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Despite how it’s probably coming across, Sieun isn’t avoiding Suho on purpose. Not permanently, anyway. He’s under no illusion that he can keep his injuries hidden forever, partially because Suho is far too stubborn to let that happen and partially because Sieun knows that he gives in far too quickly when it comes to his best friend.
No, he’s just hiding away for a couple of days until the concussion passes and he can properly monitor his thoughts and actions before he gets within touching distance of Suho.
Suho, of course, doesn’t stick to his preferred timeline. Sieun knew he wouldn’t. As soon as he was in that ambulance, he knew Suho would track him down within two days.
The ringing of the doorbell comes just as predicted. Perfectly calculated.
Sieun’s unaccustomed to the nerves that rise as he slips on a black hoodie to hide his cast and moves to open the door, Suho obviously not satisfied with a quick chat through the door.
He realises that he may still be a bit concussed when he fails to say anything upon the open door revealing Suho’s face. Wow , he’s missed his stupid face. Over just a couple of days - Sieun’s gone longer without seeing a single other person with no problem.
He can’t meet Suho’s eyes as he lies through a reason he’s at Sieun’s front door. He clocks the moment he notices the cast, the attempt to move it behind his back futile.
“Are you okay?” Suho asks, sounding a bit more serious.
Sieun intends to say yes; he really does. The last thing he needs is Suho getting upset and doing something stupid. He intends to, but then, humiliatingly, tears prick at his eyes.
He doesn’t cry. Sieun hasn’t cried over anything those bastards have done to him, has never cried over his parents or over being generally disliked by others. It must be the remnants of the concussion mixing with his Suho withdrawals, ruining his usually impeccable emotional inhibitory control.
Suho steps forward before Sieun even realises it, pressing himself through the door. Sieun stays stock still, which results in him pressed awkwardly against the wall in a move reminiscent of the first time Suho was ever in his apartment. Sieun didn’t realise how much his heart ached being alone again until Suho pressed up into his space, warm and dependable.
“Sieun-ah?” Suho asks, sounding concerned. “Hey, what’s going on?”
He moves to step back, and Sieun’s hand is shooting out to grasp his uniform shirt before he even processes it.
Suho stops moving and glances down at Sieun’s hand, which, embarrassingly, is trembling.
“Don’t go,” Sieun says, voice wavering a tiny bit.
He doesn’t leave, but he also doesn’t get any closer. “You can get hurt for me, but I can’t give them what they deserve?” Suho asks.
Sieun would prefer that Suho was never anywhere near danger, but he’s also certain that Suho doesn’t want to hear that. Instead, he taps into some raw honesty. “I don’t want to be alone,” he admits.
It’s ironic, really. Sieun has always preferred his own company, has never gone out of his way to spend time with others. He can go days without speaking a single word. But now, suddenly, the thought of Suho leaving him alone in the soulless apartment feels like someone is squeezing his heart in their fist.
“Stay,” he asks.
Sieun’s having trouble meeting his best friend’s gaze, which is why he jumps slightly when Suho steps back forward into his space, pressing him thoroughly against the wall. A hand gently pulls up his right sleeve, exposing the hard cast. The action brings them almost chest-to-chest, to the point where Sieun feels more than hears the harsh suck in of Suho’s breath.
He’s not thinking, the warmth of Suho in front of him turning off all cognitive ability. Sieun lets his head fall into his friend’s chest, resting over his collarbone.
One of Suho’s hands catches Sieun’s waist, seemingly unconsciously. He clicks his tongue. “Gosh, you really don’t want to be alone, huh?”
Sieun just hums, content with the warmth of his friend's body. He should feel trapped pressed between a wall and a taller man but instead he just feels… safe. Secure. He feels himself settling almost immediately, the wave of cloudiness dissipating.
“Does it hurt?” Suho asks into his hair.
He shakes his head against his best friend’s chest. “No,” he says truthfully. A pause. “The hospital gave me some pain meds,” he adds.
“Ah, no wonder you’re a bit out of it,” Suho says. “Are you high right now?”
Sieun shakes his head in honest disagreement. “I took them ages ago,” he says. He’s not sure why it’s so important that Suho realises he’s fully aware. It shouldn’t matter, but the thought of Suho thinking he’s only being affectionate because he’s high on medication just doesn’t sit right. “I… I’m just tired,” he says. He knows Suho knows he doesn’t mean from lack of sleep, but more the bone-deep weariness that comes from being constantly on edge.
One of Suho’s hands hesitantly comes up to Sieun’s head and starts sliding through his hair, soft pats evolving into gentle scratches against his scalp. It’s something they’ve never done before, that no one has ever done to him, and Sieun melts .
“Ah, cute.” It’s so quiet that Sieun is sure he wasn’t supposed to hear it, but he can’t help the way his lips tug into a smile where they’re still hidden in Suho’s collarbone.
Words feel stuck in Sieun’s throat, but he’s got an uncharacteristic need to let Suho know just how much he means to him. It’s frustrating, sometimes, how his voice just doesn’t cooperate and he can feel that frustration begin to rise, ruining his serenity.
So, Sieun does what he’s learnt to do best since becoming friends with Suho. He uses action. He brings his head up from his chest and rises a little onto his toes to press a kiss to Suho’s cheek, just close enough to his lips that he feels like he’s expressing his confusing web of feelings but with just enough space for plausible deniability.
Not that Sieun thinks he needs it. They’re Suho-and-Sieun. Their whole friendship is built on the abnormal.
Sieun lets the kiss linger for just a beat longer than a peck before pulling away and flattening his heels on the ground, suddenly unsure of where to look. His eyes dart around a little, unable to settle.
Suho makes a little noise. It’s hard to interpret, but he’s fairly sure it wasn’t any kind of disgust.
Sieun’s just about decided that burying his face in his friend’s shirt again is a good plan of action before three fingers tilt his chin up slightly, just enough that he’s looking up at Suho’s face and his breath catches in his throat. He swallows and is hyper-aware of how his friend’s eyes track the movement.
“You’re not high?” Suho asks.
He shakes his head.
“Concussed?”
Well…
“Only a little bit,” Sieun admits. “It’s mostly better.”
Suho hums lightly. Sieun doesn’t say anything else, but something must shine through his gaze because suddenly Suho’s crowding him just that little bit more into the wall, one hand raising to cup his cheek and another resting on his hip, and he ducks his head ever so slightly to allow their lips to meet.
It’s soft and gentle, but they’re kissing, moving against each other as if they’ve been doing it all their lives, and all Sieun can think is finally . It feels so right.
Two of Suho’s fingers slip under the hem of his t-shirt, resting gently on bare skin, and the sheer intimacy of being so surrounded by Suho makes Sieun let out a content sigh against his best friend’s lips.
Suho’s skin is warm where it touches his, the just-barely-there brush of stubble feeling invigorating against his own face. He’s still being pressed into the wall, and the realisation sends a shiver down his body, something settling in his stomach.
He tries to do something useful with his good hand, but it’s like it’s frozen gripping Suho’s shirt.
Suho nips his bottom lip, just lightly, but the unexpected soft sting makes him gasp slightly, and Suho takes the opportunity immediately. His tongue is even warmer, wet but in just the right way. The sweet taste of whatever Suho last ate invades his mouth.
Sieun has never felt like this before, has never cared to feel like this before. There’s a cloudiness spreading through his head again, but this time it’s good . It’s getting lost in the press of his friend’s tongue into his mouth, the burning brand of his fingers touching his bare waist. Suho’s hand moves from his cheek to his hair, and Sieun squeaks out an embarrassing noise at the feeling.
They part soon after, a thin string of saliva keeping them connected for a moment longer before snapping. Suho’s lips are red and slick, and there’s a look in his eyes that Sieun doesn’t think he’ll ever get enough of.
Sieun tilts his chin up slightly, asking without asking, and then Suho is back on him, their lips moving against each other at a slightly more desperate pace.
They separate faster this time, and Sieun is about to demand more when his head is nudged to the side and there’s a warm wetness across his neck, teeth scraping slightly, and Sieun doesn’t mean to essentially melt against Suho, but that’s what happens. It’s a sensation he’s never experienced, never imagined experiencing. It sends shivers down his spine and static to his stomach and he can’t get enough. The nibbles get a bit harder, and one particular nip to the junction of his jaw and neck makes Sieun’s breath catch.
“Ah, you’re going to leave marks,” he breathes out when the initial wave of enjoyment calms.
Suho withdraws lightning fast, mouth opening to apologise, and no, that just won’t do.
Without thinking too hard about it, as per the course of the evening, Sieun grasps Suho’s hair and pulls his face back down to his neck.
“I like it,” he admits. “Do it.”
Suho noses against his pulse point and speaks directly into his skin. “You want me to leave marks?”
The words make Sieun a little embarrassed, but they’ve come too far for him to let that make him back out now. He isn’t sure where the desire is coming from, if he has a thing for being bitten or if he just has a thing for Suho , but he wants it so bad he almost feels dizzy. He nods wordlessly.
Suho huffs out a laugh, and the air makes Sieun shift a little, ticklish.
“What are we doing, Sieun-ah?” Suho asks.
Sieun flounders, a little. “I just - I like you,” he says, words feeling misshapen and clunky in his mouth. “I want -” his voice catches. “I want you. I want you to stay.” It might be one of the most heartfelt things he’s ever said.
He feels Suho smile into his neck. “I like you too, Sieun-ah. So much.” He doesn’t even have time to properly digest that sentence because then Suho is back to nipping at his neck, a little harder this time, and Sieun squeezes his hair hard without even realising, drawing a small noise from his friend.
Suho leaves a purposeful trail of bruises down from his ear, around the front of his throat, and then down to the skin that peeks out from his t-shirt collar. Sieun can feel how they’ll bruise, the skin already tender and a tad swollen. It hurts in the best way possible, a low thrumming ache. Suho licks over one particularly deep bruise where his neck meets his shoulder, and he sighs into the soothing motion. He’s hard, and he can feel that Suho is too, but it’s not really of concern. He can feel the more general, unwanted pain beginning to seep back into his body, and he knows without even asking that Suho is not going any further while he’s still injured.
In line with that thought, Suho licks over a mark one last time before drawing back up, pressing a sweet kiss to Sieun’s lips before squishing his face between his hands. “Ah, my Sieun is so cute.”
Something swoops low in Sieun’s stomach at being called ‘my Sieun’.
“Not that I don’t like this,” Suho continues, “but I need to see how badly you’re hurt.”
Sieun stays silent, not really wanting to show him the full scale of the damage.
“For me?” Suho asks. He looks Sieun dead in the eyes and one look at his saliva-wet, slightly swollen lips is all it takes for Sieun to nod before he even registers he’s done it. He’s not really sure what the agreement even entails, but then Suho is taking his wrist, and Sieun elects to let Suho do whatever he wants.
What he wants, apparently, translates to sitting Sieun down on the closed toilet seat and filling up a bath. Sieun tilts his head, confused, as Suho pours in some bubbles.
“Your muscles must hurt,” Suho says simply.
He’s not wrong. Sieun’s dick has well and truly settled back down, the pain from the beating kicking back in. His muscles do feel incredibly sore and suddenly it’s like he’s been hit by a truck as all the pain seeps back into his body.
Suho presses a kiss to his forehead before darting away and reappearing with two pills, a glass of water, and a bundle of clothes.
Sieun recognises them as his painkillers immediately and feels a sense of warmth course through him that Suho knows exactly what he needs and where to look.
When Sieun strips naked and lowers his bruised body into the warm water, it’s not sexual. Suho settles himself on his knees at the side of the bath, an arm wrapped around his shoulders to help him settle without getting his cast wet. Neither of them are hard anymore, but Sieun feels no less dazed from the sheer softness of his touch, his skin overly used to pain and beatings.
He can scrub himself pretty well, but Suho bats his hand away when he reaches for the shampoo, instead taking over to card his fingers through Sieun’s hair. Somehow, it feels more intimate than when they were kissing, and Sieun doesn’t know what to do with it other than close his eyes and let the feeling wash over him. Suho rinses the shampoo out with the utmost care, water just the right temperature. Then he moves to his neck, gently rubbing soap into the skin, taking care not to press too hard.
They still ache, the painkillers not yet fully working. Sieun doesn’t care. He wanted the bruises; he asked for them. They’re his .
Suho presses a small kiss to the junction of his neck and shoulder, right where one of the deepest bites is. Sieun shudders and unconsciously tilts his head to the side to allow access.
“How are you feeling?” Suho asks.
Sieun lets his head fall back. “Good,” he says, a tad breathless. “Comfortable.”
Suho pets his hair. “I know, jagiya,” he says. “But we need to get you fed.”
Jagiya . He likes that. Sieun hopes that the warmth of the room disguises his pink cheeks.
Getting out of the bath is a bit more of a debacle than getting in, but Sieun manages to dry and dress himself with minimal support. The hoodie that Suho helps him pull on is a few sizes too big, and his face flushes even more when he realises it’s one of Suho’s that he left and Sieun co-opted. He must have taken it from his bed. He can’t be too embarrassed, though, because he immediately feels safe surrounded by the soft fabric.
Suho steers them both to the kitchen, where Sieun is directed to a chair, and Suho begins cooking from the limited ingredients in his kitchen. It’s probably the best place for someone who was recently beaten until they were hospitalised, but Sieun suddenly feels a million miles away and a bit lost. He doesn’t like the feeling.
Instead, he gets up and attaches himself to Suho’s back, arms wrapped around his waist and face mashed into his shoulder blade, narrowly missing being able to hook his chin over his shoulder. He must be in the way, but Suho doesn’t say anything, instead stroking patterns into the skin of Sieun’s hands when he has a hand free. He only separates when Suho serves them a serving each of ramen that they then both inhale pretty much immediately.
It’s not particularly late, but Sieun feels so worn out. Suho notices, because of course he does, and as soon as they both finish their food, Sieun is being steered into his bedroom and pushed into bed, light turned off and just a flash of sunlight from between the slightly open curtains illuminating the room.
Suho hovers a little like he’s suddenly not sure what he’s allowed to do. Impatient, Sieun tugs at his wrist until they’re both lying on their sides, their faces a hair’s width apart.
“Thank you,” Sieun says. He clears his throat. “For staying.”
A warm hand settles on his cheek, thumb moving in small, comforting circles. “I’d do anything for you,” Suho says.
It’s heartfelt and should be a lovely thing to hear, but Sieun hears the undercurrent. “I don’t want you to,” he says.
Suho frowns. “You did.”
He knew this would be a point of contention, their individual urges to protect the other clashing.
“You were in no state to fight them,” Sieun says. “Your leg…” He sighs. “You never told me what happened.”
He knows they’re at an impasse.
Suho sighs. “Let’s not do this anymore.” Siuen has a moment for anxiety to flash through his body at what ‘this’ could mean before Suho hums and continues. “Let’s stop fighting alone.”
As much as Sieun wants to disagree, wants to keep Suho safe from any harm, he knows it’s not realistic. But if he can be there… then that’s better. That’s a compromise.
He nods into the pillow. “Okay,” he says, voice low. “Together.”
Suho cracks a smile, and it transforms his already handsome face into something gorgeous. The smile turns into something teasing, and Sieun knows he’s been caught staring, but he can’t move his gaze. Besides, they just had each other’s tongues in their mouths, a little staring is nothing.
“You should kiss me again,” Sieun says, voice low, “before I get too tired.”
“Maybe you should kiss me ,” Suho replies.
He’s teasing, and Sieun knows that one of his deadpan stares would be enough to get him to break, but suddenly he realises that he’s yet to initiate one of their proper kisses, and the urge is suddenly overwhelming. He wants Suho to feel the way he did.
“Okay,” he whispers, and then he’s leaning in and capturing Suho’s lips with his own, teeth gently pressing on the lower lip to get them to open. It’s just as perfect as it was the first time, just as warm and perfectly wet and easy to get lost in. He lets his hands thread in Suho’s hair, memories of the choked-off noise he made earlier still present, and tugs lightly, hoping to replicate it. The scientific method.
Suho, predictably, makes another addictive sound, and then he’s pushing Sieun onto his back and reattaching to his neck, seemingly as obsessed with biting Sieun as Sieun is with being bitten. The bites are gentler this time, more light nips and hard presses of tongue, but they’re perfect over the already sore skin.
They part eventually, a natural end to the kissing as Sieun’s body becomes heavy with the impact of painkillers.
Suho lightly touches each bruise with a featherlight touch. “There’s no way your uniform will cover these,” he says, sounding only a little bit apologetic.
Sieun doesn’t care; he didn’t care from the very start when he pulled Suho’s face into his neck and told him to bite. He remembers how much he hated walking around with Youngbin’s fingerprints on his neck, how his pen hand itched every time someone looked. This doesn’t feel like that. Sieun knows he’ll wear these marks with pride. He’ll show up to finals with a mauled neck, and anyone with an ounce of sense will know exactly who put them there, and anyone with an ounce of sense will also know not to test them on it.
“I can cover them,” he says, part of him too embarrassed by that train of thought to voice it. “Youngyi left some of her makeup here; it’s just colour theory.”
Suho’s face creases, almost imperceptible but enough for Sieun to realise with growing glee that Suho doesn’t want them covered either.
“Unless you’d prefer I didn’t,” Sieun adds casually.
His best friend flushes red and punches him in the shoulder, so lightly it can barely be considered a punch. Sieun gets the feeling he’s going to be treated like he’s fragile for a while, but at least Suho is at least pretending to keep things normal. So, he’ll allow it.
His eyes are starting to close, tiredness catching up, but Sieun can’t sleep. Not just yet.
“Suho,” he says.
Suho hums, catching his eye contact.
Sieun reaches out and grabs his hand, squeezing it. “Please don’t leave.”
Suho squeezes back. “Together, right?” He grins. “Besides, you need someone to make sure you wake up in time for finals.”
Sieun rolls his eyes, but the tension he didn’t even realise was building drains. He knows Suho’s serious.
There’s no getting out of the confrontation, he knows that. He knows they might not get out unscathed. But they’ll do it together, and Sieun falls asleep comfortable in that assertion, Suho’s arm slung over his stomach and drawing little patterns into his skin.
Yeah, it’ll all be okay.