Sieun realises afterwards that the signs where always there - there was simply no one yet to connect them into a pattern.
He recalls the episode with the flat and Suho reading a [block] for another. That tugs at the memory of Suho never watching the screen at the noraebang and laughing about getting a lower score than Youngyi, series of texts to Sieun haphazardly written, no punctuation, weird typos.
Except for one, the last.
Sieun also thinks of Suho sleeping in class, listening to explanations in his dreams, and yet still averaging marks above the middle line, closer to top third than below.
He can hear Suho still audibly grinding his teeth as they roll all the way to the hospital room.
Usually after the session Dr [] walks them up the physio lobby, mock salutes Sieun, and lets him escort Suho back to his room; he’s not wasting the journey when his patient has a guard dog right there.
But this time Suho is wheeling by himself, gestures brusque with anger, a testament to how much improvement he’s accomplished.
He only stops to wait for Sieun once past the second elevator’s doors; the room three floors and one air tunnel above them.
They look at each other for a beat of silence, close but apart in all the ways that matter.
Suho’s half turned profile, framed by the elevator, looking at Sieun from the corner of his eyes. He’s wearing that grey sweater, forgotten once and never returned. Himself is wearing the red and black jacket, handed to him by a nurse with the rest of Suho’s clothes on That Day, left behind by halmeoni.
Sieun thinks of the figure they must make, chasing each other, always on the threshold of something, wearing each’s other colours.
Keep on pushin’.
Sieun takes a step forward.
He’s ready to contend with Suho’s temper and already within touching distance when he sees his friend’s face crumpling in silent sobs, seconds before pulling the hood of the sweater over his head and eyes, turning away.
There is nothing to say. Instead, Sieun takes (the wheelchair’s handles, the news, Suho) from there; rolling them back to safety in room [].
They don’t take turns in the shower. Instead, the first time after he woke up, Suho whined at Sieun that he wanted only his help, we’re friends Sieun-ah, he’s gross, woe was him, until he got a single nod back.
It cut the vivid descriptions of how it was nothing new for either of them right mid-word.
Sieun had already planned for it, brought a second whole outfit change, ready.
After getting caught by nurse [], she got a dripping Sieun down (Suho was already back in bed, dried and bundled up), and walked them through safety protocols as advised to friends and caretakers of a patient. Just to be sure, she also made Halmeoni and Sieun’s dad sign waivers because, textual words: “it was all very romantic but lawsuits from parents of teenagers being stupidly in love are above my pay grade.”
Sieun fervently wished for a real life mute button. Suho barked an exaggerated laugh.
Which is how it ends like this, today, like most physio days: Sieun knows how many moles Suho has on his back. (It’s seven, shaped in [] constellation).
Suho has gripped Sieun’s hand very tight one day after seeing a still healing purpling mark on his neck. (Matching Seongje’s black eye).
Suho has remarked with something uncomfortably close to both admiration and envy how much stronger Sieun’s shoulders and thighs looked, just after the latter caught Suho by the waist to avoid braining himself against the shower’s tiled wall. Unrepentant, he then joked on when they’d compare leg press weights.
Sieun has not said anything back about him, neither back then or at all, but the sheer beauty of Suho’s body in his memories haunts him in a way that is nearly a physical ache, and this has not changed even during the early days when he could count all his ribs. His friend’s skin was stretched over the shape of his clavicle, hips, cheekbones. Too fragile, too tender: all Sieun could think about how he wanted to bite every inch, starving for him.
Apparently, a coma of [] months can burn through a lot of buccal fat. Evidently, Sieun wants Suho in any way he can get him.
Moving on: the bathroom has a seat for one patient, Suho, and enough space for Sieun to stay standing. Between shampoo, body wash (Suho will not let him touch below his navel or above his knees, and Sieun turns around for the same), heavy-duty hydration cream, getting the both of them changed and hair-drying Suho until he looks like a poodle, Sieun finally gets him to pass out in bed, chocolate pudding half finished on the tray.
At which point he steps out of the room and he asks at the reception of Suho’s usual doctor is available anytime soon for an appointment.
Turns out there’s something the following morning.
Sieun texts his mother to let her know he will skip winter hagwon.
He does not get a reply back.
