff plank of wood. His whole body was tense, like even the mattress beneath him felt too fragile to shift on. Like he might shatter something if he moved even a little.
He didn’t even dare looking to his side, where Sieun was lying just a breath away. He didn’t even try to sneak a glance out of the corner of his eye.
Not scared.
Just… nervous. Hesitant. Shy, maybe.
Which didn’t make sense. Suho wasn’t like this. He was confident. Loud. Unfiltered. He could make himself at home anywhere.
But now he was in Sieun’s bed. Wearing Sieun’s clothes. Tangled in Sieun’s scent. He couldn’t stop thinking about him. Couldn’t stop repeating his name in his head like it meant something more than just a name.
Sieun.
Sieun, Sieun, Sieun.
He was everywhere. In the fabric clinging to Suho’s skin. In the pillow beneath his head. In the air.
So he whispered it.
“Sieun.”
A soft hum answered him. Quiet. Drowsy. Present.
“So you’re awake,” he said.
Another hum. Slightly different this time—like a nod wrapped in sound.
Sieun blinked his eyes open slowly. He was lying on his back too, body angled just enough for his head to turn. He looked over and in the soft orange glow of the streetlight leaking through the window, Suho’s face came into view.
Still. Quiet. Waiting.
Sieun studied him. His eyes were open, but not wide. He looked… nervous.
That wasn’t normal.
Suho didn’t do nervous.
But here he was. Barely breathing. As if one wrong exhale might push them too close.
Sieun let out another breath, softer this time. Almost a sigh. His gaze lingered on Suho’s profile a second longer, then returned to the ceiling.
Suho could feel the look, feel it settle in his chest like warmth. He didn’t know what to say next—only that he wanted to stay right here, in this stillness. In this small, glowing hush where nothing had to be explained.
“I thought you were asleep,” he spoke again, voice low now. Quieter than before.
“I was,” Sieun replied. “Until you said my name.”
“Sorry,” he murmured, still not looking over. “I just… wanted to know if you were real.”
That made Sieun glance at him again. This time, longer. “I’m real,” he said quietly.
Sieun could’ve laughed.
Or scoffed.
He almost did.
If you’re real? What kind of question was that? It was the kind of thing someone in a movie might say—dramatic, sentimental. Not Suho. Not really.
Maybe he was tired. Maybe he was out of it. He’d been working all day, after all. It wouldn’t be a surprise if he was just talking to talk, letting words spill out because the room was too quiet, or sleep was too far away to catch.
Still.
Something about the way he said it made Sieun pause. Like maybe he wasn’t joking, maybe he meant it.
He didn’t say anything, though. He just stayed quiet, eyes fixed on the ceiling, fingers lightly twitching against the hem of the blanket.
But then Suho spoke again
“…Do you ever think about it?”
Sieun didn’t answer right away.
Because what was “it” supposed to mean?
This moment?
The fact that they were sharing a bed, breathing the same air, close enough to touch if either of them just reached a little?
Or did he mean them—the slow, strange thing they’d become over time, all the things that hadn’t been said but had still settled between them anyway?
Sieun’s eyes didn’t leave the ceiling, his heart ticking just a little too fast. His brows furrowed faintly. “About what?”
Suho hesitated. “I don’t know, just—all of this. Us. Being here.”
Sieun was quiet, he didn’t ask what Suho meant—not because he knew exactly, but because maybe he didn’t want to know for sure.
Still, he answered.
“Yeah,” he said softly. “I think about it.”
That surprised Suho. His eyes flicked to the side—quick, unsure. “You do?”
“It’s… hard not to.”
Another silence stretched between them, but this one felt fuller. Not heavy. Just… delicate.
Suho turned his head finally, slowly, until he could see the faint shape of Sieun in the dim light. His eyes searched his face, trying to read something there.
“Can I ask you something?”
Sieun’s eyes didn’t move from the ceiling. “You just did.”
Suho smiled faintly. “A real one.”
He gave the smallest of nods.
“…Are you scared?” Suho asked.
That made Sieun blink. His throat tightened just a little.
He thought about lying. Thought about shrugging it off. But he didn’t.
“Yeah,” he said after a while. “Sometimes.”
That was enough and maybe that was everything.
Suho nodded slowly, his expression softening. He let out a breath like he’d been holding it for a long time.
“Me too,” he whispered.
And then, quietly—barely audible, almost like a secret, “but not right now.”
The rain had stopped.
Sieun turned his head slowly, fully, until his eyes met Suho’s, gaze held steady, gentle but searching.
There was no need to look away.
Sieun’s breath caught somewhere in his chest. He didn’t mean for it to happen, but it did. His eyes searched Suho’s face, the tired lines around his eyes mixed with steadiness.
He could feel the weight of being seen, really seen, without walls or distance.
It was new, terrifying and quietly beautiful.
Something cracked open inside him.
Gently.
Silently.
His lips parted, just slightly. Like he had something to say. Something that had been sitting there for a long time, waiting.
He wanted to say so much—things he wasn’t sure how to say, things he’d been holding back.
But no words came.
Just the shape of them. Just the ache.
Because in that moment, Suho wasn’t just someone in his bed, or someone he worried about, or someone who made him feel like his world was too small to hold everything he felt.
He was here . With him. In this.
And Sieun felt it—all of it. It was settling in his chest like a truth he couldn’t look away from anymore.
Suho’s voice broke the silence again, barely above a whisper. “…What?”
Sieun shook his head slowly. Just once.
“Why are you so stiff.”
Suho blinked, “huh?”
“You’re stiff,” Sieun repeated, a small smile pulling at the corner of his mouth. “Like a statue.”
He scoffed, caught off guard. “I’m not stiff.”
“You are.”
“I’m not. It’s just—cramped. You’re taking up all the space.”
Sieun raised an eyebrow, amused. “You’re bigger than me.”
Suho huffed, rolling his eyes as he turned dramatically onto his side, back facing Sieun. In the same motion, he pulled the blanket with him, stealing most of it without a second thought.
Sieun felt the sudden chill immediately. He reached out and smacked Suho’s back without hesitation.
“The blanket.”
Suho twisted his neck to look back over his shoulder, half-offended. “You have enough!”
“You just took all of it.”
“It’s my blanket now,” Suho muttered like a child, tugging it tighter around himself.
Sieun narrowed his eyes. “It’s literally mine.”
“What happened to being a good host, huh?” Suho said, voice muffled into the pillow. “Is this how you treat your guests?”
There was a pause.
“…Are you even a guest anymore?” He asked quietly.
That made him pause, just for a second. He glanced back over again, brow raised. “Then what am I?”
Sieun didn’t look at him when he said it, voice low but teasing. “You come here so often, you might as well start paying rent.”
Suho let out a groan, flopping fully onto his stomach now, arms stretched out like he’d been defeated. “Of course. Let me just work my ass off some more…”
That did it.
Sieun laughed.
He tried to stifle it—he bit the inside of his cheek like maybe he didn’t mean for it to come out but it did. It slipped through anyway, soft and sudden and real.
And once it started, he couldn’t quite stop it.
Suho turned his head again, just enough to see him. Just enough to catch the moment.
Sieun’s eyes had crinkled faintly at the edges. He looked lighter somehow, like some tension had finally cracked open inside him. Like all the worry and silence had loosened its grip just long enough to let the laugh through.
And God, he was beautiful when he laughed. Not in a dramatic way. Not in a way Sieun would ever believe if someone said it out loud. But in that quiet, this is rare, don’t miss it kind of way.
Suho watched him with this strange expression—somewhere between wonder and disbelief.
And then he smiled.
Not because the joke had been that funny. Not even because of what was said.
But because this felt more intimate than anything else. More intimate than the closeness, the shared air, the bed, the blanket.
This laugh, this softness—it was something Suho didn’t know he’d been waiting to see. Something he wanted to hold onto, just a little longer.
He let himself laugh too, a quiet thing in his chest, barely more than a breath.
Sieun finally looked over at him again, and this time, their eyes met.
It wasn’t electric. It wasn’t fireworks.
It was just warm.
Unspoken.
I like you here.
And that was enough.
Suho shifted slightly, then turned over fully to face him. His knees brushing against Sieun’s beneath the sheets, the space between them now barely a breath wide.
He tucked the blanket around them, he didn’t say anything at first.
Just looked.
Let it linger.
His gaze moved from Sieun’s eyes to the soft edge of his mouth—still curved from laughter that had already faded. Something about it made Suho exhale, like the sound of a thought he didn’t know how to say.
Then, quietly, almost as if he didn’t mean for it to come out at all—
“You should laugh more often.”
Sieun didn’t smile this time. Not exactly, but something in his expression changed, like the words had touched something he didn’t expect to be seen.
“I don’t laugh that much,” he murmured.
“I know,” he said, his voice low, “but I think you should.”
And now the silence between them wasn’t empty. It was full. Brimming with everything they weren’t saying—but finally beginning to understand.
They were close. Closer than before.
Sieun could feel Suho’s breath now, could feel the warmth of it on his own skin.
He didn’t pull away.
Didn’t shift.
Didn’t speak.
His eyes didn’t move from Suho’s.
And in that look, just for a second, was something open. Bare. A kind of softness that hadn’t had room to live in him before now.
But Suho noticed it and stayed right where he was.
The soft glow from outside cut across Sieun’s face, catching in the strands of hair that had fallen into his eyes. Messy. A little too long. Suho hesitated, then slowly reached out—fingers brushing the fringe away, gentle, like he was afraid to startle something fragile.
“You need a haircut,” he murmured.
No one ever touched him like this. He never let anyone. But now Suho’s hand in his hair, warm and careful, it didn’t feel invasive. It felt… safe.
His hand lingered a moment longer before trailing down, barely grazing the side of Sieun’s face, until his fingers rested lightly on his cheek. Sieun felt it—the faintest tremble in Suho’s hand but he didn’t stop him.
His gaze never wavered. He watched Suho like he was watching something delicate unfold, like if he breathed too hard it might vanish.
Suho’s thumb grazed his cheekbone.
He leaned in just a little, voice barely audible.
“Pretty,” he whispered.
And something shifted. In the stillness. In the space between them. Something fell away—like fear, or maybe doubt and all that was left was this. This closeness. This truth. This feeling that had been there for so long, waiting to be named.
Sieun didn’t say anything and he didn’t need to.
Because he leaned forward, too. Just enough for his forehead to brush against Suho’s. Just enough for their breaths to meet.
And for a moment, they stayed like that.
Right on the edge of something.
Waiting for the moment to choose them.
Sieun’s lashes fluttered just slightly. His eyes dropped to Suho’s mouth and stayed there only for a second. Barely a second but Suho noticed.
.
.
.
Their faces were close—too close to pretend anymore. Suho could feel Sieun’s breath ghosting over his lips, quick and shaky. His own chest was rising fast, like he hadn’t realized he was holding it all in until now.
His thumb brushed Sieun’s cheek, slow and careful. His voice came out low, barely a whisper. “Sieun…”
That was all he said. That was all it took.
Sieun didn’t move. He didn’t look away. His eyes stayed on Suho’s like he was daring him to do something about it.
So he did.
Suho leaned in, and their lips met—soft at first, tentative. But it didn’t stay soft. It couldn’t.
Because the second Sieun didn’t pull away, the second he let him in, Suho gave in completely.
The kiss deepened fast—unsteady and warm and wanting. Their mouths moved against each other like they were figuring it out as they went. It wasn’t graceful. It wasn’t smooth.
It was teeth, lips, breath. A stuttered exhale. A sharp inhale.
His hand cupped the back of Sieun’s neck now, fingers shaking slightly. He pressed their foreheads together between kisses, breathing hard.
Sieun’s hand gripped his wrist tightly, still not speaking. Still looking at him like he wanted this just as badly but didn’t know how to say it.
“You’re so quiet all the time,” Suho muttered, brushing his lips over Sieun’s again. “Do you ever think about what that does to me?”
Sieun didn’t answer—not with words. He leaned in and kissed him again, deeper this time.
And Suho melted into it. He didn’t mean to lose control of it.
But it was Sieun and it was Sieun that was kissing him back, letting him in, holding onto him like this meant something, like he meant everything and that was all it took.
His hand slid down Sieun’s side, firm, possessive—until his fingers were gripping his waist like it grounded him. He kissed him again, harder this time, and Sieun tilted his head just enough for it to deepen.
Suho broke the kiss with a gasp, eyes glazed, breath shaky. He didn’t go far, barely pulled back.
“…Sit up,” Suho whispered, voice rough and breathless.
Suho was already moving. He pushed himself up, still holding onto Sieun like he couldn’t bear to let go and with a gentle tug, Sieun followed, sitting up with him.
His chest heaving. He looked at Sieun—really looked and something in his face crumbled.
He leaned in again, grabbing Sieun’s face with both hands now, more sure than he’d ever been, and kissed him like he couldn’t stop. Like he didn’t want to stop. Their mouths crashed, desperate and open, lips parting without hesitation now. It was clumsy, hungry. The kind of kiss that didn’t care about being perfect—only real .
And when they finally paused, foreheads pressed, mouths swollen, Suho was shaking slightly. Not from fear—but from the high of it.
“Say something,” he whispered, eyes half-lidded. “Please.”
He could feel how hard Suho was holding him and he wasn’t sure what he was supposed to say. Not when he felt like his ribs were barely holding him together.
He looked at Suho, the flushed cheeks, the pleading eyes and the way he looked like he’d just given something away and didn’t know if he’d get anything back.
Sieun swallowed.
“You suck at kissing.”
Suho blinked and leaned back just enough to look at him, blinking like he misheard. “What?”
And then he let out a choked breath, half a laugh, half a groan and leaned his forehead against Sieun’s again, like he was about to lose it.
“You’re an asshole,” he muttered.
“I know,” Sieun said, lips curling just slightly, but his voice was soft.
“Guess I’ll have to try harder next time,” he said, eyes flicking down to Sieun’s mouth again.
“I’m free now.”
Suho let out the quietest groan, like he was physically in pain, like the words had knocked the breath out of him.
“You’re gonna be the death of me, Sieun-ah.”
.
.
.
It was their first kiss and it wasn’t perfect.
But it was real and it was theirs.