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The rain starts while Suho is still inside. By the time he notices, it’s already too late. Sheets of water comes down in silvery waves, bouncing off the pavement, ending up as pools around the curb. The sky is gray and heavy.It’s darker than it should be ay five-thirty in the afternoon.
He sits under the waiting shed just outside the hospital doors, cane in one hand, the other shoved in his pocket. His hair is damp from the short walk out, droplets sliding down his temple. He hadn’t listened to the forecast. Didn’t bring an umbrella.
Halmeoni would come if he called, of course. But the thought of her walking in this weather, with her bad knees against the wet and slippery pavement doesn’t sit right with him. So it’s better to just wait.
He watches the rain, listens to it drumming against the tin roof. The sky rumbles now and then, sometimes soft, the other times loud and shattering, as if it might break apart.
It had been six months since he woke up, and still, his body feels like it belongs to someone else. The limp is permanent, his doctor told him as much; he’s gotten used to that. The tremor in his hands too, unfortunately would be a lifelong companion. Sometimes it’s barely there, sometimes it’s so strong he can’t even hold his chopsticks steady. He doesn’t breath as normal as he used to as well. When he pushes himself— walks a few meters more than the usual, or when he climbs an extra set of stairs— he feels like the air is squeezed out of him, like his chest is filled with gasoline lit on fire.
He grips the cane tighter. He’ll never have the same body he once had. He’s come to terms with it, but the acceptance doesn’t dull the sting of his new reality. Where once he flew with ease, he is now earthbound— wings clipped.
And with that, the future looks a little bleak, he thinks; gray as today’ sky with the sun nowhere go be found. He can’t work two, three jobs anymore. Can’t throw himself into whatever kept him busy, whatever kept him and Halmeoni safe and afloat. College still isn’t really in the picture. But Halmeoni is stubborn and insists he finishes high school. She wants him to start again next year. And he’ll do it, if only because she asks.
Studying again has been strange. Half his memories from two years ago feel blurred and jumbled. His brain,he supposes, is now rusted at the edges. The science doesn’t check out; rust comes from too much oxygen, and he’s pretty sure his brain had less while he was in the coma.Still, the metaphor amuses him: his mind left in storage,like metal corroding quietly in the dark.
Sieun helps him though. He explains things to Suho without ever raising his voice, even when Suho messes up the same question three times in a row. Sometimes he does so in childish mischief, curious if he could draw a reaction from Sieun. But Sieun never gives him any of that— always patient, always steady.
Sieun.
His lips twitch faintly, a smile almost forming in his lips.
Yeon Sieun is a lunatic, he thinks fondly.
Sitting by his bed for two years, when most people would have given up after two months, or maybe even just a couple of weeks. But Sieun stayed, always believing that Suho would one day open his eyes. And he did. When Suho finally got his phone back, when he scrolled through old messages he saw Sieun’s lines of guilt, desperation, Sieun blaming himself, Sieun unable to sleep— he doesn’t know whether to laugh, cry, or throw the phone against the wall. In the end, something in him broke, a dam of emotions cracking under the cruelty of it all. The texts had blurred beneath the weight of his tears sliding down the screen.
He feels something press heavy in his chest now. .
And then there are the other:. Baku, Gotak, and Juntae. Friends Sieun made along the way. Not new, if he thinks about it. They’d been with Sieun long before Suho came into the picture again. They’d been longer friends than he’s ever had a chance to be. Suho knows he’s an addition.. Maybe that stings a little, remembering that he used to be the protagonist in the story with Sieun. Now, he’s only a supporting role, tagging in halfway through.
Sieun, for the most part, is still the same Sieun— his Sieun since Byeoksan.
But something is a little different now.
Before the coma, Suho had been the one to reach out. A hand at Sieun’s wrist to slow him down, palm at the small of his back, a casual touch to guide him through a crowd. And Sieun, as seemingly unfeeling and averse to skinship as he was, surprisingly, didn't withdraw from Suho's touch. For all those moments that Sieun allowed Suho to draw near, letting their skin brush and liner a tad too long, Suho felt his stomach twist into knots of both excitement and nerves. They had danced around something unsaid, before everything fell apart. But now, Sieun doesn’t shy away anymore. Sometimes, it’s Sieun who brushes against him first. A pinky resting against his when they sit together, a hand steadying his arm when he stands. There are times too, when Sieun leans close — too close, so that Suho can smell the faint detergent from his clothes. And every time, Suho feels his heart stutter.
Before, he’d already started to suspect. These…feelings he didn’t name, because there was time to figure it out later. They were only seventeen. They had time. To dissect, to explore. But life was cutthroat. It had other plans, and he lost two years.
Now he wonders if they could ever pick up where they left off.
Does Sieun feel the same butterflies? The same jitters Suho can’t shake whenever he catches his gaze, whenever their arms brush under the narrowest excuse? Or is that wishful thinking? Suho isn’t the same as before. He isn’t strong anymore. His muscles had shrunk, his bones were like dry twigs, ready to break at any moment so now he’s reliant on a cane. He's no longer the protector. The roles have shifted, and Sieun— physically and mentally— has grown into someone stronger than him.
Most days, Suho feels inadequate. Small.
The rain slows, the veil of muted traffic cacophony lifting just a little
And then—
“Suho-yah”
He blinks, turns his head.
There, at the edge of the shed, is Sieun. Rain patters off the black umbrella above him, droplets sliding down in glistening streaks. His hair clings damply to his forehead, his collar darkened, black converse leaving wet prints behind.
For a moment, neither of them moves. The only sound is the softened rain and the faint hum of traffic on the road.
Suho stares, caught off guard. His chest loosens at the sight. Didn’t expect Sieun to come for him.
Sieun’s eyes flick over him, steady but unreadable. His knuckles are pale against the umbrella handle.
They just look at each other. There’s a quiet stretch of seconds, long enough for Suho to notice the way his own heartbeat picks up. He also sees the way Sieun’s chest rises and falls a little too quickly, like maybe he had run here, or speed walked.
Finally, Sieun steps closer, the umbrella shifting to cover Suho as well. Their shoulders are near enough that Suho can feel the cool damp radiating from Sieun’s sleeve.
“You did’t answer my texts. Can’t reach you when I called,” Sieun says low.
Suho lets out a quiet laugh. “Sorry. Battery died.”
The umbrella tilts more firmly over him, Sieun shifting his grip without comment.
“How did you know I was here?” Suho asks softly, eyes up at Sieun.
“I went to your apartment. Halmeoni said you had rehab today,” Sieun says, his voice was gentle but carrying that familiar edge of mild scolding. He pauses, sighing softly, and glances at Suho. “And… you didn’t bring an umbrella.”
Suho chuckles, quietly pleased.
Ever since he woke up, Sieun had made it his quiet mission to know where Suho was at all times. Sometimes Sieun fely like a mother hen, hovering a little too closely but fussing just enough. Lucky. That’s what he felt. Lucky to have a Yeon Sieun in his life.The gods may have taken two years of his life, but he was still grateful they hadn’t taken Sieun from his side.
“Let’s go home?”, he asks Sieun
Sieun nods, then leans down to help Suho up, hand steady and strong on Suho’s elbow.
Suho rises carefully, leaning on his cane. The first steps are slow, deliberate, but Sieun matches them without a word, falling into pace like he always does.
The sidewalk gleams wet, edifices reflected in scattered pools. Water still drips from rooftops and tree branches.
Their arms brush once, then again. Neither of them moves away. Instead, they drift imperceptibly closer, the umbrella making them share space tighter than necessary.
Suho notices the little things. The way Sieun holds the umbrella slightly awkwardly because of their height difference. Sieun, almost a head shorter than him has his arm bent higher than comfortable, wrist strained. This way, his shoulder gets wet, left uncovered so Suho stays dry.
“You’ll catch a cold,” Suho murmurs.
“I’m fine,” Sieun says, even, without looking at him. But his jaw is set tighter than usual, and Suho wonders if he knows how obvious he is.
The rain patters against the umbrella, drowning the rest of the city in white noise. Suho finds himself listening to Sieun’s breaths instead. It’s calm now, more stable than when he first arrived.
Their sleeves brush, damp fabric against damp fabric. Their hands swing close, closer, until the back of Sieun’s knuckles graze Suho’s once in a fleeting touch. But then, instead of pulling away, Sieun keeps them near again. Close enough that Suho feels the faintest heat radiating from him.
The world feels muted, narrowed to the space beneath their black umbrella.
Suho risks a glance sideways. Sieun’s profile is sharp in the washed out rainy afternoon. His hair is damp at the edges, dark eyes fixed straight ahead. But his ears— oh his ears. They’re flushed red at the tips.
And Suho can’t help it. The blush makes him feel… proud, as if he’d done something to earn it. Feeling brave, he sidles closer, arms now pressed more against Sieun’s. His inner devil cheers when the red of Sieun’s ears spreads down to his neck.
When they reach the bus stop, the drizzle has almost faded into mist. They pause under the small awning, Sieun folding the umbrella with a snap of wet fabric. Suho shakes his cane lightly, water droplets scattering and falling down to the sodden pavement.
None of them say anything— don’t really acknowledge the fact that they’ve decided to stay pressed to the sides even when they have no more reason to. The rain has stopped, the umbrella’s folded. One of them could step away but they linger instead. Just lets the moment press on in quiet intimacy.
Suho hooks his pinky with Sieun’s, tentative at first, but coils it around firmly when Sieun doesn’t pull away. He doesn’t fail to notice Sieun’s shoulders stiffening or the way his cheeks are now dusted the same shade of red as his ears and neck. It’s almost funny. Sieun, still like a statue, utterly impassive, yet red as a tomato. Courtesy of Ahn Suho.
Suho’s lips twitch, something warm bubbling up despite the damp chill clinging to his clothes. He almost says it out loud to Sieun: ‘Your ears are red'. Just to see Sieun flinch, hear the flat out denial come out of his lips. Sometimes it’s fun to rile Sieun up.
But he swallows it back and keeps it in instead. Decides that this going to be one of those little secrets he saves just for himself, tucked away in the glass jar he’s been quietly filling ever since he met Sieun. Each look, each touch, each unspoken thing carefully stored, precious in their own quiet ways.
Yeah, he thinks, chest easing, feeling lighter than he had ever felt since waking up to his second life. Maybe they could pick up where they left off. The rain hushes to nothing. The thick clouds part, opening to a starless infinity.
Under the awning of the bus stop, with their pinky fingers entwined, Suho decides this is enough. For now.
They’d take it slow. But they’ll get there. As long as they have each other, they’ll be okay.
Suho smiles and lifts his face up to the heavens.
‘Let’s stay together for a long time’