Chapter Text
Suho gets woken up by a hand shaking his shoulder.
It takes a few moments for him to get his bearings, his clothes sticking against his skin as he shifts on the couch. There’s a body hunched over him, a hand still resting on his arm. The air is thick and humid in that way it gets at night during the summer and it’s clear Suho hadn’t meant to fall asleep or else he would’ve turned on the fan first.
Suho’s eyes slide up the body of the person standing over him all the way to his predictably neutral face. He can barely follow the lines of Sieun’s face in the darkness, but he notes a slight downturned curve to his brows. He’s backlit by the window behind him where a few streetlights are still lit and the moon is shining above. His silhouette is glowing in that way, outlined by the light.
Suho must have been sleeping for a while because it takes a moment before his initially hazy vision sharpens at once, as simple as adjusting the blur on a camera lens. Gazing up at Sieun’s tired face, Suho feels oddly compelled to reach out and trace his features.
“You shouldn't fall asleep on the couch,” says Sieun softly as Suho shifts and stretches. “It’s bad for your back.”
The sound of his voice in the stillness of night is so heavy Suho can almost see it, vibrations causing ripples in the air, and it’s as though all sounds come back to him at the same time, because then he can also hear the humming of the fridge in the kitchen behind him and the wheels of a car skidding around the corner outside, noise dampened by the windowpanes.
Sieun’s crisp dress pants stretch across his thighs as he crouches down next to Suho. He’s already taken off his suit jacket and loosened his tie. Suho eyes his forearms, exposed below his rolled up sleeves. Even though it’s clear the day has taken its toll on him, he looks good. He always does.
“You’re here,” says Suho, and he reaches out for Sieun’s face like he’d wanted, resting his hand on his cheek. It’s warm to the touch. “You’re sweaty.”
“I walked from the office,” says Sieun, softly taking Suho’s hand and removing it from his face. Suho still feels the traces of his touch on his palm, even after he lets go.
“What time is it?”
“Almost midnight.”
“Wait,” Suho scrambles into a sitting position. Startled, Sieun gets up and takes a step back. “Did you eat?”
“Yes, but…” As if he knew, Sieun looks behind the couch and into the kitchen at the mess Suho’s left behind—a dirty pot on the stovetop, a cutting board with some vegetables still on it, and a pile of dishes in the sink. “It was hours ago. I can eat again.”
“You don't have to if you’ve already eaten,” says Suho reluctantly. He doesn’t want Sieun to feel guilty about working late while Suho is home. Other days, Suho is the one working late at the restaurant. That’s just how it goes.
“I want to,” says Sieun.
He steps in between Suho’s spread legs and tentatively reaches for his shoulders. Even after all these years, Sieun hesitates to initiate skinship, as though no touch is meaningless, as though every touch means everything to him, every thought and feeling embedded into it. Suho will always take everything he gives him greedily.
“What did you make?” Sieun asks.
“Nothing special. Made do with what was left in the fridge.” Suho doesn’t hesitate the way Sieun does. He casually holds onto Sieun by the hips and looks up at him. “I’ll go to the supermarket tomorrow.”
Suho notices the way Sieun’s eyebrows twitch.
“I’m sorry it’s so late. They moved the deadline…”
“Don’t worry about it,” Suho brushes him off easily, offering one of his characteristic smiles. He gently pushes Sieun away and gets to his feet. “You should sit, I’ll go heat up your plate.”
He’s already taken one or two steps when Sieun grabs his arm.
“You shouldn’t have waited for me.”
When Suho looks back, Sieun’s eyes, glistening in the moonlight, are already looking at him. As he’s done again and again over the years, Suho feels the full weight of his feelings pressing down on his heart at the sight of those watery eyes. He remembers how it all happened; he recalls the first time he’d acted on his desires, the first time he’d attempted to give shape to his feelings and declare them out loud, the first time he’d caved and pressed soft kisses to Sieun’s eyes. If his life wasn’t already so intertwined with Sieun’s, if he hadn’t already given him all he had, Suho would give himself away all over again.
“I already ate, don’t worry,” says Suho, but then, as if right on cue, his stomach growls. “I swear I did. A few hours ago…”
Sieun lets out a big sigh and looks down, dejected. “I’m sorry…”
“Stop apologizing,” says Suho, pushing Sieun to sit down on the couch. Sieun doesn’t let go of his arm. “I’m not mad at you.”
He pulls Suho closer, to the point where Suho’s got one leg on the couch beside him and is almost straddling Sieun’s lap. Suho’s hunched over him, stares into Sieun’s face looking up at him.
“I like that you’re hardworking…” Suho takes his hand. “Your boss doesn’t deserve you, but…”
“You’re even more hardworking than I am.”
They stare at each other for a moment, and there come those eyes again. Sieun’s expression is still, but Suho sees so much on his face. There’s so much they don’t say.
“Yeah?” Overwhelmed by his desire to get closer to Sieun, Suho leans down a bit more.
“You shouldn’t fall asleep on the couch to wait for me.”
“Who said I was waiting for you? I like our couch.” Suho finally leans in, kissing Sieun softly. “I like our kitchen... I like our bed...”
I like our home.
Sieun reaches for Suho’s neck, bringing him even closer, and rejoins their lips. It feels like days since they’ve had a moment to themselves like this, so Suho tries to pour all these emotions into his actions, moves slowly against Sieun, rests a hand on his waist.
When they break apart for a moment, their lips a hair’s breadth apart, Suho can’t hide his smile.
“So, we’ve already eaten… Maybe the food can wait—”
Suddenly, the jarring sound of a car alarm goes off somewhere outside. Suho and Sieun jump.
“Fuck, whose car is going off at this hour…” Suho breathes out, resting his forehead against Sieun’s.
“It’s okay,” says Sieun, looking away from Suho. He hesitates, allowing the silence to stretch between them for a moment before adding: “I’m really tired.”
“I am, too!” says Suho, immediately understanding Sieun’s rejection. He stands back up to give him space, though Sieun doesn’t fully let him go and holds onto his hand. They’ve been together for years, but Suho still feels a bit flustered when Sieun turns him down.
“We don’t have to do anything tonight. I just want to stay with you. I just want to…” Suho trails off, ends his sentence in a shrug. There are things even he struggles to say aloud. I just want to hold you. I just want to know you’re okay. I’m happy we’re both safe. It feels embarrassing just thinking these things, nevermind saying them aloud. He feels shy under Sieun’s perceptive gaze.
“It’s late,” Suho says, giving up the idea of properly discussing the previous topic. “I’ll clean the kitchen while you go get ready for bed, and then we can just lay down and…”
“No,” says Sieun, shaking his head. “I’ll clean. You did all the cooking, and I was late—”
“Let’s both clean, then,” says Suho with a warm smile. He knows better than to try and argue against Sieun’s guilty conscience. “It’ll go faster if we do it together.”
Sieun seems to hesitate before nodding.
Suho goes straight to the sink to take care of the dishes. He hasn’t even started yet when he hears the sound of the fridge door swinging open and then—nothing. Confused by the silence, Suho turns around.
Sieun is standing still, looking into the fridge. Right away, Suho recognizes that he’s looking at the plate Suho put away for him, covered by some plastic wrap. It looks like he noticed that Suho plated the food the way he knows Sieun likes, in little piles neatly separated. Sieun doesn’t look back at him, but Suho can see he’s not indifferent because he’s still holding the fridge door open and he hasn’t moved.
“You can have it for lunch tomorrow,” says Suho.
His words seem to have kickstarted Sieun back into movement; he leans down to put away the spare vegetables Suho had left out on the cutting board into the drawer at the bottom of the fridge. Sieun doesn’t look back at him, and Suho can’t figure out why. He wonders sometimes if Sieun feels undeserving of his kindness. Does he feel guilty somehow? If only Sieun could see that Suho is only trying to reciprocate. He strives to see Sieun the way he has always seen Suho. Sieun has always been so good to Suho.
“Thank you,” Sieun finally says simply, still facing away, though his soft voice betrays his true feelings. Suho can tell he’s genuinely thankful.
They work on cleaning up the kitchen in a comfortable and familiar sort of silence. Sieun washes the dishes while Suho dries them and puts them away and thus they fall into a rhythm.
Eventually, Suho’s eyes catch onto Sieun’s lethargic movements, notice how his eyes shut and a plate almost slips out of his hands before he reopens them and jerks awake.
Suho puts down the dish towel and moves behind Sieun, takes the plate from him and sets it down on the counter. “Let me finish,” he says softly.
“No, I’m fine,” says Sieun, reaching for the plate.
Suho stops him with a gentle hand.
“We already put away the important stuff,” Suho says, thinking of the ingredients he had left out on the counter. “Let’s finish the dishes tomorrow.”
Sieun looks like he wants to disagree, but doesn’t have the energy to do so. He lets Suho guide him to their bedroom and sits on the bed.
“You’re lucky it’s Friday,” says Suho as he rummages around drawers for pajamas. “You can sleep in tomorrow.”
Sieun hums in agreement. “We can both sleep in.”
“Well, kind of.” Suho turns around, clothes in hand. “I still have to open the restaurant at eleven.”
Suho steps in between Sieun’s legs and reaches for his tie, undoing it. He begins undressing Sieun, first unbuttoning his shirt and then unbuckling his belt. Sieun lets him, his wet eyes slowly blinking and tracking Suho’s movements.
“You could ask Yechan to handle the restaurant tomorrow,” says Sieun in a deep drawl. Suho glances at him quickly before returning to his task of undressing him.
“I can’t. I gave Haneul the week off to take care of her aunt. I don’t have enough people working tomorrow.”
Sieun sighs as though accepting defeat.
“Raise your arms,” says Suho. Sieun obeys, and Suho pulls a shirt down over his head. “I might be able to take Sunday off, though.”
“No, I just…” Sieun sighs again. “I don’t want to make you. You need to take care of the restaurant. It’s important.”
Now done dressing Sieun, Suho starts taking his own clothes off with much more efficiency.
“You’re obviously more important,” he says, voice muffled by his shirt as he puts it on. “But, yeah. Maybe it’s better I take next weekend off instead? We would have time to plan something instead of lazing around all day.”
Sieun groans and falls back onto the bed. An amused smirk tugs at Suho’s lips as he watches him, cozy in his pajamas. His shirt has ridden up a little and Suho feels a spark of something at the sight of his bare stomach. Just as Suho thinks that he never tires of watching him, Sieun rolls over onto his front.
“I can’t imagine doing anything right now besides sleeping,” Sieun mumbles from where his face is smushed against their sheets. He looks about two seconds away from falling asleep.
“You gonna brush your teeth?” Suho asks, still smiling.
“Teeth… Right.”
Sieun rises off the bed sluggishly and they both go to the bathroom to brush their teeth. When they’re both there, standing side to side facing the mirror, toothbrush in hand, Suho feels sort of touched. In moments like these he realizes how easily they’ve adapted to life as a couple living together. It’s been around two years already and yet Suho still marvels over it. He stares at Sieun’s sleepy face, toothpaste dribbling down his chin, and he feels so lucky.
A moment later, they’re laying under the covers in bed, the lights turned off. In complete darkness, there is nothing to see. Humidity hovers in the air above them, sticking to the comforter and making it feel a bit too hot, but Suho refuses to move away from Sieun and makes a point of sliding up next to him so their sides are touching.
“Sieun-ah.” Suho’s voice is nothing but a faint whisper in the air, as though he worries about disturbing Sieun. But he receives a hum in response and so he trudges on, fatigue making it harder to think, and says: “Do you think I’ll get out of here one day?”
The silence feels heavy, weighing down on their still bodies, heavier for the lack of light. There’s nothing to see and nothing to hear, only the warmth of Sieun’s body against his as he waits.
“Maybe,” Sieun finally says. It’s not a yes but it’s not a no and Suho feels it must be Sieun’s truest opinion because of it. He is neither lying to make him feel better nor declaring there is no hope. “There wasn’t anything new last time I checked. You’re still sleeping.”
Suho seems to consider that for a moment as he nuzzles into Sieun’s neck, getting comfortable. He pictures his real self, younger and probably scrawnier than he’s ever been, laid in a hospital bed to rest like a corpse waiting for his coffin to descend into the ground. It’s a disturbing image he can’t seem to shake off.
“Maybe it’s been too long,” he mumbles. “I’ve been sleeping too long. Even if I wake up, I won’t be the same.”
“You won’t be the same,” Sieun agrees, “but you’ll be alive. You’ll need some help to get healthy again. It’s not so bad.”
“What are you going to do when I wake up?” Suho throws an arm and a leg over Sieun, holding him like he’s worried he’ll suddenly vanish.
He decides he doesn’t want to imagine a world where he doesn’t wake up. Not right now. He’d rather live in fantasy.
“I’ll run to you,” Sieun says, and Suho hears how the volume of his voice is dwindling more and more, sleep slowly taking him. “I’ll help you stand up and learn how to walk again.”
It’s not really the kind of fantasy that Suho was hoping for, but it’s sweet, he guesses.
“When I wake up,” Suho starts, his voice shaking a tinge from emotion building in his throat, “I hope I get to hold you like this.”
It feels good to be honest without letting embarrassment filter his words.
“You will,” Sieun states simply, twisting to rest a warm hand on one of Suho’s shoulder blades.
They have a mutual understanding to both embrace the situation they’ve been provided with. Tomorrow, they’ll inevitably go back to pretending Suho never fell into a coma and that this world where they’re both healthy and safe is the real one. It’ll be like it never happened—until the next time Suho breaks the illusion by bringing it up.
Suho listens to Sieun’s breathing slowing down and smells the lingering hints of cologne on his skin. It’s all so familiar. He never wants to let go of this routine. Either waking up or dying is inevitable, but both seem scary in their own way. Can things not remain the same forever?
Suho falls asleep thinking of how, in spite of it all, Sieun makes him so happy.
ᯓ★
He first wakes up to the harsh sound of a clipboard falling to the ground. He senses a shadow hurry to his side, hears the rustle of their clothes as they get closer. Voices are muffled, as though he was hearing them while sinking underwater.
He attempts to open his eyes but the light is blindingly white, nothing like the quiet darkness in his and Sieun’s bedroom. Then, he feels it: a hand on his shoulder, pressing lightly.
“Looks like he’s really awake this time,” says someone nearby. Suho feels another hand holding his. “Mr. Ahn? Can you squeeze my hand?”
The world is fading in and out. Head rolled to the left, the only thing Suho sees before he loses consciousness again is a bedside table where sit a small flower vase, holding a handful of yellow roses, and a framed picture of himself and his halmeoni.
He was only awake for a few seconds, but it’s enough: Suho slipped out of his coma dream and is back in reality.