Chapter Text
AGE 4
When Suho was four years old, he had the habit of collecting bugs in the wood behind his Halmeoni’s home. He’d bring them up to his room, and try to train them into being his pets.
He’d give each of them little names, and would get them to sit on his shoulder, or on the window pane. He’d learned how to train from peeking through his bedroom window, watching his neighbors with beady eyes. They had a big dog named Booger, and a little boy around his age would sit outside on the porch and say, ‘Booger, sit!’ over and over, and Booger would never sit.
Neither would any of Suho’s pets—not the stag beetles, nor the green caterpillars, or the pill bugs or the snails. But they’d slowly crawl across the ledge of his open window, and he’d watch them with vested interest, instead of playing with any of his other toys. A light summer breeze would blow at thin curtains, cooling his sweat-soaked hair, carrying the damp smell of the forest that surrounded their little mountain town, and he’d sit and watch them, enraptured.
None of the neighborhood kids wanted to be his friend, because he’d bring his bugs around everywhere.
One day, he tried to talk to the boy who owned Booger, and proudly declared he had a pet of his own. When the boy asked after it, leaning past the low cement partition to peek in with mild curiosity, Suho had presented his grasshopper. It went skipping out of his hand, and the boy went crying, and Booger, the big black dog, barked up a storm. Halmeoni pulled Suho aside that evening, and told him that not everyone liked bugs.
Suho couldn’t understand it.
So when Booger and his family moved away, and another family moved in, he’d shifted his attention from the green caterpillar crawling across his cracked window pane, to watch them move in with a curious tilt of his head. Then, eyes gleaming, he’d loudly cried, “Halmeoni!” and gone scrambling out of his room. “Halmeoni, there are new peoples!”
Halmeoni—with her slightly greying hair; a soft, sweet face with smile lines at the corners of her eyes; her kind smile, and her flowery vest—had followed him as he burst out of the door, waving at a small boy hidden behind an adult lady’s long, purple skirt. The boy had only shifted further out of sight, his trepidacious, cat-like eyes widening even further into big saucers that made Suho want to giggle.
But then, the adults took a look at the source of the noise, and had averted their gazes and hastened inside, pushing the boy in. Suho’s enthusiastic waving slowed to a stop, and the smile had dropped from his face. Halmeoni only sighed, and said, “Suho-ya, they’re just shy. Don’t think too much of it.” She’d patted his hair, and gently nudged him back inside.
Suho would watch, from then on, but the boy never came out of his house. Come rain, or sunny weather, murky wind or gentle breeze—or in Suho’s terms, pill bug day, or caterpillar day, or snail day, or beetle day—he’d never come out. Suho had felt curiosity tug at his bones. Curiosity that only grew, and grew, until—
One clammy afternoon, as he was trying to train his new pet snail, he saw the two adults leave the house. And he was hit by a sudden stroke of inspiration. Before he knew it, he was scrambling out of his room, haphazardly tugging his sandals on as Halmeoni had called out after him, “Suho-ya, where are you going—?” He’d paid her no mind, squatting by the low wall that separated their one-story houses to make sure the adults were gone, then had scaled the wall with quick movements and gone stumbling into the dry grass on the other side.
Then, grass sticking out of his messy hair, he’d hastened to go knock on the door.
And he’d waited.
When met without an answer, he’d knocked again, a little more insistently this time.
Then:
Softly, slowly, a meek voice had whispered: “Who’s it?”
Suho’s back straightened. A rush of excitement coursed through him, and he’d immediately stuck his ear to the coarse wood of the door, and loudly replied with, “Suho! Are you a person?”
“...I am.” His voice was muffled. Suho had to strain to hear it.
“Can’t hear! Speak louder!”
Suddenly, the door clicked open, and Suho nearly lost his balance.
As he straightened himself, he saw two beady, cat-like eyes peeking out through the gap in the door. “I am,” the floating eyes repeated, blinking.
“You’re what?”
An impatient sigh. “A person.”
“Oh!” Suho had grinned, pleased with his discovery. “You look like a cat.”
Floaty brows furrowed. “I’m not a—not a cat. And I’m not an alien.”
“What’s an alen?”
“Alien.”
“Alien. What’s that?”
“It’s—it’s someone like me.”
Suho had then nudged the door, and the boy’s eyes widened as he was pushed back. The door fell open, and Suho came face-to-face with the decidedly human boy, who was clutching tightly at his pants, gaze withdrawn.
“I’m Suho. Do you like bugs?”
“Um.”
Suho nodded, as if having gotten affirmation. “Do you want to come see my bugs?”
Sieun had only given him a blank, wide-eyed stare in response. But it was good enough for Suho, who scrambled back into his house to get his jar of bugs.
When he’d made it back outside, bug-jar in hand, Sieun was standing by the front-yard wall, his tip-toeing stance betraying his mild curiosity. He was short, though, so only his wide, saucery eyes were peering through. When Suho had climbed back over, dropped down, and presented his bug-jar, Sieun looked at in apprehension, and declared, “They’ll die.”
“Why?!” Suho cried.
“They need air to breathe. Like humans.”
“Oh!” Suho inspected the jar, mouth rounding. “That’s why…” He grabbed Sieun’s hand. “Hey! You’re a smarty. Want to catch bugs with me?”
Sieun blinked in return.
Suho had nodded, as if in understanding, then said, “Come, come,” and pulled Sieun along to the backwood.
And so began their little friendship.
Sieun poked holes in Suho’s bug-jar, and it became a thriving ecosystem of its own, when he’d stuffed damp moss and dry leaves into it. Suho would marvel at all the insects crawling inside, and Sieun would look at Suho, as if studying a unique specimen.
Sieun would also follow Suho out into the backwood, when his parents were out of the house. They’d explore the forest, looking around for bugs of all kind, hand-in-hand so as to not lose each other amidst the looming mountain trees.
But soon enough, Sieun’s parents caught on. When Sieun was kept at home as a result, Suho had lasted a week before he clutched onto his Halmeoni’s skirts and wailed and cried, until Halmeoni eventually sighed and said, “I’ll try.”
Suho didn’t want to lose his first friend. He was determined to keep him.
And so, Sieun’s parents visited with him in tow one day, upon Halmeoni’s request. She’d set out steaming herbal tea, and fresh biscuits, and had gently asked Suho to stay in his room while she talked to them.
He’d squatted at the hallway corner and listened in.
“Halmeonim, we’re grateful for your grandson’s interest in becoming friends, but—” The adult man—Sieun’s dad—paused, and sighed, before putting a hand on Sieun’s head. “He’s—he’s special.” he’d whispered, and the adult lady—Sieun’s mom—lowered her eyes. “He’s a little… he’s not like other kids.” Sieun had shuffled nervously, gaze listless. Suho had felt a little itchy tug at his heart, at the sight.
“I understand,” his Halmeoni said, in the softest tone, “but my Suho doesn’t think about all that. He’s kind. He really wants to be little Sieunie’s friend.”
“If that’s the case,” his mom had whispered, “then we would be grateful.”
“Of course. Suho-ya,” Halmeoni turned, and looked right at his peeking eye, and he’d gasped and hidden back around the corner. “Come here, little one.”
And then he’d swallowed and waddled over, looking at Sieun’s mom and dad all the while. When he was standing in front of them, he asked, “Is Sieun special?”
His mother blinked at him in surprise. “Ye—yes.”
He’d nodded seriously, and declared, “That’s cool.” He tugged at Sieun’s wrists. “Let’s play.”
Sieun came willingly.
His parents gaped at the sight.
And then, that’s when Sieun and Suho’s friendship truly began.
That summer, they upended every rock in the forest, collected so many bugs that Halmeoni admonished them and threw out half their stock, and Sieun would tell Suho all kinds of cool bug facts that he’d soak in with endless curiosity. And whenever Suho asked Sieun a question he didn’t have the answer to, his little face would collapse into a frown, and he’d come back the very next day with the information, and then Suho would ask another question, and Sieun would frown again, and…
Yes, Suho would think to himself, nodding thoughtfully, Sieun’s parents are right. He’s very special.
One day, Suho was in the midst of overturning rocks, looking for pill bugs. Sieun was squatting beside him, when he suddenly asked,
“Suho-ya, do you know what a marriage is?”
Suho blinked his eyes, looking back at Sieun, rock clutched in his hand. “No? What’s that?—Pill bug!” He grabbed it with pudgy hands, then turned to face Sieun, who held out the little glass jar in his hands.
Sieun said, “My parents, they have a marriage.”
Suho tilted his head, then nodded like he understood. Sieun hesitated, looking into the glass jar that had a myriad of pill bugs crawling inside it. Suho could tell he was sad, but couldn’t understand why. “I don’t have parents. Is it bad? To have a marr-age?”
Sieun shook his head. “Mom says it’s when two people really like each other. They have a marriage.”
Suho nodded seriously. “Okay. That’s nice.”
He went back to looking for pill bugs.
When Suho came back home that evening, glass jar stuffed full of pill bugs, sweaty and muddy and hand-in-hand with Sieun, Halmeoni turned around from stirring her anchovy broth at the kitchen stove, and startled when she saw the serious expression on his face.
Before she could say anything, however, Suho tightened his grip on Sieun’s little wrist, the other clutching even tighter at his glass jar, and declared, “Halmeoni, when I get big, I’m gonna have a marr-age with Sieun!”
Halmeoni had looked on in bafflement, only mildly repeating, “You’re going to marry Sieun?”
Suho had nodded determinedly, ignoring Sieun’s mild protest of, “Suho-ya,” as he half-heartedly tried to tug out of his grip.
He doubled down. “I’m gonna marry Sieun!”
Finally, Halmeoni’s face melted into a fond smile. “Okay. You do that.”
He’d broken out into a toothless grin in return, and pulled on Sieun’s wrist as he guided him to his room. Halmeoni watched their backs in amusement, Suho murmuring, “See! We’ll have—we’ll marry! Okay, Sieun-ah?”
She shook her head, and went back to stirring her broth.
One day, they were out in the forest again, and they’d gone farther than they ever had before. The terrain was vast, and entirely unknown to them, but they ploughed on, as determined as little four-and-a-half year old kids could be. They trudged across slightly damp mud, air infused with petrichor from the previous night’s rains, birds twittering in the trees that stood tall and mighty and green. The sun slivered through the thick forest cover, diffusing into a pleasant, distilled glow.
And Suho didn’t see the break in the ground, busy looking up at the light filtering through the trees in awe.
So he tumbled into a damp, rocky hollow, landing on his back with an ‘oomph’.
Sieun’s pudgy legs waddled after him, shoes sliding against loose rocks and mud. When he jumped into the pit in front of Suho, he stared down at him with slight concern. “Are you okay?”
Suho, sprawled on his bum, clutching at his bleeding knee and pouting up at a blank-faced Sieun, begged, “Sieun-ah, kiss.”
When met with the typical silence, “Halmeoni says that a kiss heals all boo-boos.”
“It’s called a wound.”
Suho angled his chubby cheek nonetheless, determined and forthcoming. “Kiss.”
Sieun hesitated for long enough that Suho began to scrunch his face into a near-theatrical imitation of a cry. Spurred by the onset of his outburst, Sieun finally moved, one hesitant, mud-covered shoe after the other, and then squatted next to Suho, and—
He planted a damp, wet smooch on Suho’s cheek.
Suho giggled as his heart responded with a happy little kong-dak, kong-dak, then promptly got up on his feet and dusted off the back of his shorts. He held a hand out to Sieun, who took it whilst blinking, skeptically asking, “Are you better?”
“Yeah, I’m healed! It’s went, see?”
The blood was dripping down his calf.
“...It’s still there.”
“No, it’s went!”
When Suho returned home, he tumbled inside with dirt and sweat clinging to his skin and clothes.
He saw Halmeoni sitting at her usual chair in the living room, and so he made a beeline towards her. She greeted him with light amusement in her eyes, pausing her quail egg peeling to give him her full attention. “Suho-ya, did you play well?”
“Yes!” he said, “Sieunie and I went to explore the forest!”
Halmeoni hummed, and handed him an egg. “Did you find bugs?”
“No!” he said, shoving it in his mouth and gleefully continuing as he chewed, “But I got a boo-boo when I fell into a biiiiig hole.”
Halmeoni’s eyes widened. “You fell? Are you alright? Do you—”
“Sieun kissed it better, Halmeoni! Like you do! And see?” He pointed to the gaping, bloody wound, and said with utter confidence, “It’s went now!”
“Ah,” Halmeoni’s face began to twitch into a hopeless smile. “I do see that it’s—gone.”
Suho nodded in agreement, and swiped another egg for good measure, before taking off.
“Suho-ya, wash your feet and hands! And get the first-aid box!”
And so began their little ritual—
The ritual that was unknowingly set into motion when they were dirt-gathering, bug-collecting little kids, when Suho had stumbled into that hollow in a light-dusted grove. A ritual that stayed with them over the years, through all their highs and lows, through thick and thin; a precious, intimate little thing that’s theirs, and theirs alone.
The one that started with,
“Sieun-ah, kiss.”