Chapter Text
Counting sheep didn't work.
Sieun rolled onto his back with a sigh. He listened to Jarim’s breathing, trying to let it lull him to sleep.
That didn't work, either. His girlfriend might be sleeping beside him, but the person occupying his mind was downstairs, getting drunk. Suho. His best friend.
Sighing again, Sieun sat up and ran his fingers through his hair. He held his breath and strained his hearing. The house was completely silent. Hours had passed; maybe Suho had finally gone to bed.
Or maybe he was still drinking in front of the fireplace. Clenching his jaw, Sieun looked towards the door.
He shouldn't. He shouldn't go downstairs. That wouldn't change anything. There was nothing he could do for Suho.
After all, he was the reason Suho was drinking.
"Don't you see how cruel this is? Don't you care? You're breaking him." Suho's cousin's voice echoed in his mind, over and over and over, every word like a punch to the gut.
Sieun closed his eyes, trying to block it out. He had not intended to reveal to Seongje that he knew about Suho's feelings for him.
No one was supposed to know. Suho wasn't even supposed to know that Sieun knew. Now, Sieun couldn't stop worrying. Seongje had promised not to tell Suho anything, but Sieun wasn't sure he could trust the guy—he had looked pretty angry earlier that night.
“He is not your father. He is not your older brother. He is not a monk. He is a healthy man in his prime. If you love him as much as you claim, you will stop being a selfish little shit and let him go.”
Seongje was right, of course: Sieun was straight, had a girlfriend he loved, and could not give Suho what he wanted. The right thing would be to tell Suho that he knew about Suho's feelings for him—and that anything between them was impossible. It would have been kinder to allow Suho to leave him and find someone else to love.
Except Sieun couldn't let him go. Even thinking about it made his stomach clench into a painful knot and a wave of panic shoot through his entire body.
God, this was so messed up. He had told Seongje the truth: he was genuinely glad he wasn't gay. If he was this needy and dependent when he didn't want Suho that way, Sieun couldn't imagine the sticky wreck he would have been if he genuinely did want Suho that way. It was bad enough as it was.
For God's sake. He was a rising soccer star and a millionaire. He wasn't supposed to feel this way anymore. He wasn't a teenager anymore. He wasn't paralyzed anymore. He wasn't supposed to still feel like Suho was his anchor.
He had been sixteen when he damaged his spine during some unimportant friendly match, here in the United States.
The club had placed him in the rehab center where Suho was doing his residency, and Suho had been assigned as his physical therapist. For seventeen long months, Suho had been his world: he had held Sieun's hand while he tried to move his limbs, wiped the sweat from Sieun's brow, encouraged him, and praised his every little achievement.
Everyone had thought Sieun's career was over before it had even properly begun—the doctors weren't optimistic about his chances of walking again, much less returning to soccer—but Suho made him believe he could do it. And he did.
The day he took his first steps without falling, Suho hugged him tightly and whispered, his voice full of pride, “That's my boy.” And Sieun never wanted to let go. Suho was his. He didn't know what he would have done without him.
He still didn't. He might be twenty now, he might be able to walk again, he might be a star player at a top English club, but nothing had changed about the way he felt about Suho.
He felt truly at peace only when Suho was with him. If he spent a few days without seeing Suho, he would start to feel off-balance and grumpy—which was sickly on so many levels that Sieun couldn't even admit it to the club psychologists.
They would think he was crazy, and they would be right.
Hell, he thought he was crazy for self-inviting when Suho decided to spend his holiday with his family in the United States.
Fortunately—or unfortunately—it coincided with Sieun still recovering from a small ankle injury, or he wouldn't have been able to leave England during the height of the soccer season.
He hadn't wanted to bring his girlfriend with him, but he couldn't tell Jarim why exactly he didn't want her to come. Jarim didn't know about Suho's feelings; she didn't know that her presence would be painful for Suho.
Sieun pinched the bridge of his nose. Damn it, why did everything have to be so complicated?
If only Suho hadn't developed feelings for him…
Except…
Except that he…
It didn't bother him.
The embarrassing, shameful truth made Sieun's cheeks burn. He knew it was terribly selfish. He couldn't be happy that Suho had unrequited feelings for him—and he wasn't. Suho was the nicest person he knew. No one in the world deserved happiness more than Suho.
But Sieun couldn't deny that a part of him liked that Suho wasn't in love with someone else. If he was honest with himself, before he had discovered that Suho had feelings for him, he had been scared that Suho would fall in love with some undeserving idiot and that idiot would take Suho away from him. Now, no one could.
Sieun shook his head with a grimace. Sometimes, these selfish thoughts made even him sick. Maybe the British media was right: maybe he really was a self-centered jerk.
A dog howled outside.
The howling went on and on, and Sieun felt a shiver of unease run down his spine. It reminded him of the old Korean orphanage, and of cold nights spent curled up under a thin blanket, wishing for something he could call his own.
Until Suho, he had never had anything that was truly his.
Well, for a brief three years, his adoptive parents, the Yeons, were his—or something like that. They were nice enough people, but not very good parents: always too busy traveling around the world as volunteers to pay much attention to their adopted children. Sieun never came to love them. He wondered what it said about him that the only thing he had felt when he learned of his adoptive parents’ death was indifference. He used to wonder if something was fundamentally wrong with him, if he was incapable of loving anyone.
He no longer did. He could love people. He loved Jarim. And Suho. He loved Suho a little too much for his own liking.
The dog howled outside again, a pitiful cry. The feeling of loneliness grew inside him, like a long-lost friend. Loneliness and something worse: fear.
Careful not to wake Jarim, Sieun slipped out of bed and left the bedroom.
The second floor of the small house was completely dark. He went down the stairs, trembling slightly as his bare feet touched the cold floor.
The fire was dying in the fireplace and the embers barely illuminated the living room. Suho was asleep on the sofa by the fireplace, a half-empty bottle still clutched in his hand.
Sieun approached. His eyes traced the familiar features and the dark stubble on the angular jaw. Suho's face was peaceful, free of harsh lines or worries, but even in sleep, he looked a little sad and dejected.
Sieun's throat closed up.
The wind was howling; the snowstorm was still at its height outside.
He sat on the couch next to Suho and leaned his head on his shoulder. He inhaled, letting Suho's familiar scent wash over him. Usually, it was enough to calm him, but this time, the fear in the pit of his stomach only worsened.
He would lose Suho. Sooner or later, Suho would decide he couldn't do it anymore. He would leave him.
Sieun sank deeper against Suho's side, wrapping his arm around his waist.
Suho stirred in his sleep. "Sieunnie?" His voice was a hoarse murmur. "What are you doing here?"
"I couldn't sleep," Sieun said. "You know I hate snowstorms. And this house is cold. I was freezing."
"All the best reasons to stay in a warm bed," Suho said. He didn't sound drunk. How long had he been asleep?
Sieun just mumbled something evasive and snuggled closer. Suho smelled good. He always smelled good.
"Needy-Whiny-Thing," Suho said with a chuckle.
"Shut up. I'm freezing."
Suho slipped an arm around his torso, pulling him practically onto his lap.
Sieun let out a contented noise. He was warm now.
"Mmm, much better," he said into Suho's neck.
"I live to serve," Suho said dryly.
Sieun wondered how Suho could do this. How could he pretend all the time? How could he be so nice to Jarim? It had to be hard—and exhausting. It couldn't go on forever. Suho was the strongest person he knew, but everyone had a breaking point. Everyone.
Sieun stared at the bright red embers of a dying fire. Lately, Jarim had been trying to bring up the subject of marriage and babies. He had been avoiding the topic as much as he could, but he couldn't do it forever without hurting her. It wasn't that he didn't love Jarim; he did. It wasn't that he didn't want to have children; he did. Having a family of his own was always something he craved. But they were too young. What was the rush?
And if he gave in to her wishes, would Suho... Would Suho stay? Could he do that to Suho?
Let him go. It was Seongje's voice, harsh and angry. If you really love him, you will stop being a selfish little shit and let him go. Sieun squirmed, tightening his arm around Suho's middle.
A warm, strong hand settled on the back of his neck. "Sieun-ah?" Suho's voice was serious now. Worried.
Sieun forced himself not to lean too heavily into the touch. "They're right, you know: I really am a son of a bitch."
Suho became still.
Outside, the storm lashed snow against the window.
"Okay, what's wrong?" Suho said slowly.
Sieun shook his head. "Forget it. Just... will you promise me something?"
"What?" Suho's fingers began to run through his hair.
Don't leave me.
He didn't say it. He couldn't say it without arousing Suho's suspicions. He couldn't say it without sounding like a needy child.
"Do you regret moving to England?" Sieun asked instead. They never talked about it. Yes, it was people from Sieun's football club who, impressed by Sieun's unlikely recovery, had offered Suho a job.
But he knew he was the main reason Suho had moved to England after finishing his residency.
It was two years ago. Two years of living in each other's pockets, and Sieun had never asked. He had been afraid to ask.
And now, Suho's silence scared him. Did he regret it? He had moved to another country for him and had barely seen his family in the past couple of years.
"No," Suho finally said, his voice a little strained. "I don't regret it."
“And you never will?”
“Talking about never and forever is naive,” Suho said quietly. “You’re not naive.”
Sieun bit the inside of his cheek, feeling a physical ache in his gut. He became very aware of the clock's ticking sound. Time, running out.
He didn't know what to do.
So he did what he always did when he felt lost, or angry, or upset: he closed his eyes, pushed himself closer to Suho’s side, and pretended the problems didn't exist.
He was good at that—as long as he had Suho. As long as he had Suho.
The clock kept on ticking.
Six months later.
At moments like this, Ahn Suho hated his job.
Being the Head of Sports Medicine at a renowned Premier League club might be prestigious, but as he stared at his computer screen, struggling to recall the injury of some teenage footballer who no longer played for the club, he hated his job.
Had he known how much of his time he would spend behind a desk filling out paperwork, Suho would have thought twice when the Chelsea board offered him the promotion a year ago.
The phone rang.
With his eyes still on the computer screen, Suho answered. "Yeongi, I asked you not to interrupt me—"
"I know," his secretary said and lowered her voice. "But your boy is here."
Suho looked towards the door. "I don't know who you're talking about."
He didn't need to see Yeongi to know she was rolling her eyes.
"Five-seven, dark brown hair, adorable brown eyes, and a terrible temper. Sieun. Yeon Sieun. Does that ring a bell?"
"You've become sassy, Yeongi."
"Me? Never. Can I let him in, please? He's giving me a headache. He doesn't seem to understand that he can't walk into your office whenever he wants."
Suho couldn't help but smile. That sounded like Sieun.
"Didn't you tell him I was busy?"
"I did. And do you know what he said? 'But it's me.' As if the rules don't apply to him." She couldn't keep the annoyance out of her voice.
Suho's smile disappeared. "Enough, Yeongi. Let him in." Suho hung up, his mood turning sour. He knew Yeongi meant well. She was just a little overprotective of him and had never liked Sieun. To be fair, Sieun wasn't all sunshine and rainbows: he could be a bit of an asshole to people he didn't care about—which was most people—but he was fiercely loyal to the few he did care about.
The door opened and Sieun strode into the room, dressed in his blue training gear. He slumped into the big chair on the other side of Suho's desk.
"Aren't you supposed to be at practice?" Suho asked. Sieun might be one of the team's stars, but even he couldn't walk out of practice without a good reason.
"Yes."
"Are you hurt?"
Sieun caught his lower lip with his teeth. "My lower back is still a little sore after the knock I took last week. I need a massage."
Suho studied him for a moment. He knew Sieun's body better than his own and he could tell the pain was absent, which meant Sieun simply wanted a massage. And he usually wanted a massage when he wanted comfort, but he would never admit it.
"Juhho is the physio on call right now," Suho said softly. "Ask him."
Sieun frowned.
Suho chuckled. "You do realize I'm not your physio anymore, right?"
Sieun flashed a smirk. "What? Too important for it?"
"Precisely." Suho stood up and walked to the adjoining examination room. "Alright, come on. Shirt off and get on the table."
By the time he produced a bottle of massage oil, Sieun was already on the table.
Suho worked the oil into his palms and spread it over Sieun's back, sliding them over the curves of his shoulder blades with practiced efficiency.
With a sigh of satisfaction, Sieun relaxed.
Suho focused on working the knots, trying to ignore the flawless pale skin he was touching. Sieun's back was smooth and lean, with well-toned muscles. Suho's gaze traveled down the beautiful curve of Sieun’s spine to the perky butt clad only in thin blue shorts.
Clenching his jaw, Suho looked away and cleared his throat. "So, what has you in a foul mood?"
Sieun tensed slightly before slowly relaxing again as Suho massaged his lower back. "The coach wants to move me to right wing."
Suho's eyebrows furrowed. Sieun was one of the best left wingers in Europe, but it was common knowledge that he felt awkward playing on the right wing. He always played on the left. Always.
"Why?"
"Why do you think?" Sieun said, bitterly. "Because of the Golden Boy."
Suho smiled faintly. "He's your brother, Sieun-ah."
"No, he's not. We're not related by blood."
"That doesn't matter," Suho said.
"Tell that to him. He's the one constantly reminding the press that he's English, while I'm French—or Korean—whichever suits him best."
Suho shook his head to himself.
He had never understood the fierce rivalry between Sieun and his adoptive brother, Baekjin. They were the same age, both orphans, both loved soccer, and both were incredibly talented, but they couldn't stand each other. Maybe the problem was that Sieun and Baekjin hadn't lived as brothers for very long: their adoptive parents, the Yeons, had died when they were nine, and they had been left in the care of distant relatives who didn't particularly want to raise two difficult children who weren't even related to them by blood. To get them off their hands, their relatives had enrolled the boys in the minor leagues of a French soccer club. Six years of rapid progression, and the boys caught the attention of Chelsea's scouting network.
Suho thought it was quite ironic that Sieun and Baekjin hated each other, but couldn't get rid of each other's company, even in England.
"What did Baekjin do now?" Suho asked, resuming the massage. "It's not his fault if the coach decided to move him to your usual position."
Sieun scoffed. "Do you really believe that? He's always wanted my position. He never passes the ball to me and always tries to make me look bad, and everyone loves him because he's so likable and English, and you know how it is. The British press loves stirring up drama and they keep proclaiming that I'm ruining the future development of an English superstar." Sieun said mockingly. "And that asshole constantly adds fuel to the fire and comments to the press that he would have been playing much better if he played on the left wing."
Suho ran his hands along Sieun's back. "Baekjin is not a bad kid. I'm sure he didn't mean it that way."
"The hell he didn't!" Sieun's muscles grew tight under his hands. "That manipulative little shit. Why can't anyone see it besides me? He's a two-faced kiss-ass, but everyone thinks he's a nice guy. Even you! I thought..." Sieun's voice hardened. "I thought you would be on my side. But you're always so nice to him."
Suho stopped massaging and stared at his dark blonde nape. "I'm the head doctor for this football club," he said slowly. "And he's a first-team player. It's my job to be nice to him and make sure he's training and in top shape."
He didn't know why he was even explaining this. He didn't have to explain anything to Sieun. Strictly speaking, Sieun was just one of seventy-eight athletes of varying ages under his care. It was none of Sieun's business how he treated the other players.
Except Sieun apparently thought differently. "I don't want you to be nice to him."
Suho blinked. "What?"
Sieun rolled onto his back, his lips pressed into a sad line. "Haven't you noticed how sweet he is with you? I know him. He's never sweet without a reason."
Suho stifled a sigh. He could see where this was going.
Sieun was fiercely possessive of his things. He didn't talk much about his early childhood in Korea—he claimed he didn't remember it—but Suho could make an educated guess. Korean orphanages couldn't have been a nice place to live.
As a child, Sieun hadn't had much, so it was only natural that he had grown up used to jealously guarding the little he had. It didn't matter that Sieun was no longer a child and could afford anything he wanted; he had never overcome his possessiveness. Everyone knew that Yeon Sieun was awful at sharing. It was evident on the football field, too: he was often selfish and ruthless, wanting to be the only one to score all the goals. For that reason, he was a favorite target for the media's scathing criticism, universally hated and grudgingly admired.
When Suho had been assigned as Sieun's physical therapist at the rehabilitation center, he had already heard about the boy's difficult personality. Truth be told, back then Suho hadn't been thrilled about the assignment.
Residency was exhausting enough as it was, and taking care of a difficult, paralyzed teenager wasn't something he was looking forward to in his future. Besides, he hated cases like Sieun's: when there was little hope of a complete recovery and he could truly do little to help.
But the first time he had seen the scrawny boy lying motionless under the sheets, his enormous brown eyes being the only color in his face, it became personal.
Too personal for his liking.
There were lines that doctors shouldn't cross with their patients, and giving false hope of recovery was one of them, but Suho couldn't help it. He couldn't tell the boy he would never walk again and that he should get used to being bedridden.
He simply couldn't tell him that. There was something about that pale, strange-looking boy that brought out every protective instinct in him. He wanted to see him smile. He wanted to see him happy. He wanted to see him healthy. It had become a little obsessive, and for the next seventeen months, Suho found himself spending what little free time he had with Sieun. The boy had a difficult personality, but Suho didn't mind.
Sieunnie was like a wounded animal (a little puppy, Suho thought affectionately) who wanted help and comfort, but tried to hide it.
Through trial and error, Suho had learned how to deal with him.
When Sieun threw tantrums, Suho simply gave him an unimpressed look in return; when Sieun refused to do his exercises "because they were pointless," Suho called him a coward and a quitter; when Sieun was depressed and started to lose faith, Suho pulled him close and hugged him, whispering words of love until Sieun smiled and regained his stubborn belief that everything was going to be alright.
Faith alone wasn't enough—in some ways, Sieun's recovery was a medical miracle—but the miracle wouldn't have happened if Sieun had stopped trying. The day Sieun managed to take a few steps without falling, he hugged Suho tightly and murmured into his neck, his voice full of emotion, "I couldn't have done this without you. I love you." And Suho had frozen in place, feeling cold and hot at the same time. He knew it was a completely innocent confession.
It was quite common for patients to become attached to their doctors, especially considering Sieun's circumstances: he was in a foreign country and had no one besides Suho. In all the months Sieun had spent in the rehab center, no one had visited him besides a few people from his football club. So it wasn't surprising how attached Sieun had become to him. What was surprising was how attached to the boy Suho had become, although... attached wouldn't be the right word for it. Just being attached would have been unprofessional, but still okay. What he had felt for his seventeen-year-old patient—who was ten years younger than him—was definitely not okay.
The day Sieun had been discharged was utterly bittersweet, because it meant Sieun would return to England.
That night, Suho went to a bar and got drunk. He barely remembered what happened after that, but he remembered waking up with a hangover and a naked stranger beside him—a stranger who barely looked legal. A stranger who had dark brown hair and large, brown eyes.
“Suho-yah?”
Suho flinched and pushed the memories away from his mind, suppressing them as he had learned to do long ago.
Sighing, he walked away from the massage table and headed to the sink to wash his hands. “You know this is ridiculous, Sieuhan.”
Sieun didn't like it when Suho called him by the Korean version of his name, but it always made him pay attention. Suho knew Sieun hated everything the name implied more than the name itself. Suho liked the name, but he used it sparingly—Sieun didn't like to be reminded of his childhood. As far as Suho knew, it was one of the few words Sieun still remembered of his mother tongue; he was French now, in more ways than the name.
“You can’t tell me how to treat my patients,” Suho added.
“But—”
“What exactly is your objection?”
Silence.
And then, “Because you’re mine.”
Suho’s heart skipped a beat. He told himself not to be an idiot. Of course, this was about Sieun’s rivalry with his brother.
Suho returned to his desk, sat down, and stared at the screen without seeing. “Go back to training and stop bothering me, Sieun. I’m working. You should be working too and unlike you, I don't get paid millions to run on a football pitch and chase a ball.”
Sieun laughed. Suho could hear him hopping off the massage table and walking back to the office.
“Suho-yah,” he said softly.
“No.”
“Come on.”
“I said no. You’re being ridiculous.”
Still dressed only in his shorts, Sieun rounded the desk, holding his shirt in his hand.
Suho braced himself.
“I’m not asking you to be mean to him or anything.” Sieun put an arm around his shoulders and leaned in. “Just don't trust him, alright? He’s a viper.”
His warm breath brushed Suho's ear. His scent tickled his nose. His bare skin was touching Suho's arm.
Suho continued to stare at a report without paying attention, focusing on keeping his breathing even.
Sieun sighed, pressing his nose against the side of Suho's face. “I just—I don't trust him. Not with you. Promise me you’ll be careful of him. Don't let him wrap you around his little finger like he does everyone else.”
Suho almost laughed out loud. He was a healthy man with needs and he wasn't blind—Baekjin was incredibly handsome and openly flirted with him—but if there was anyone who had him wrapped around their little finger, it was Sieun.
“Promise me,” Sieun pleaded.
“I promise,” Suho said, resigned. He had long since lost all illusion about his ability to say no to Sieun.
He couldn't bear to hear the note of insecurity in Sieun's voice. The world knew Sieun as a confident, arrogant guy who didn't give a damn about anything, but they couldn't have been more wrong.
Sieun only hid his vulnerability well. Sometimes too well.
No, Suho was not blind to Sieun's flaws. Sieun was far from an angel. He had a selfish, ruthless streak, was too possessive for his own good, and could be an asshole to people he didn't like. Sieun was also notoriously a sore loser. If the team lost a game, it was impossible to be around Sieun. He didn't know how to lose. He would sulk, be moody, and throw tantrums like a little kid when things didn't go his way. But underneath all that, he had a kind of vulnerability that made Suho want to wrap him in his arms and protect him from the world. Among other things, Suho admitted to himself sadly.
Clenching his jaw, he looked straight ahead as Sieun hugged him. “Thank you,” he murmured, his lips brushing Suho's ear.
Damn everything. Sometimes Suho felt like it was killing him. But he let himself wrap an arm around Sieun and pull him closer. He savored the feeling of Sieun’s body against his and drank in his scent as if it were air, and he were a drowning man. It was a particular kind of hell: to be so close to him and know that he could never have him. “Now stop trying to drown me and get back to practice.”
Laughing, Sieun straightened up. “I'll be back after training. Don't leave without me.” He kissed Suho on the cheek.
Then he was gone.
A silence fell over the room after the door closed behind Sieun. It was all too quiet, suddenly. Too empty. His skin tingled where Sieun had kissed him.
“You should tell him.”
Suho looked up. Yeongi was leaning against the door frame, a deep frown etched on her face.
He returned his gaze to his computer. “For what?” There was no point; it would only make everything more awkward.
Sieun might love him, might be overly affectionate with him, but he was one hundred percent straight. He had an adorable girlfriend he was in love with. Suho was nothing to him but his friend, and he would never be anything more.
Yeongi let out a deep sigh. “Then move on, Suho. You deserve better. You can do much better than him! Look at you. How can a man with your looks be single? Has it been how many years now? Three? Four?”
“I date. I have sex. Sometimes.”
Yeongi scoffed. “Don’t you want more? Don’t you want a full relationship? Someone to love—and be loved by, too? Someone—”
“Enough, Yeongi,” he ground out.
“It’s been years, Suho. And how many more years is it going to be? I’ve heard his girlfriend talking about getting married and having children. I’m sure he’s going to be insensitive and ignorant enough to ask you to be his best man. How are you going to cope with that?”
The numbers blurred on the screen. As I always do. That was what he intended to say, but his throat was tight and painful.
“Enough,” he snapped. “Leave me alone.”
Shaking her head, she closed the door, and Suho was left alone with his thoughts once more.
Leaning back in his chair, he closed his eyes. Yeongi was right, of course: this was completely pointless. He should quit. Seongje, his cousin, had told him the same thing when he found out about this half a year ago. Seongje wanted him to leave England—to leave Sieun and return to the United States.
Truth be told, if it wasn't for Sieun, Suho never would have left the US in the first place. He had left his home and everything he knew for the young man who had gotten so deep under his skin that Suho couldn't imagine being an ocean away from him. But somehow, being so close was by far more painful than he expected. Watching Sieun be infatuated with Jarim had cured him of any illusions he might have had.
This made no sense. He should go back home. The problem was, the United States no longer felt like home.
The phone rang again.
“Now what, Yeongi?” Suho said.
“Mr. Gong wants to talk to you.”
Suho frowned. “Let him in.”
He sat up straighter as Gong Jicheol entered the room.
“Jicheol,” Suho murmured, somewhat surprised. Jicheol was a very committed coach and rarely left while the players were training. “Take a seat. Any problems?”
The man dropped heavily into the chair opposite him, his thick eyebrows arched. “It’s about Yeon. I mean Sieun, of course. Baekjin never causes any trouble, unlike his brother.”
Suho struggled to keep his face indifferent. “What about Sieun?”
Jicheol crossed his arms over his chest. “Are you serious? Haven't you noticed how impossible he’s been lately? You know him better than me. I thought you’d be the first to notice.”
Suho’s frown deepened. He racked his brain trying to remember anything odd in Sieun’s behavior, but found nothing.
Actually, Sieun had been pretty good lately. He seemed to be making an effort to keep his temper calm.
“What are you talking about?” Suho asked.
Jicheol’s eyebrows shot up. “You mean he hasn't been behaving like a moody ass around you?”
“Not really,” Suho said. “Quite the opposite.”
Jicheol shook his head. “He’s been absolutely impossible for the last couple of months. He defies my instructions and argues with other players all the time. He’s upsetting the locker room atmosphere.”
“That doesn’t sound like him,” Suho said slowly. Sieun could be stubborn and a bit selfish on the pitch sometimes, but he was a good teammate; he knew the importance of a good locker room environment.
“I know.” Jicheol pursed his lips. “I thought he would get over it—whatever it was—but it seems to be getting worse. Every little thing can set him off. He started getting into physical fights with other players. He was rude to fans and reporters this morning.”
The more Suho listened, the harder it was for him to believe he had managed to miss this. Or maybe Sieun had made an effort to hide his mood from him, which was even more worrying.
“He’s not happy about you wanting to move him to right wing,” Suho said. “Maybe that’s it.”
“No, that’s a consequence of his behavior, not the cause of it.”
“Did you talk to him? Did you ask him what’s going on?”
Jicheol grimaced. “I tried. But you know how he is. He pretended he had no idea what I was talking about.” He shook his head. “I would let it go if his behavior wasn't affecting the team, but it is, so I can’t. At first, I thought he might be having trouble dealing with his impending fatherhood and all that, but…”
“Fatherhood?” Suho said.
“Yes, he’s a very young man, after all. I know a lot of footballers become fathers at a young age, but personally, I don’t think Sieun is in any way prepared.”
“How—how did you find out about the pregnancy?” Suho could barely recognize his own voice. He could barely hear anything beyond the pounding of his own pulse in his ears.
Jicheol snorted. “Certainly not from him. I overheard him and Juntae. I think the only people who know are Juntae and I. And you, obviously. He probably told you about his girlfriend's pregnancy months ago, huh?”
Suho said nothing.
“Anyway,” Jicheol said. “Could you talk to him? If he doesn’t get a grip, I’ll bench him, and I won’t care that he’s the best forward in the country.”
Suho probably nodded, as Jicheol stood up and left.
When the door closed, Suho didn't move. He stayed sitting there, very still.
Earlier in the year, Suho had told Hyuntak, his cousin's boyfriend, that people were good at ignoring things they didn't want to see. It seemed he had been guilty of the same thing.
He had never wondered why he hadn't seen Jarim in months. He had never asked Sieun where she was. He had simply been glad that she wasn't around.
Suho didn't dislike Jarim. She was a pleasant young woman. She was good for Sieun: she always called him out on his shit and told him when he was acting like an ass. No, Suho didn't dislike her. But there was a difference between disliking and hating. He didn't dislike her.
Suho brought the bottle to his lips and took a long drink. The vodka burned his throat as it went down, but the numbness he had been seeking since leaving his office didn't arrive.
Sieun was going to be a dad.
A dad. His Sieun.
It was surreal. In many ways, Sieun was still an insecure, vulnerable kid, himself.
A son.
Jarim was going to give Sieun a son. A family, something Sieun had always wanted.
Suho took another drink of vodka. His gaze lost on the wall opposite him, he wondered how it was possible to feel the loss of something he had never had. He always knew it was going to end this way.
He always knew there was no hope. He thought he had accepted it. He thought he was prepared. He was wrong.
The doorbell rang.
Suho looked at the door and didn't move.
It rang again.
Sighing, Suho put down the bottle, stood up, and crossed the room.
He opened the door and wasn't surprised to see Sieun.
"Why didn't you wait for me? I told you I'd come after practice." Sieun sniffed and narrowed his eyes. "Were you drinking?"
"Yeah" Suho said.
Worry crossed Sieun's face. "Why?" he asked, pushing Suho further into the house. "Is something wrong?"
Suho laughed, closing the door and leaning against it. It was a horrible sound, but he couldn't stop. He laughed and laughed and laughed—at himself more than anything else. Yes, something was wrong: his life.
He was an idiot. A lovesick idiot.
"Suho-yah?" Sieun said in an unsure voice.
"I think congratulations are in order."
"Congratulations?"
"Yes," Suho said, looking into Sieun's beautiful eyes. "On your impending fatherhood."
Sieun's face lost all color. He opened his mouth, but closed it again without making a sound.
"Why?" Suho said, asking the question that had been bothering him for hours. "Why didn't you tell me? I thought—I thought I would be the first person you'd tell something so important."
Sieun's throat convulsed as he swallowed. He just looked at Suho and didn't say a word.
"How far along is she?"
Sieun lowered his gaze. "Over five months."
"Five months," Suho repeated. "And all this time, you've been... Why?"
Sieun bit his lip, his eyes still downcast.
Suho studied him.
And then he took a deep breath. It couldn't be. Sieun couldn't know. He couldn't.
"Tell me." He was surprised by the calmness of his own voice. "Now."
Sieun looked anywhere but at him. "I... I didn't know how to tell you. I didn't want to make things feel weird."
"Weird?"
Sieun ran his tongue over his lip. "I know about... your thing for me."
Suho's stomach turned over on itself, creating a strange, empty feeling. "My thing for you," he said expressionlessly. "How? How?"
Watery brown eyes met his. "I know you."
Three simple words, but they felt like a stab to the heart.
Sieun gave him a tight smile. "Did you really think I wouldn't notice? You look at me like, like..." Sieun blushed, looking uncomfortable. "You're pretty obvious."
A coarse sound came from Suho's throat. He didn't know whether to laugh or go hide somewhere. All this time, he had thought he was being subtle, but apparently, Sieun had known the entire time.
Suho returned to the sofa, grabbed the bottle, and took a long drink.
"Suho—"
"I'm going back to the States," Suho said.
"What?"
Suho took another sip of vodka.
Sieun grabbed his shoulder and spun him around. "You can't be serious! It doesn't matter. You have nothing to be ashamed of. I don't care that—that you feel a thing for me—"
"Shut up," Suho gritted out. "Shut up."
A look of uncertainty crossed Sieun's features. "Nothing has to change. I really don't care—"
"Well, I do," Suho snapped. "I don't have a 'thing' for you. I love you."
Silence.
The expression on Sieun's face was strange: something between restlessness, bewilderment, and... something else. "Suho-yah—"
"No," Suho said. "I've made the decision. As soon as they find a replacement for me, I'm leaving."
Sieun clutched his shirt. "You won't! I forbid it."
Suho smiled. "You can't forbid me anything, Sieun-ah," he said softly, trying to pry Sieun's fingers off his shirt. "We are separate entities. You have your life. I have my own."
Sieun squeezed Suho's shirt tighter, his brown eyes widening. "No."
"Yes," Suho said, somehow managing to keep his voice steady. "It's for the best, really."
Sieun stared at him. "Better for who?" His Adam's apple bobbed up and down. "Why do you have to do this? Everything is fine! We are fine!"
Suho looked at Sieun's panicked face and had to restrain himself from touching him. "No, we are not. This—this is never going to work. And you know it, or you wouldn't be hiding Jarim's pregnancy from me. That was stupid, by the way. How long did you expect to do that? Sooner or later I would have found out, anyway. Then what?"
Sieun's jaw locked. "I know. I didn't mean to do it. I was going to tell you, but I couldn't." Sieun looked at his hand still clenching Suho's shirt. "When Jarim told me she was pregnant, I panicked a little. I mean, of course, I'm happy about the baby, but—but I wasn't ready. I thought she was on the pill. We had agreed to wait."
"It doesn't matter now," Suho said expressionlessly. "You are going to have a family. It's my sign to leave."
"No." Sieun suddenly hugged him, there was something very desperate and painful about it. "Suho-yah, don't do this. Please. I can't—I can't."
"You can," Suho said. "It's time for you to walk on your own. You did it once. You can do it again. This... our relationship... it's not healthy for you."
"I don't give a damn." Sieun tightened his arms around him even more. "This is what I need. You."
Suho wrestled with his body's instinctive reaction. Sieun didn't mean it that way. He never intended it that way. "It's not enough for me. I thought it was—I thought I could do it—but I was wrong. I can't do it. I won't."
Sieun's body went rigid.
"I'm sorry," Suho said. "This is the end." He kissed Sieun on the temple, but Sieun pulled away, his jaw tight, anger and something akin to betrayal in his gaze.
"Fine. Whatever!" And he stormed out of the house, slamming the door behind him so hard that the windows rattled.
Baekjin was excited.
It was almost time. The stadium was already filling up with thousands of spectators, and with the crowd already starting to cheer, he had trouble keeping calm.
This was not a friendly match. This was the first official game of the season. This was the Barclays Premier League, the best football league in the world, and he was going to debut as the left-winger, in Sieun's stead.
Finally.
As they headed towards the tunnel, Baekjin looked at his adopted brother. It sucked that he had to keep up appearances and couldn't smile at Sieun's discomfort. He wanted to smile and gloat, but of course he couldn't: there were cameras everywhere. Appearances were important. He was the good boy and Sieun was the bad guy—or at least that was the public opinion. Good boys didn't gloat.
Some might probably consider what he had done cruel, but Baekjin didn't care. As far as he was concerned, it was nothing Sieun didn't deserve. That piece of shit had always rubbed him the wrong way. From the very first moment his adoptive parents brought Sieun into the family, Baekjin had intensely disliked him. He hadn't asked for a brother. He didn't want a brother. But of course, no one had cared about what he thought. The Yeons were too enamored with the strange-looking little boy to worry about the opinion of their first son. And that was what Baekjin had been: he was the first.
His parents were his first, and he didn't want to share his toys with that scrawny dwarf who didn't even speak English or French. He disliked Sieun at first sight and the dislike was pretty reciprocal, and, as it turned out, long-lasting. Almost fifteen years had passed, their adoptive parents were long dead, but the antipathy between them had only grown with each passing year. Now that they were competing for things more important than toys, Baekjin's desire to wipe the floor with Sieun was stronger than ever.
That's why he couldn't help but feel a little disappointed now. He expected it to be harder to steal Sieun's favorite position on the field, but everything had gone surprisingly well. It had been too easy. He had thought Sieun would be more of a challenge, but that little shit didn't even put up much resistance. Sieun's strange outbursts in temperament over the last couple of months had actually made it too easy for him. In light of Sieun's behavior, convincing the media and the coach that he deserved to play in Sieun's favorite position was child's play. Unpleasantly easy.
"I hope you're not angry with me, Sieun," Baekjin said, unable to resist the chance to rub it in.
Sieun didn't say anything, so Baekjin shot him another look. The idiot looked like shit. He was even paler than usual, and the dark circles under his eyes made him look older. And those strange brown eyes... there was something unnerving about them.
"Hey, are you alright?" Baekjin asked, nudging him with his hand. Sieun didn't answer. "Sieun?"
"Fantastic," Sieun said without looking at him. "I've never been better."
"But you look—"
"Save your fake concern," Sieun said expressionlessly. "I'm not in the mood for your shit."
That was another annoying thing. Instead of being irritated by the fact that Baekjin had gotten his favorite position, Sieun didn't seem to care. Even though Sieun had been looking like crap for the last couple of weeks, Baekjin knew it wasn't his fault.
"It's time to head out, lads," the coach said, and they walked through the tunnel onto the field.
Baekjin kept an eye on Sieun's tense face. When he realized that something had changed in Sieun's expression, Baekjin followed his gaze to the team doctor sitting in the technical area. His eyes landed on Dr. Ahn.
As always, Baekjin couldn't help but stare.
Ahn Suho had to be the most attractive man he had ever seen. Dark hair, deep brown eyes, and a strong jaw with light stubble. As if having a beautiful face wasn't enough, the man was tall and had incredibly broad shoulders and strong arms. It was baffling that such a handsome man was single. The rumor was that he was gay, but it was probably a lie. Partly to annoy Sieun, who always acted as if Dr. Ahn was his property, and partly because Suho was hot as hell, Baekjin had tried flirting with the man, but in vain. A shame. And it was a pity that the man was resigning from the job. Physical exams were going to be much more boring now.
The whistle finally blew, signaling the start of the match, and Baekjin pushed Dr. Ahn out of his mind and focused on the game.
The first twenty minutes went well. Baekjin was doing great: most of the attacks were coming towards him, and if it weren't for some bad luck, he would have scored at least two goals already.
But suddenly, Sieun was shoving him aside and intercepting a pass that was meant for him.
"What the hell?" Baekjin yelled. "You're supposed to be playing on the right-wing tonight!"
Sieun gave him a venomous look. "Get lost. This is mine. Mine!"
Baekjin turned to the coach and pointed at Sieun. "Do something!"
Frowning, the coach started yelling at Sieun to go back to the right-wing of the field. Ignoring him, Sieun ran toward the defenders and inside the box, causing confusion and chaos. He dodged the goalkeeper and hammered the ball into the top right corner.
The crowd roared, but Sieun didn't celebrate. Neither did anyone else: Sieun had managed to piss off all his teammates in the last couple of months. The coach was still yelling at Sieun to go back to the right, and now even the fans in the stands could see what was happening.
Baekjin raised his hands to show his displeasure and suppressed a smile when the fans started chanting his name. Of course, they were on his side; he was the aggrieved party here.
That's when the booing began. Every time Sieun touched the ball, the crowd booed and scoffed. Sieun ignored it and recklessly ran towards the defenders again.
Baekjin felt a reluctant pang of admiration. Sieun truly didn't give a shit what people thought of him. The booing would have disheartened anyone, but nothing seemed to touch Sieun. Nothing seemed to get to him, his pale face devoid of expression.
Sieun kept going, instantly passing two players before they even realized what had happened, he bypassed a third, and scored another goal on his own. The mocked defender immediately confronted Sieun, yelling at him, and Sieun shoved him roughly. The referee ran up and showed Sieun a red card.
Somewhat bewildered, Baekjin watched Sieun leave the field accompanied by the crowd's boos. What was wrong with the little idiot? Sieun was crazy. He would be torn apart by the press, the coach, and the fans for this. Frowning, Baekjin decided to focus on the match. Thanks to that idiot, they were a man down, and now he would have to defend. He hated defending. Stupid Sieun.
Suho found Sieun in the changing room. He was sitting on the bench, with his arms wrapped around his knees. The room was quiet except for the noise of the continuing football match outside.
Sieun's shoulders tensed when he walked in, but he didn't look up, his gaze lost on his boots. He was still wearing the blue team uniform.
"Leave," Sieun said, without looking up. "They might need you on the field. What if the golden boy breaks a nail and you're not there?"
Suho didn't say anything, looking at Sieun cautiously. In the two weeks since their conversation, Sieun had been distant and tense, avoiding him and refusing to talk. Sieun was not the silent type. When he brooded too much, it meant nothing good. Suho had expected an emotional breakdown, but nothing so public.
"Oh, wait," Sieun said, still staring at his boots. "This is your last day here, so you don't care, of course."
"This was incredibly stupid," Suho said. "What were you trying to prove? You've been getting all kinds of shit from the media as things were. Why give them a stick to beat you with? The press is going to have a field day with this. The coach is furious—you publicly undermined his authority. And you know how much the fans love Baekjin—they'll boo you every game now. What the hell did you think you were doing?"
Sieun looked up at him, his large eyes the only color on his pale face. "You told me to walk on my own." A crooked smile curved his lips. "That was me walking on my own. I think I did pretty well, don't you? I scored two goals."
Suho stared at him. "Don't do this to yourself."
"Why? Why do you care?"
Suho walked closer and pulled him to his feet. "Are you trying to make me feel guilty? Is that it?"
Sieun shrugged, looking away, his jaw clenched.
Suho chuckled, shaking his head. "Are you kidding me? So, what am I supposed to do? What? Stay by your side, watch you build a family, and be alone for the rest of my life?"
"You said you loved me," Sieun said, still looking away, his voice tight. "If you truly loved me, you wouldn't abandon me."
Suho took a deep breath. "You can't use this against me. Not this. Do you have any idea how much this sucks? Unrequited love is not fun."
Sieun's gaze broke against him. "Unrequited love?" He burst out laughing. "What are you talking about? What unrequited love?" He freed his shoulder from Suho's grip. "You're not leaving because your love is 'unrequited.' You're leaving because—because sex means more to you than love."
"It's not the same," Suho said. "You don't want me that way—"
"What way?" Sieun yelled, flushing and breathing heavily. "What way? But fine, whatever—leave me. I don't care anymore. You're just like everyone else."
Damn it. Suho touched his shoulder, but Sieun jumped away and glared at him. "Don't touch me. I told you to leave me. Goodbye! Fuck off!"
"Sieunnie—"
"Don't call me 'Sieunnie'," Sieun said, his face hardening. "You know what?" he said, looking Suho in the eyes. "I hate you."
It was like a punch to the gut.
"I wish I had never met you," Sieun said with feeling before slamming out of the room.
Suho remained frozen, staring blankly at the locker and seeing nothing, as Sieun's words sank into his ears. The worst part was, he knew Sieun meant them—at least a part of him did.
I wish I had never met you.
The crowd outside cheering.
Normally, Suho liked airports. He liked the different dialects, languages, clothing, and customs. He liked watching people buy a last-minute tacky souvenir that only foreigners would think were interesting. He liked listening to people's observations about London: how confusing the Tube was, their favorite tourist destinations, and the small cultural differences regarding food.
But he had never before seen so many people looking desperate, crying, and pulling on their loved ones as they prepared to board the plane bound for the US. Or maybe he just never paid attention to them. Every time he had left England, he knew he would be coming back. Not this time. He would miss England.
Suho smiled a little to himself, remembering the miserably cold, rainy nights in Stoke. On second thought, maybe he wouldn't.
He glanced at his watch. Boarding would start soon.
"Suho!"
He froze and then turned around.
Sieun was pushing through the crowd toward him.
Suho's heart skipped a beat before starting to hammer so loudly he could hardly concentrate on anything else. A part of him wanted to walk away. But the other part was drinking in his sight—for the last time—and the thought made his chest hurt physically.
Then he saw a couple of noisy reporters following Sieun, yelling questions in his face. Sieun should wear dark sunglasses. No wonder he was recognized.
Suho stepped forward to meet him halfway. Ignoring the reporters' questions, he grabbed Sieun's arm without a word and led him towards the nearest restroom.
Shoving Sieun inside, Suho closed the door, locked it, and turned to Sieun. "What are you doing here? You shouldn't have—"
Sieun fell against him. There was no other word for it: he fell, burying his face in Suho's shoulder and wrapping his arms tightly around Suho's waist.
"Don't go," he said, his voice cracking. "Please. I can't. I can't—I can't live without you."
Suho closed his eyes. His arms went up around Sieun and squeezed him tightly. Sieun groaned, rubbing his throat with his nose, and Suho felt an overwhelming surge of love, which was painful not to have an outlet for. He never knew it was possible to miss someone you were holding in your own arms. His throat tight with loss, he squeezed Sieun even harder, but it felt like trying to hold onto sand escaping through his fingers.
"I don't regret meeting you," Suho said and Sieun made a noise that suspiciously sounded like a sob.
"Hey," Suho said gently, taking Sieun's chin and forcing him to look up. Damp brown eyes met his, and something squeezed in Suho's chest. Sieun never cried. He hadn't cried even when he was paralyzed and nothing they did seemed to help. He hadn't cried when he was booed and repudiated. Sieun's nose was never red and his eyes were always bright.
Until now.
"Don't—"
"I'm not crying," Sieun said, lifting his chin stubbornly and looking at him. "I never cry."
Suho smiled and wiped the tear at the corner of Sieun's eye. "In a few years, or even months, you will look back and laugh at how foolish you were to think you couldn't live without me."
Sieun opened his mouth, but Suho pressed a finger against his lips. "You'll see. You're young and—" He swallowed. "What you feel for me is... it's not very healthy for you. You'll be better off without me. This... it will pass, and you'll be stronger for it."
He could see Sieun wanted to argue, but then something broke in his expression. "What about you?" he asked instead.
"I'll be fine, too." Eventually. Probably. Suho forced a laugh. "I have no intention of becoming an anti-social, lonely, depressed man. Maybe someday, I'll fall in love with someone who actually loves me back." At least he wanted to believe it—believe that he would be capable of loving someone else. Suho forced a smile. "Everything will work out, you'll see."
Sieun stared at him as if he couldn't understand a word of what he was saying.
When the flight boarding announcement came over the loudspeakers, Suho cleared his throat, letting his hands drop to his sides. His arms already felt empty. "That's my flight. I have to go."
Sieun was still staring at him, his face pale.
Suho turned toward the door, but stopped and looked back one last time: at the long dark brown hair and the brown eyes he loved so much, and the vulnerable curve on Sieun's lips. They trembled as Sieun struggled to say something.
Suho's feet moved of their own will. His hands cupped Sieun's face. "I'm proud of you," he said in a husky voice, pressing their foreheads together. He took a deep breath, inhaling his scent eagerly. Sieun. His Sieunnie. "Remember that." He brushed his lips against the corner of Sieun's mouth and felt Sieun's lips tremble. He kissed the other corner and whispered, "Goodbye, Sieun-ah."
He looked back, but Sieun clung to his shirt, his eyes moist and pleading.
"Let go of me," Suho said, looking away. He couldn't look at him. He didn't think he was strong enough to keep saying no while Sieun was looking at him like that.
Silence.
Then he felt Sieun's fingers slowly loosen, releasing him.
He should have felt relieved.
He wasn't.
He took a step back, opened the door, and left the restroom.
Ignoring the reporters, he walked away, the empty feeling in his chest growing with every step he took.
Goodbye.