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Yeon Sieun doesn’t talk. Not often. Not much. Not when it’s irrelevant. When it doesn’t count.
Not at all, really. Not at school. Not in class. The teachers seem to have accepted it. Don't care. Don't bother. Call him toward the blackboard and let him do his genius-thing. Let him sit back down in silence. Stare at his little notebook.
Sometimes, Suho thinks, they'd even allow Sieun to wear his precious earphones if he asked. But then he'd have to talk, so that cancels it out. Probably.
Suho doesn't mean to get close to Sieun. Not at first. Not at all. Not to anyone, really. Perfect attendance and too many nightshifts and really, what's there to be friendly with his classmates? People he'll never see again after the designated three years? Not like he's gonna go to university. Not like he'd see a former classmate and go, oh, why hello, yes, how have you been?
No. That's not his style. Would rather blend into the crowd when no one purposefully pushes him into the limelight; head in soft cotton and arm pleasingly numb under his head.
Detached. Excluded by his own volition.
But the silent boy in the gray hoodie.
Well.
Suho's not interested.
Yet.
He doesn't mean to slight the baseball captain. Didn't know that girl had a boyfriend. Doesn't even remember her name, how she looks, the smell of her perfume; a blurry mess where there should have been a face.
When he kicks Sieun's pencil case down, there's nothing. A blank void. A darkness threatening to swallow him whole. Suho, crouched down, one fingertip touching the fallen pencil case. Frozen. He stares. Sieun stares back. It might be his imagination, but it almost—it almost looks like Sieun's lips moved. Slightly. Barely. Not even really there, just—Suho chalks it up to sleep deprivation.
Puts the pencil case back on his desk. Sieun's gaze following the movements of his hands. Carefully. Pointed.
Sieun raises a single eyebrow. Like he's dismissing Suho.
That should have made him angry.
It doesn't.
Seems like fate, almost. Something halmeoni would say.
“Water,” Suho croaks, a tad too dramatic. Sieun stares. Of course he does. With those dead, dead eyes. That missing glint in blasé pupils. Does turn around, though, eventually, when Suho's sitting down in the entryway and is very obviously not gonna budge. Hands him a glass—Suho refuses it, grabs for the entire bottle instead. Their fingers touch. Accidentally. Not on purpose. Sieun's hand retracts as soon as Suho's are curled around the bottle.
He gulps it down. Is aware of Sieun's gaze on him the entire time. He groans exaggeratedly after the last sip. Looks at Sieun.
Who stares, stares, stares. Says nothing, nothing, nothing.
Suho wants to crack him. Put him under a microscope. Push a spoon into his mouth and press it down on his tongue like a dentist to see if he'd at least say aaaah.
He doesn't. Wants to, but doesn't; halmeoni raised him better. Don't get involved in other people's business. Keep out of trouble.
Always, always attend school, even if you don't pay attention. Even if you don't care. Even if you couldn't be bothered.
The three golden rules.
Suho doesn't dare break them.
Yet.
Sieun's feisty. Like a cornered animal finally going ballistic. Scratching, biting, showing his claws and canines—no noises, though. Not a single one. Just shows. Shows them all, by not saying anything; not when he smashes Jeon Yeongbin's face in with a book, bloody and ugly. Not when he stabs another guy with a pen, rendering his hand useless.
Not when he tries to throw a chair at Suho.
Not when the teacher comes in.
Silent. Always silent.
Suho is curious. More and more. Like a cat watching koi fish drawing careful circles in a pond. Ready to grab for them at the earliest opportunity.
He's getting interested, he realizes.
That's never been a good sign.
“Maybe we were married in a past life!” He says it to get a rise out of Sieun. Finally get him to part those pretty lips and let words caress his teeth.
Or so he tells himself. Knows Sieun won't. He's not that easy. Mostly he just enjoys the slightest widening of eyes, those hardly parted lips, a peek of a pink tongue. He waves exaggeratedly as he takes off and thinks, maybe. Maybe he can do it. Get the mum boy to speak.
At least it's something to keep himself busy. Or so he tells himself.
Doesn't expect it. Him. Didn't take Sieun for someone who would take something like pay me back tomorrow serious. Yet he's here: tapping Suho's shoulder. He doesn't know how he knows. Maybe because Sieun's the only one who'd dare disturb Suho. An asleep Suho. A peaceful Suho.
Sieun's an outlier in reality.
Suho allows him to interrupt. Looks up at Sieun. Blinks. Turns his head. Refuses his lunch invitation until Sieun taps him again. Rigurously. His brows are drawn. His lips pursed.
Suho doesn't know what to make of that expression.
He goes along anyway. Eats lunch. Talks to himself. Except it doesn't feel like he's talking to himself. Sieun doesn't react, doesn't nod, doesn't even acknowledge him; yet his eyes never waver from Suho's. Like he's listening intently. Listening despite everything.
Suho finds it hard not to choke under such rapid attention. Somehow, he manages.
Grabs Sieun's shoulder. His arm. Like he's patting him down to reassure himself. Throws a glare behind him, at Jeon Yeongbin and his goons. That older guy that was actually pathetic enough to join up with high schoolers on a single kid. Suho pushes Sieun, ever-silent Sieun, forward. Steers him away. Away from them, away from danger.
Beomseok's money is the last thing on Suho's mind right now.
Sieun didn't say anything when he was pummeled into the ground. No groan. No whimper. Not even a whine—not a single sound. Like he's perfected the art of keeping to himself. Like it's a cloak that protects him even under the pressure of raw violence.
Suho wonders what his home life must be like. If there's no one worth talking to. No one to listen.
He straightens Sieun's hood. Accidentally brushes his hair. Sieun only flinches slightly at the touch, like a wounded rabbit.
“You good?” Suho asks, more to reassure himself than Sieun.
Sieun shrugs. Nods. Shrugs again. Suho takes that as a yes. Observes the twitch of Sieun's eyes, the pursed lips. Pats Sieun's shoulder one last time before they make their way toward Beomseok.
Sieun lets him. Doesn't shy away. This time.
Suho sees that as a win.
Sieun only stares at him when Suho offers him the food. Like a hissy cat. Lips pursed, eyebrows drawn half-low.
He's displeased, Suho realizes. Then:
Oh, he can tell that Sieun's displeased.
That makes him—wow. Feel something for sure. Something warm and bubbly inside his throat. Like the cornered animal he's been trying to win over for weeks finally dignified his presence by sniffing his hand. Once. Before turning away again.
Still.
He pushes the feeling down by eating the offered food himself, fill his mouth before he—says something stupid. Or something.
Sieun's not just feisty, he's sneaky. Beat Suho at pool not twice but thrice. Doesn't react to his exaggerated outbursts, his denial, hey, I let you win, you know? Just cocks his head. One corner of his mouth—not raised. But moving. Suho throws an arm around his shoulder. Sieun lets him. Again. Again and again, lately. Cornered animal allowing himself to be patted on the head.
He squints at the sky. Replays Sieun's image in his mind. Gears turning. Brain in overload.
Raised eyebrow. Almost-twitching corner of his mouth. Hands half-twitching, fingers half-curled.
Belatedly, Suho realizes Sieun might have been mocking him. The little shit.
Sieun's so—so, when Suho says he'll go alone to meet Gilsu. So—Suho can't describe it. Eyebrows high. Eyes blown wide. Tongue pushed against his bottom lip. When Suho turns around toward the car, toward an awaiting Seokdae, it almost feels like something brushes his back. The tiniest pressure. Like fingers trying to keep water in cupped hands.
He chalks it up to adrenaline. Nervousness.
(He can't stop thinking about Sieun's expression. He could not have been concerned, could he?)
Sieun's not just feisty, not just sneaky, he's fucking crazy, going after Gilsu on his own.
Suho doesn't even realize. Feet moving. Heart beating. Heavily. That crazed look in Sieun's eyes. Wide. Pupils blown. Teeth sinking into his bottom lip.
Suho doesn't know what to make of it. Has gotten so good at reading Sieun but this—this is something unpredictable.
“You're a real psycho, you know?” Sieun doesn't answer. Never does.
There's something intent in Sieun's eyes, the way he stares directly at Suho. Kneeling on the ground, one hand against Gilsu's back. Keeping him down. The fucker.
Is downright dumbfounded when Sieun offers him a hand. Palm up. Wordlessly. Always without those. When Suho doesn't react, Sieun curls his fingers. Like he's saying, why are you wasting my time?
Suho doesn't know what to make of it. Never does, when it comes to the one and only Sieun.
The gesture could be anything. Mean anything.
Suho takes his hand. Almost falls against Sieun at the surprising strength behind the pull. Puts his hand against Sieun's chest to keep himself steady. Right over his heart. Rapid beating. Like a crazed rabbit. Running for his life, except Sieun barreled right into danger.
Sieun doesn't shove his hand off. Gaze on Suho.
Suho removes it like Sieun's something hot, like coal's burning the tips of his fingers.
It makes Suho crazy, the facettes of Yeon Sieun. A rubiks cube he wants to align just right.
He escapes Sieun's gaze. Like a coward.
Sieun's smiling. Fucking smiling. Suho's got his arm in a cast and Yeongi's stuffing herself with a burger and Suho didn't expect Sieun to be back anytime soon and Sieun's fucking smiling. Small. Rare. Like he doesn't quite dare show it. Like he doesn't even know he's doing it and that's the only reason he's doing it in the first place.
He hides it with his palm when Suho points it out, “Hey, hey, hey, are you actually smiling?”
The corners of his eyes are crinkled.
Sieun's close. Close enough to touch. And Suho does; without actual intents. Just instinct. Pushes the pad of his index against the corner of Sieun's mouth. Slightest pressure. Soft skin.
Feels Sieun twitch under his finger
He still doesn't shove it off. Suho retrieves his hand slowly. Carefully. Like Sieun might bite him for this out of order action as soon as Suho's off-guard.
Yeongi makes a satisfied noise next to him. Something like shit this burger is good.
Sieun doesn't bite him.
Suho looks at Sieun's eyes and feels like drowning.
His voice is horrible.Yeongi's voice is horrible. They're a terrible duo, a match made in hell.
They sing and sing and Sieun looks and is sucking on his bottom lip and his eyes are crinkled again and Suho's out of his fucking mind.
If they notice his voice cracking, no one points it out.
Halmeoni's always tried her best. Really, she has. But with his mother somewhere off in America and his father off god-knows-where, Suho's never felt quite as lonely as on his birthdays.
Until. Until.
Until Yeongi. Until Sieun. Sieun, with his big, big eyes. With the crinkles. With those full lips. With his teeth and his tongue and twitching cheeks and Suho can't even.
Sieun looks—god. Almost content. Sitting on the couch. Cocking his head when Suho takes the controller from him. Fingers brushing. Suho feels his gaze. Hot and burning. Important. On Suho, rather than the TV.
They're close. Thighs pressed together. Sieun's hand almost on his thigh.
Suho tries very, very hard not to accidentally mash the wrong buttons.
He's not sure he succeeds. He doesn't remember much from playing the game.
Sieun's ignoring him. Avoiding him. Suho doesn't fucking know. Doesn't understand. Can't wrap his head around it.
Until they tell him.
Until he sees it.
Sieun's eyes so low, half-lidded, bottom lip quivering. Dread in his gaze. God, his fucking arm. Suho knows what a cast looks like.
Suho perfectly aligns his lips into a smile when Sieun only hangs his head at his, “You alright?” Nods. Slightly. Barely there.
Suho keeps the smile steady. Pushes, without thinking, his fingers through Sieun's hair. Reassuring. It's his intent, at least. I'll fix this. You don't need to know, but I will.
Sieun's stock-still under his touch. Scared to move. Eyes wide, the—the hurt gone from his eyes. For a second.
Sieun ducks his head. Away from Suho's touch. Out of reach.
So far away.
The action shouldn't have hurt as much as it does. Suho was the one invading his personal space.
From the very, very start it was always, always Suho forcing himself into Sieun's life. Carving himself a place out he shouldn't have had in the first place.
Sieun avoids his gaze. Like he hasn't in days. Weeks. Head hanging so low his chin's almost touching his collarbone.
Suho smiles. Bids him adieu.
Smiles right until he turns.
His blood is rushing. Heart beating fast. Not because of Sieun's closeness—because of his distance. His very obvious unwilling distance. Not chosen by his own free will. Like he has to hide himself from Suho. Again. After all this time. After all they've been through. Built.
Keeps himself away to protect Suho.
Suho's going to fucking kill whoever put that look back on Sieun's face.
(I'll fix this. I swear.)
They say revenge is best served cold. Suho agrees, a little. Feels the coldness of his expression when he breaks Yeongbin's fucking hand. Feels the cold silence on the other end of the phone.
Feels his heart freezing over, thinking of Sieun's face. Static TV only playing a single image. Those empty eyes. Light having left them after Suho barely lit the fire. His efforts for nil.
He'll make sure Beomseok will suffer. Forever. In this life, in the next, beyond the fucking grave.
Hah, he thinks. Hah. Bloody and beaten and defeated and his only thought, as he tastes iron on his tongue, as he feels the burn in his leg, is—sorry, Sieun. Sorry if I'm gonna be the one putting a horrible expression on your face. I didn't mean to. I swear. Please, don't. Please don't let this get to you. Please don't look like that.
Not because of me.
He couldn't fix this. Wasn't able to. So useless.
Useless useless useless.
Suho hopes Sieun will at least be proud of his last words. Suho imagines it's something Sieun might have said to Beomseok himself, in another world. In another life.
He closes his eyes. Wants to imagine Sieun smiling, one last time.
His haunted eyes meet him instead. Mouth formed around his name.
A silent shout.
Not like this, Suho thinks.
Suho doesn’t know. Might never know. But when he lies there motionless, helpless, defeated—Sieun says something. Despite himself. Against his will. Finally. Like a prayer. A beggar wanting to be a chooser.
“Suho-yah…”
A mere mortal.
Useless. Unable.
Bloody and broken, split lip and cracked knuckles.
Fragments of a whole that might never be put back together.
(Utterly defeated.)