Chapter Text
Sieun || Suho
It has been a while since I met Suho.
If you told me back then that I would be spending my mornings with him, I would have laughed in your face. Our first encounter had not exactly been the kind you remember fondly. He had pushed me to the floor in the middle of a fight, yelling something about crossing lines, and I had reacted the only way I knew how. I threw a chair at him. Not my proudest moment, but it got my point across.
Yet here I was, standing half awake in the crisp morning air beside him, in a quiet corner of the park. The sun was still shy, barely peeking over the trees. The ground was damp from last night's rain, and our breath came out in soft clouds after the jog he insisted we take before starting. I still do not know why I agreed to it. Maybe because saying no to Suho always feels harder than it should.
He was explaining a takedown move, his voice low and even, the kind of tone that makes you listen without realizing it. I tried to focus, really, but my brain was still stuck somewhere between the ache in my legs and the steady sound of his voice.
"Watch carefully," he said, stepping closer. "You need to stay balanced, or you'll end up like this."
Before I could react, his hands were on me, guiding my shoulder, twisting my arm just enough to shift my weight. The next thing I knew, I was on the ground staring up at him. The world tilted for a second, a flash of sunlight behind his head making him look unfairly composed for someone who just threw me down.
I blinked up at him, my expression flat as ever, though my chest felt heavier than it should have. My eyes must have been watery again, they always are, making everything look softer than it really is. Suho's shadow fell over me, and he looked down, squinting a little, then reaching out his hand.
"I know you have pretty eyes," he said, casual as if we were talking about the weather, "but looking at your opponent like that wouldn't stop them from beating the crap out of you."
He grinned faintly, then turned to grab his water bottle. I stayed there for a heartbeat longer than necessary, his words replaying in my head. Pretty eyes.
It should not mean anything. He probably did not even think about it. But the way he said it, like it was the most natural thing in the world, made something in my chest twist. It was ridiculous, how one offhand comment could undo all the walls I spent years building.
By the time I stood up, Suho was already taking another sip of water, looking at me with that half-teasing look that makes it impossible to tell if he is serious or not. I wanted to ask him if he meant it. I wanted to tell him to stop saying things like that. But instead, I just brushed the dirt off my clothes and looked away.
He noticed, of course he did. Suho always notices. But he did not say anything. He just tossed me the bottle and said, "Again. You were too slow that time."
So I nodded and took my position, pretending the warmth on my face was from the morning sun and not from the way he said the word pretty like it was the simplest truth in the world.
We kept training for a while longer, though it felt more like Suho was the one doing all the work. Every time I tried to repeat the move, he would shake his head, step closer, and correct my posture again. His hands would hover at my shoulders, firm but careful, and I could never quite focus when he did that. The rhythm of our breathing mixed with the soft sounds of the park waking up around us. Birds started chirping from the trees, the faint hum of traffic drifted from somewhere far away, and the golden line of the sun began to stretch across the pavement.
The light hit Suho first. It caught in his hair and made his skin glow in a way that made me look away almost instantly. He was talking about foot placement, but I could barely hear him over the quiet rush in my ears. I blamed it on the early hour, on the lack of sleep, on anything but what it really was.
When he finally clapped his hands and said we were done, I let out a breath I did not know I was holding. My arms ached, my back hurt, and I could already tell I would regret agreeing to this tomorrow. Suho grabbed a towel from the bench and wiped his face, grinning like this was the best part of his day.
"Let's grab some breakfast," he said casually, tossing the towel over his shoulder. "Something quick. Maybe pastries and a hot coffee to top everything off."
I opened my mouth before I could think. "I'll go home instead. I need to study."
The words came out flat, rehearsed even. It was partly true. I did have assignments waiting, but that was not the real reason. The real reason was the strange, fuzzy feeling curling in my stomach every time Suho looked at me like that. That slow smile, that easy tone, the way he acted like we had been doing this for years. I did not know what to do with it, so I did what I always do. I ran.
Suho raised an eyebrow, arms crossing over his chest as he stepped in front of me. He did not say anything at first, just stood there looking down at me with that unreadable expression. It was the kind of look that made me feel like he could see through every excuse I had ever made.
"What?" I asked, my tone sharper than I intended.
He tilted his head slightly. "Why are you always running away when I suggest plans?"
I frowned, pretending to check my phone, though the screen was blank. "I'm not running away. I just—"
"Come on," he cut in before I could finish, his voice light but sure. "I wasn't exactly asking anyway. I know a place nearby. It won't take long."
"But I have to—"
"Blah blah blah," he said, already stepping closer. "Alright, let's go."
Before I could react, he grabbed my hand. His grip was warm, firm, like he had no intention of letting go. My mind blanked completely for a second. The world around us seemed to blur, every sound fading except for the thudding of my own heartbeat. I froze, staring at our hands, at the way his fingers wrapped around mine so naturally.
By the time I came back to my senses, he was already walking ahead, tugging me along as if this was the most normal thing in the world. I followed without thinking, my steps automatic. The warmth of his hand lingered long after I managed to pull mine free, shoving it deep into my jacket pocket as if that would erase the feeling.
"Suho," I started, but my voice came out weaker than I wanted.
He only turned slightly, his smile stretching wider. "What?"
"Nothing," I muttered.
We walked side by side along the park path. The city had fully woken up now, the air filled with the smell of fresh bread from a nearby bakery and the faint chatter of early risers. Suho's stride was easy, confident, while mine was shorter and more cautious, like I was still trying to convince myself this was not a bad idea.
I could have gone home. I could have turned around and walked the other way. But instead, I stayed beside him, matching his pace, pretending not to notice the way the sunlight hit the side of his face just right. I told myself it was because I did not want to argue, that it was simpler to give in than to resist.
But deep down, I knew that was not it.
I never really knew why I always ended up spending more time with Suho than planned. Why one minute I would be ready to walk away, and the next I would be following him anywhere. Maybe it was the way he made everything seem lighter, like the world wasn't as heavy when he was around. Or maybe it was something else entirely, something I had been too scared to name for far too long.
Whatever it was, it followed me with every step we took, curling warm and uneasy in my chest, whispering the same truth I kept trying to ignore.
The streets were still half asleep when we finally reached the coffee shop. The glass windows were fogged, chairs stacked neatly inside, the sign flipped to "Closed." The faint hum of the refrigerator could be heard through the door, and for a second, I thought Suho would give up. But he just stood there, hands in his pockets, squinting at the opening hours taped to the door.
"Six thirty," he muttered. "We're too early."
"It's six," I said, glancing at my phone. "We could just go home."
He turned to me with that bright, stubborn grin that always meant trouble. "Or we could not."
Before I could argue, he started walking down the street, the sound of his sneakers echoing against the quiet pavement. I sighed and followed, because apparently that's what I do now—follow Suho even when I have every reason not to.
A few minutes later, the fluorescent lights of a 7-Eleven came into view, buzzing faintly in the dawn. The glass doors slid open with a soft chime, the smell of instant noodles and coffee powder greeting us. Suho walked in like he owned the place, heading straight for the refrigerated section.
"Breakfast of champions," he said, grabbing two cans of coffee from the shelf. He paid quickly, waving off my half-hearted attempt to contribute, and led us outside to one of the small metal tables near the entrance.
He sat down first, his posture relaxed, sunlight spilling lazily across his hair. He handed me one of the cans with a satisfied smile.
"Here," he said, sliding it across the table.
I looked at it like it might explode. "I think I'm good," I said, trying to sound polite. The idea of canned coffee at six in the morning wasn't exactly appealing.
Suho, already halfway through his own can, froze mid-swallow and looked at me like I had just insulted his ancestors. "Ya," he said, pointing at me with the can. "Next session, I'll teach you a thing or two about manners. You can't refuse when your elders are offering."
I blinked at him. "I'm older than you, Suho."
He stared for a moment, as if trying to confirm that. Then he tilted his head, pretending to think deeply. "Oh. That doesn't matter. Age is just a number."
I gave him a flat look, but he was already sliding his chair closer, mischief written all over his face.
"Here, try some," he said, holding his can toward me.
"I said I'm—"
Before I could finish, he raised the can closer, holding it near my lips like I was a kid who needed convincing. I should have pushed his hand away. I should have said something. But the warmth in his eyes, the way the light caught the small dimple in his cheek—it all made my brain short-circuit.
So I gave in.
I leaned forward slightly, the cold metal brushing against my lips as I took the smallest possible sip. The taste hit me first—bitter, too sweet, strange—but it wasn't the flavor that made my heartbeat trip over itself. It was the thought that this was his can. His lips had been there. And now mine were.
When I handed it back, I could feel the heat crawling up my neck. My ears burned, and I silently cursed the fact that Suho was completely oblivious to it. To him, it was just a sip of coffee. To me, it felt like something dangerously close to a kiss.
He was watching me expectantly, waiting for my verdict. I avoided his gaze, grabbed my water bottle, and said, "It sucks."
The words came out sharper than intended, but it was better than admitting the truth—that I could barely think straight.
Suho gasped dramatically, clutching the can to his chest. "Rude much?"
I rolled my eyes, taking a sip of water to cool the heat on my face. When I glanced up, he was taking another swig from that same can, completely unbothered, as if we hadn't just shared it. That simple, careless gesture made something inside me twist again.
He swallowed and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, then caught me looking. "What?" he asked, voice light.
"Nothing," I said quickly, clearing my throat and setting the bottle down.
The air between us grew quiet for a while. A breeze passed through, carrying the smell of fresh bread from somewhere down the street. The sky had turned a pale gold, sunlight spilling across the table and catching the faint condensation on the coffee can.
Without really thinking, I asked, "Do you share cans with everyone?"
He turned to me, confused. "Uh... obviously not? Why would I do such a thing with just anyone?"
That answer caught me off guard. I blinked, unsure what to say. I had expected him to laugh it off, maybe tease me, but instead, he looked genuinely puzzled.
"I mean, it would be weird if I did," he continued, resting his chin on his palm like he was thinking it through. "Besides... I think other than uh... what was his name again.." He paused, tapping his finger against the can. "Hmm."
He seemed to be going through a mental list, eyes narrowing slightly as if he was really trying to recall who else he shared cans and bottles with. Then he looked back at me, lips curving into that easy smile again.
"Nope. Nobody. I only do this with you."
I froze.
He said it so casually, like it was nothing. But the words hit harder than they should have. I felt my pulse pick up, warmth creeping up to my cheeks again. I quickly looked away, tugging the hood of my jacket up to hide my face.
Suho, completely unaware, just leaned back in his chair, stretching his arms above his head with a content sigh. "Ah, this is nice. Morning coffee with my favorite study partner."
I mumbled something under my breath that even I couldn't hear.
Under the safety of my hood, I could feel the corners of my mouth twitch, fighting a smile that I refused to let win. My hands fidgeted with the cap of my water bottle, my heart beating far too fast for something so ordinary.
He did not know. He could not know.
To him, this was just another morning, another training session, another casual moment shared between friends. But to me, sitting there under the soft sunrise with his words still echoing in my head, it felt like something much more dangerous.
For a while, neither of us spoke. Suho had leaned back in his chair, tapping the empty can with his finger as he gazed lazily at the street. The sunlight caught his face in that unfair way again, soft and golden, making every edge of him seem brighter, warmer. His hair was a little messy from the jog earlier, his shirt sticking slightly to his shoulders. He looked so at ease that it almost felt unreal.
I told myself I would just steal a glance. Just one. But my eyes lingered longer than they should have.
I traced the curve of his jaw, the small scar above his eyebrow, the line of his throat as he swallowed another sip of coffee. My gaze moved down to his arms, the veins that stood out faintly under his skin, the muscle that flexed every time he moved. Then lower, to his thighs under his joggers, strong and casual in a way that made me feel suddenly aware of everything.
And then, instead of feeling butterflies, a wave of something heavy hit me.
Disappointment. Sadness.
Because looking at him like that made something very clear. Even if, hypothetically, I did have feelings for Suho—and maybe I did, even if I would never say it out loud—there was no world where he would feel the same. Suho was sunshine, laughter, easy warmth. I was... not.
For a moment, I felt stupid. Small. Like I had crossed an invisible line in my own head that I was never supposed to approach. My chest ached in a quiet, unfamiliar way, and I hated it.
Without really thinking, I stood up, sliding the untouched can of coffee toward him. "Thanks for the drink," I said, keeping my tone as neutral as I could. "I'll get going."
Before he could respond, I turned away, shoving my hands into my pockets. The sound of my footsteps filled the empty street as I walked faster, maybe too fast. The morning air stung a little more than before.
I didn't even realize he had followed me until I ran straight into him.
I looked up, startled, and there he was—Suho, grinning like he had been waiting for me to notice him. "You're really bad at socializing, aren't you?" he said, his voice light but teasing.
I opened my mouth to say something, but nothing came out. The distance between us, or rather the lack of it, suddenly felt too much. My heart skipped once, twice. I looked away, pretending to fix my hood.
He noticed, of course. Suho always noticed. And because he's Suho, he only leaned closer.
He lifted his hand, brushing away a few strands of hair that had fallen into my eyes. His fingers barely touched my forehead, but it was enough to make me freeze. His smile softened. "Since you're so eager to leave, I'll let you be," he said, his voice quieter now, more gentle than teasing. "See you tomorrow."
He lingered for a second, long enough that when I finally looked back up at him, his gaze was already waiting for mine.
"You really have pretty eyes, don't you?" he said, smiling again. "Do you plan to use them to get your way with me from now on? 'Cause I promise you, they work."
And then he patted my shoulder lightly, turned, and walked off.
I stood there for a moment, completely still. My brain was trying to process every word, every gesture, every tiny flicker of his smile. It was too much all at once.
Pretty eyes. Again.
He said it like it meant nothing, but to me, it felt like the ground had shifted under my feet. My heart was racing for no good reason, my thoughts tripping over themselves. I must have looked like a malfunctioning robot standing there with my hood half up, eyes wide, watching him walk away.
He didn't look back. He didn't have to.
Because even after he was gone, his words stayed, looping endlessly in my head, soft and warm and impossible to ignore.