with sprinkler splashes

Grace showing Rocky a clock and Rocky going to find his own before they even know how to talk to each other. Grace and Rocky working together to translate between themselves and putting on puppet shows when they can't. Grace and Rocky having a conversation without any programme to assist them because they have spent years learning to understand the other's language, even though they are literally incapable of speaking it.

Grace asking why Rocky has to watch him sleep, why he has to be so close. Grace telling Rocky he will watch him sleep while he's injured, not knowing if he will ever wake up again. Grace struggling to fall asleep himself after Rocky leaves because it's strange with nobody watching over him.

Rocky asking when the hug will be over. Rocky pushing up into his ball when Grace embraces him after his recovery. Rocky settling down beside Grace at the beach and leaning into his side, both safe inside the enclosures they built for the sole purpose of being closer to one another.

in the beginning of the season, all he wanted was to sit quietly in the background, exist in peace, and yearn for suho without the world clawing at him. but he’s a gravitational force. he doesn’t seek the world, the world seeks him. the good, the bad, all of it. and even though he never seeks human connection, insists that he doesn’t need friends, he loves having them. he loves loving them.

he’s not loud about it, he doesn’t know how to be, but his loyalty is violent, bone-deep, unwavering. he’ll fight for his friends, kill for them, stand up to their dads without blinking. he’ll set himself on fire to keep them warm.

and the most tragic part? he could’ve stayed invisible. he could've stayed out of it all. the bad guys didn’t even want him, they wanted baku. but sieun’s heart won't let him walk away. his instinct to protect always wins. always. something he learnt from suho.

he shows up (all four feet of him); no real fighting skills, no actual strength, just this terrifying cocktail of rage, stubbornness, desperation, and whatever object he can get his hands on to stab someone with.

but beneath all of that, he’s just a kid. a scared, tired, broken kid. he flinched when seongje first cornered him in the bathroom. he cried when his friends told him it wasn’t his fault. he carries the kind of guilt that rots you from the inside out, and he’s still trying to make sense of it. still trying to believe he deserves good things.

the queer subtext isn’t subtle. it’s not hidden in glances or throwaway lines. it’s built into the structure of their relationship, in every decision they make. suho knew beomseok had tampered with his bike. that wasn’t just bullying; it was a premeditated act of violence. he knew what kind of danger he was walking into when he went to the ring, and he went anyway. alone. outnumbered. no illusions. he knew he could die. but he went. because they hurt sieun. because sieun got hurt for him.

that’s their language. not confession, but action. not sentiment, but sacrifice. die for each other. kill for each other.

and sieun, who had always been defined by his discipline, his detachment, his spotless academic record? he lets himself spiral. he got expelled. stopped eating. stopped sleeping. stopped going to cram school. when he found out suho was in critical condition, he froze in the middle of the street and didn’t move, even with a car speeding toward him. as if life without suho wasn’t a life worth returning to.

he came back from a coma asking for suho, looking for him. suho was already in one because of him. they revolve around each other like twin stars caught in gravity’s pull—self-destructive, unstoppable, and impossibly close. love doesn’t always look like romance, but that doesn’t make it less real. or less queer.

How deep are you, no tracks to follow