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A circus.
That's all it was; all it felt like.
Ahn Suho was tiptoeing across a long, frayed, rope —sharks awaiting him down below, swallowing the drips of blood that fell from his lips with fervor. Fire, bright, sweltering red, blazed on all sides. He even felt it inside his chest. It threatened to consume him with each punch, each kick, each prayer that hoped he fell. He felt suspended in time, the world pausing it's breath like the onlookers, history's eyes on his back. This fight wasn't just for vengeance, but for love, and for survival. His ears were ringing, his leg pounding, heavy like lead.
He's cornered. The people beyond this cage no doubt salivating at the prospect of his demise. He appears to be losing. The lights are shining brightly on his glistening sweat, his red cheeks, his patience.
Because that's what Suho knows how to do. He knows how to wait. To strike at the right time.
His eyes shine as he hits back, once, twice, three times. Kang Wooyoung, the apparent savior, falls. If he doesn't keep moving, keep fighting, he'll lose this chance. Suho licks his lips, sniffs up the smell of sweat and blood, and pounces. The black and red of his jacket flying behind him, mimicking the taste of ash and glow of a phoenix's wings. He hovers above Wooyoung, who is still trying to orient himself, clamps his thighs against his sides, and lets the judgment call of his fists fall from the heavens.
The drums pounding in his ears, in his chest, beats louder and louder. He's heard the insistent melody before, back in middle school, in the same position, with the same opponent. The difference this time is the motive.
With each crack comes the images. Suho waiting for Youngyi to come home, finding her instead at the restaurant tight-lipped and tough as a stone wall. The punches to the guts of the boys on the school rooftop after hearing about the state Sieun was left in, lying on the cold floor thinking he won because Suho wasn't in his place, the lunatic. A hand clutched in his own as Beomseok tries to slither away from his hold once more, bones snapped in two.
At last, the tragic but breathtakingily beautiful sight of Yeon Sieun with unshed stars in his eyes and a poorly concealed cast behind his back.
An eye for an eye. A line having been crossed long ago.
He doesn't register the fact Wooyoung's face is beginning to match his attire, doesn't register his arms falling limp; doesn't register that in a normal match, with a normal audience, there would be an interference, a clear winner. All Suho feels is static, all he hears is that drumming. It buzzes and travels down, down, down. He wonders if the bastard beneath him can feel the vibration, even through the blood.
A voice tugs at his neckline. "Sieun didn't want you to find out." He freezes, gore covered glove itching to continue its massacre. "Don't cause any trouble."
A thousand blinks, a full body sigh, a resignation. Suho stands, a bit limply, taking note of the damage with a tilt of his head. Despite the cracked teeth, swollen eyelids, and broken nose still spilling blood, Wooyoung is breathing, albiet weakly. He's coughing uncontrollably now, turning to the side to prevent himself from choking to death from his own fluids. As Suho comes down from the adrenaline, mind racing to make sense of his emotions, the drumming slows down.
"Crazy bastard," someone whispers, voice slightly shaking.
"He almost killed him," another says.
"Are we going to be next?"
He slowly turns to them, notices them all flinch when his eyes gaze over them. "Ah," Suho starts, taking off the dark gloves, ridding himself of the evidence with a drop of his hand. "I overdid it a bit, huh? Sorry."
When he moves to leave the ring, they all back away. All but one. Suho stops short in front of Beomseok. The boy's chest is heaving, hands clenching and unclenching, shaking as if ill. He seems rundown. One would think it was him in the ring fighting for his life not Suho.
"Have your eyes been opened yet?" Suho asks, hands in his pockets, appearing bored even when his tone still holds a certain bite to it.
It takes Beomseok a full minute to respond, eyes wavering towards him and the body dry heaving in the ring. He licks his lips, hisses at the pain, and finds his voice. "Have yours?" He straightens up, trying to be bigger than he feels. Suho can only sigh.
"Guess not," Suho responds, shrugging. His tongue pokes the right side of his cheek, tasting rust. "We're two peas in a pod, aren't we? What happened, hm? How'd you turn out this way?"
It's disguised as another chance, a light at the end of a never-ending tunnel, but Suho knows the type of person Beomseok is. He's going to dig his hole and die in it, no matter what. Stubborn as a mule, scared as a kitten. Beomseok's eye twitches. "That's none of your business."
Suho hums. "That's it then, huh?" He takes a step closer, Beomseok flinches back on instinct, scowling at himself for it, and pats him on his forearm with enough force to make him scatter to the side. "Let's stop here. Enough is enough." He turns to the cowering crowd. "Am I right?"
They let out small noises of acknowledgment, sounding more like whimpers than proper responses. Beomseok lost again. With his hurt pride, no outlet for his pain, he storms past Suho and out the door. The rest of the cowards follow in his footsteps, some of them still leaning on each other for support.
Ahn Suho is not naive. Deep down he knows that this won't solve everything, but it did solve the problem tonight. The war has ended with Youngyi at work, Sieun at home studying, and Suho with bruises along his ribs. He takes a deep breath in and lets it all out in one fell swoop. Suho remembers the phone still recording and has the decency to walk up to it, ending Wooyoung's embarrassment a bit too late.
"I'd quit fighting after this," Suho says, watches as Wooyoung slowly sits up, tries and fails to wipe all of the blood from his face. "Get out while you can."
He scoffs, spits more red on the mat. "What? Like you did?"
He smiles at him, cresent moons for eyes. "Exactly."
When he makes it out of the gym, the cold air hits him with both pleasure and pain. Suho winces and shakes his head, notes the drops of sweat and grime that follow the movement. He raises his hand to the sky, sees a plane pass his fingers, and childishly makes a peace sign with them. He can't go home in this state, his grandma will have an aneurysm. He drops his hand and makes a decision fast, doesn't think twice about flagging a taxi and telling the man a certain bookworms address instead of his own.
When he pays the driver and stares up at the apartment complex, Suho has the decency to remember to notify Youngyi that he won't be home tonight, if Sieun doesn't refuse to let him inside that is. He smirks to himself, Yeon Sieun is too kind for that.
He frowns when he opens his phone to 3 missed calls from Youngyi and 10 from Sieun. Suho curses to himself as he presses on Sieun's contact, the phone barely rings for a second before he picks up, voice shaking and almost gone. "Suho?"
"What's up? You sound tired," he chuckles to himself, tries to not groan at the ache of his cheeks. "Are you running on your own? That's not fair."
"Where are you?" No bullshit as always. Despite the injuries, the soreness, the fatigue, he feels something honey-like fill his bloodstream.
"Hm, should be asking you the same thing." He can hear the slur of his words and hopes Sieun thinks he's tired from work — until he realizes he's almost right outside his door, covered in evidence of a brawl. "I'm at your place in need of more water. Come let me in, yeah?"
"You're…" Sieun stops himself with a gasp, almost as if he finally made it up to the surface after being underwater for too long. "You're at my place?"
"Mhm." Suho leans against a cracked wall, letting his left leg breathe for a second. "So, are you—?"
The call ends abruptly before he can finish his sentence, a scoff of astonishment huffing out of Suho. The bastard. He lets his head hit the stone, eyes falling shut. Suho should at least make it up to his floor, but he wants a couple seconds to recalibrate. Just a couple of seconds.
He isn't sure how much time passes before he hears loud, desperate, footsteps echoing down the street. His eyes instantly find the owner of the noise. His heart stutters when Yeon Sieun freezes at the sight of him. Even from a respectable distance he can still see the sparkles in that deep chocolate gaze. The stars in the night sky meets the soil of the Earth in Sieun's irises.
Sieun is standing before him in a blink of an eye, attention bouncing around his entire frame and face. Suho isn't sure he's shown this much interest in anything outside of studies. He feels a swell of gratification at the thought. "What happened? Did Beomseok do all of this?"
Suho laughs. "He wishes." His hand flies to his stomach and he hunches over in pain. "Fuck, that hurts."
The other boy is on the move in an instant, grabbing Suho's arm with more force than necessary and hanging it around his shoulders, his own arm inching around Suho's waist. He tenses. "Sieun-ssi, what are you doing?"
He shoots him an annoyed look, attempting to move the both of them to the elevators. "Helping you move, what else does it look like?"
"You think you can move me that easily?" Suho bites his lip to keep from laughing again. "Fine. Go ahead." He purposefully leans more into Sieun, making the older yet shorter boy stumble a bit. Suho feels childish and delirious. Sieun seems to have that effect on him.
"Suho." His icy tone holds no room for argument.
Suho shivers as he lets up, being a lot more generous with his weight and matching steps. "Sorry," while not feeling sorry at all.
The ride up the elevator is tense, electricity sparking under Suho's skin threatening to stop the machine entirely. Sieun's silence has a sharper edge to it, the blade of it lightly knicking Suho's throat. His tongue is suddenly too heavy to move. He can't remember the last time he's been at a loss for words.
When they make it into Sieun's apartment he all but drops him onto the living room couch with a quick, fiery, "Don't move." He pauses slightly when Suho grunts at the manhandling, scanning him from head to toe. He notices and feels a pang of guilt erupt with the pain.
"I'm fine, Sieun-ah." Funnily enough, Sieun's sparse armory of expressions does little to hide his emotions. Ahn Suho made it one of his life missions to crack the egg that is Yeon Sieun, to peel back the layers carefully, to examine him in full, accept all of him when no one else did. He's found out how truly easy it is to see the shift of his mouth, the color of his eyes warming, the tension of his shoulders easing ever so slightly. Sieun softens at the corners and Suho feels the exhaustion all at once, eyes blinking slow, falling into the cushions of the couch. "How are you?"
Sieun barely glances at the cast on his arm, on full display with his short sleeved shirt. Suho notes that they look like sleepwear even through his delirious state. "I'm fine. It stopped hurting awhile ago. Shouldn't you be focus—"
"Did you run after me in that?" Suho doesn't care enough to filter himself anymore. His heartbeat drums a little louder again at the idea.
Sieun stares at the ground, clenching his fingers tighter than necessary. "Of course I did."
He swallows, the rock lodged in his throat growing in size. "Huh."
"Stay put." Sieun wipes the sweat from his forehead. He really was running. They both are in need of a shower it seems. "I'm getting the first aid kit."
He hums and tries to get comfortable. The couch is too small with a material that clings to his slick skin too oddly. Suho takes a look around at the place, the first time he's properly been in here. There's clutter here and there; laundry bins, trophy cases, baskets of miscellaneous items, but there's a chill in the air. It resembles a hotel room, a ghost town, not a genuine living space. Suho frowns. He wonders what the fridge looks like. He hopes Sieun's been eating well at least.
A clang on the coffee table has him almost falling off the slippery excuse of furniture. Sieun plops next to him, making Suho sit up straighter. "What hurts? And don't lie."
Suho scratches his neck. "Besides the obvious?" He motions towards his face. "My sides and left leg. I've injured it before, I just need to do some stretches."
"Can you take off your jacket and lift your shirt?"
Suho blinks. "Ah, yeah sure." He does as told, feeling a little like he's on a stage with no props or backup dancers, spotlight shining down on him, vulnerable and on full display. When he lifts up his shirt he sees Sieun's gaze darken at the bruise lining his sides painting upwards. "You should've seen the other guy."
"I don't have ice, but I have some cold containers that you can hold up to that." Sieun sifts through the kit, pulling out wipes and antiseptic. "Wipe your face."
"You have everything in there," Suho notes, bringing the cold wipe to his face. The feeling is almost euphoric for how unnecessarily hot his skin is. "Is it because of your dad? I saw some Judo medals."
Sieun's voice comes from the kitchen, searching through his tiny fridge. "No." He finds the container in such a short amount of time without much shuffling that Suho is beginning to think his earlier theory was correct. He holds it up to Suho's bruise, motions for him to keep it there. "I used to pass out a lot as a kid. I probably got sick and or injured every other week back then, so I have my own kit in my room."
The admission takes Suho by surprise. He stares blankly at Sieun, who's dabbing a q-tip with the antiseptic. Ahn Suho used to watch the top student of the class quite often, a sort of buzz crackling under his skin. He felt like a lone magnet, waiting to attach to his other half. And yet, Sieun never payed attention to him, not that that bothered Suho. He was fine being a background character in everyone's life, too busy with work and taking care of his grandma to do anything about the excitement that those empty eyes could bring. That didn't stop him from being utterly intrigued by the guy. Even when they grew closer there was always this tall wall he couldn't see the other side of. The cracks, the sliver of sun beyond the structure, has Suho biting back a grin.
Sieun pauses when he notices the weird look on his face, mouth thinning tiredly. "What's so funny?"
Suho wipes his mouth with the back of his free hand, trying to stop his teeth from peeking out in glee. "Nothing. Nothing. It's just…" he trails off, that feeling from before, at the hospital, has vines that come back like a virus. They twist around his limbs, his throat, his heart, and he invites it all, "hearing more about you. I like it."
If his leg wasn't pulsating, if he wasn't so tired from the physical and emotional fights, he would've jumped for joy at the pink that begins to swallow Sieun's ears. "Do you have another concussion?"
He laughs surprisingly. "Wah," he exclaims, "always so pretty with the way you talk, huh?"
An unimpressed look is all he gets before Sieun lifts the q-tip to his lips. "This is going to sting a little."
Adoration spills down his throat like warm tea at the warning, as if Ahn Suho, retired MMA fighter, doesn't know the sting of disinfectant. His body has been through the ringer too many times to count, even outside of the ring. He's about to say something witty to ease the crease between Sieun's eyebrows when fingers tentatively take hold of his chin, tilting his face to the side so he has a better angle.
There is certainly a sting on the corner of his lips but the nip travels between his ribs, bites into his beating heart and makes his hands flex. There's much to talk about. Why is it their instinct to lie? Why did Sieun bleed for him? Why did Suho bleed for him? What was the beginning? What was the end?
The desperation to explain himself, to atone, has Suho talking despite the awkward position. "It's done now." Sieun pauses. "They won't bother you kids anymore."
The sigh that escapes Sieun's mouth is loaded, he almost gets even more tense with the action. "Is it?" Suho doesn't realize one of Sieun's hands are clutching his sweats like he's slipping off an edge of a cliff. "Does violence ever end in more violence?"
Because that's the thing isn't it? Human beings are born to fight in some way or another. They scratch, and pull, and scream to keep them anchored to their breaths. To live is to fight. Whether it be with yourself or others or life itself. Suho chooses life itself.
"It has to," Suho says, with no hesitation, no doubt. "It will." He smiles lopsidedly. "Hyung took care of it."
They stare at each other for a beat too long after that. Suho tries not to squirm at the look in Sieun's eyes. There's entire galaxies in them, all the knowledge in the world, all the abilities to see right through the skin of you. "You're a kid too, you know?"
Ahn Suho was born grown. He had to learn the labours of the world at the age of six, when he went door to door, neighborhood to neighborhood, asking if anyone needed help — not out of the kindness of his heart, although that did exist, but for the rewards after. His parents struggled, his grandmother struggled even more, so who else was going to step up? Who else could handle pushing this rock up a mountain?
He's been told all of his life: "You sure are grown for your age, huh, boy?" "Sometimes I forget how young you are, you're so dependable!" "It's almost as if you're older than me."
Yeon Sieun has the knack for asking the questions no one else seems to ask. The neglect, the avoidance, the detachment, it all washes away with his care. Suho owes his entire life to his grandmother, that much is true. But to have someone with no blood between them handling him with such gentleness, watching him with curiosity, reminding him who he truly is; it makes him realize he hasn't been truly living before this point. Sieun takes Suho's frozen state as an opportunity to put a bandage on his cheek, moving the sweaty strands of his bangs to check his temperature.
This is love. Pure, tender, quiet but real. Those three words bubble up from the tips of his toes to behind his teeth and Suho can only swallow them down. It doesn't need to be said, especially not now. Instead, he lets the gravity of it weigh his head down until his forehead meets Sieun's shoulder.
Sieun stills for all of ten seconds before he hears him place something down, letting his hand crawl up his back to hang onto the words on his jacket. Keep on pushin. There's an allegory there. "Don't do that again."
Suho nods, breathes him in, almost turns his head so his lips brush his neck. "Only if you don't."
"…I'll try," Sieun whispers. It's not always up to him, Suho knows this. The promise settles a beast within him anyways.
He grins into his shirt, lovingly and sleepily. "Mm," he murmurs, "me too."
A few more minutes frozen in time like this, two hearts reaching for each other, before Sieun pushes Suho back. "You should shower. Sleep here, I'll make sure you don't sleep in and miss school."
"How thoughtful." Suho's voice is scratchy, slumber itching to conquer him. "You go in first. I need to stretch a bit anyway. My leg is still killing me."
Sieun twitches a little at the mention of his injury, this wound far too fresh to ignore quite yet. "Okay." He packs the kit up quick and all but dashes into the bathroom. Suho huffs a laugh.
Lying down on the floor and raising his left leg in the air, feeling the muscles tense up painfully, has his mind running wild. This is a lot of firsts for Suho. First time being fully inside Yeon Sieun's apartment, first time being properly cared for, first time sleeping over at someone's place since he was seven, first time loving someone. It has unease and unbridled anticipation coursing through his veins. His heart beats so loud he's afraid the ground is shaking with the rhythm of it. He hopes Sieun thinks it's just thunder.
Fifteen minutes of stretching later, the pain growing duller but never gone completely, Sieun comes back out and Suho tries to not bang the back of his head on the hardwood floor. His hair is still damp, the look on his face resembling a wet street cat, the only thing dry about him being his cast. Suho's seen him sweaty, but this sight is different, more vulnerable, more hidden. He sits up, fingers idly tapping a melody on the ground, "Yeon Sieun, you…" Sieun tilts his head and Suho can feel multiple knots tying over and over in his brain, "Good."
Slow, cat-like, blinks. "What?"
"Ah, forget it," Suho rushes out. He chuckles, a bit nervously, grabbing a towel from a nearby basket and ruffles Sieun's hair. "You wouldn't get it."
The dampness beneath his fingers feel an awful lot like embers. The heat threatens to travel up his arm and sear him till he's only bones. He chuckles again, flexes his hand again, and enters the bathroom. The stuffy air and the fog do nothing to help. He takes his surroundings in, not finding much. There isn't any personality in here, even the handtowels are somber colors, no cute designs in sight. Everything is so neat. Too neat. Suho clucks his tongue and bites down the frustration, turning the knob to the colder side.
He almost misses the clothes folded for him right outside the door when he's finished. He can read the words "Optimist Club" on the dark shirt on top. Suho remembers the shirt vividly after the clever work of fate. He still owes him those three water bottles. He can't stop smiling today — despite, despite, despite.
There's a laid out futon on the floor when Suho makes it into Sieun's room. The ever diligent host is already getting comfortable, much to Suho's dismay. It almost distracts him from the sticky notes covering almost every inch of his walls, all the books on his shelves filled with educational material and zero creativity. Suho still hasn't peeled back that layer of Yeon Sieun quite yet. What makes him so desperate to study as much as he breathes? Another day, he thinks, because they have those.
"Nope," Suho drawls, hands on his hips. He must look ridiculous, Sieun's clothes a little too small on his otherwise bigger, studier, frame. "This won't do."
Sieun squints at him. "Do you want the floor?"
"Ha," Suho barks out. "You're a real funny guy. You know what I mean." He sticks his hand out, getting an odd sense of deja vu. "Come on."
The boy's eyes jump between his outstretched palm and his bed, currently fighting an inner war. It's not Suho's smartest idea to want to share a close space with the person he recently — yet that feeling was always there, through the end and beginning — determined he's in love with, but he sleeps through his classes anyway, so who can blame him?
Something else Suho has determined is the fact that Sieun rarely ever denies him. When Sieun slumps and takes his hand fireworks of satisfaction explode in his chest. "Which side do you prefer?"
"Now you care about my comfort?" Sieun grumbles, that slight pout on his lips that you can miss in a blink.
"Always," he retorts, although coming from him, it doesn't sound like a retort at all. Sieun startles at the sincerity and Suho coughs, scratches the itch on his neck. "If you don't care, I'll take this side." He all but flings himself on the right side, closest to the wall and window. The bed is so much more comfortable than he would've thought, he almost passes out right then and there, yawning and stretching without a care.
"Your lack of shame still astonishes me," Sieun mumbles, Suho barely able to catch the insult dripping with fondness. He licks it clean, nuzzles into the pillow with a grin, letting Sieun's scent overwhelm all of his senses. When Sieun slowly, tensely, pulls back the covers and gets situated, Suho immediately turns towards him, watches as he turns off the lamp near his side and keeps his gaze zeroed in on the ceiling afterwards. He takes a mental picture of the sight, stores it in his Sieun folder, and closes his eyes.
A minute later, maybe a second, maybe an hour, Sieun speaks into the quiet. "I would've done worse."
His tone, so small yet so final, catches Suho off guard. The moonlight peeks through the curtains, falling on parts of Sieun's lips, cheeks, eyelashes, almost as if the sliver of white were cracks between prison bars. Their love could cure, but it could also hurt beyond comprehension. He suddenly feels sick to his stomach. "Hey." Sieun turns to him then. "Let's not think about stuff like that, yeah? We're done with fighting, remember?"
The dark does little for the imagination, but Sieun's eyes sparkle, foggy, intangible. Suho's feet nudges Sieun's shin, his fingers inching towards anything and everything. "Yeah." Sieun's voice is softer, less blood on the corners of it. Suho lets something out that's been trapped in his lungs for too long. "We're done."
The tips of his fingers touch some material, his hands roam and circle until Sieun is pressed against his chest. Sieun lets something out too, then, something shaky and hard to name. "Is this okay?" Suho asks. He's never been this quiet. He doesn't know what he'd do with himself if Sieun refused him. Now that he knows how perfectly they fit against each other, how his hair feels against his cheek, how close his beating heart is to his own, he doesn't ever want to free himself from this.
"I'm… not used to this," Sieun admits. Suho hears more than feels his arms start to move, trying to find its place clumsily, even without the cast he'd still have this level of uncertainty. Suho practically giggles.
"Mm," Suho purrs, shaking his head. "We need to change that."
Sieun shyly nods into the crook of Suho's neck, his hands finding their place on his back, one stray finger turning into soft circles. Suho doesn't stand a chance after that. He falls into the most comfortable sleep of his life.
A couple hours later, when the sun hasn't peeked around the corner just yet, Suho wakes up to the sensation of hands on his face. He blinks open his eyes, finding Sieun's boring into his. Suho doesn't startle, doesn't move an inch, just waits.
"Does this not feel like a dream to you?" He says it as if all that knowledge before goes beyond their universe, as if he knows all of their stories outcomes, as if there was some way Suho wouldn't crawl back home to him.
"Someone's a secret romantic, huh?" He rubs away the tears that started to spring behind his eyelids. This is the happiest he's ever been, why does he feel like crying? He nods, gently brings their foreheads together. "Yeah, it does. Let's make the most of it, hm?"
"I like that idea," Sieun responds, the timbre of his voice holding a different note. Suho knows that sound. He's smiling. Suho sighs, smiles with him.
This is different than before. Suho had quit MMA fighting, had quit trying to build bonds, had quit his adolescent days. This isn't a resignation or passivity; this is hope and resistance. The fight in him is kicking back again, for all the more purer reasons.
Maybe Suho wasn't Sieun's guardian angel. Maybe Sieun was his.
//
When the sky turns a brighter blue, when Suho is blissfully unaware in the shower, getting ready for the school day like Sieun promised, Sieun makes a call, having been ready an hour ago.
The line rings for too long, Sieun is half convinced this is all for naught, no more closure, only long halls of borded up doors and thrown away keys.
A crackle, a shift. "Hello?"
The voice is wrecked, warped and barely recognizable, but Sieun knows, would know even without the contact information. "Beomseok."
Nine seconds. "Ah," he murmurs, "Sieun."
"I'm calling to say one thing." His hands tighten around his phone, in anger, in grief, Sieun's unsure. "Suho isn't invincible. Please stop this before you realize just how human he really is. I'm asking nicely." A sharp intake of breath that feels like being shot with electricity, feeling in his toes and fingers floating away. "Let's leave each other alone from now on."
The pause this time is longer, loaded like a gun. Sieun closes his eyes, waits for the bullet to pierce through a spot that'll hurt and bleed slow.
"Yeah," Beomseok says. Sieun swears he hears a faint sniffle. "Yeah, let's leave each other alone."
He hangs up right after, no gunshot, no blood, just an overwhelming ache that won't last forever. Sieun feels his injured arm sting a little. He stares down at his phone, now in his lap, for awhile until Suho taps his forehead, bringing his eyes back to their favorite sight.
"Ready to go?" His teeth blind him. Sieun doesn't mind, he needs more sunlight in his life anyway.
He hums. A beginning and an end. "Let's go."