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Sieun stepped out of the cram school building a little after eight, shoulders heavy from hours of formulas and English passages that blurred together by the end. The night air was cool, carrying the faint smell of rain that hadn’t quite fallen yet. He adjusted the strap of his bag and looked up.
There, under the yellow glow of the streetlight, was Suho—leaning against his motorcycle like he owned the whole block, helmet tucked under one arm, the other hand scrolling on his phone. The second he spotted Sieun, his whole face changed. That lazy smirk turned into something warmer, almost stupidly fond.
“You’re late today,” Suho called, pushing off the bike.
“Teacher went over time,” Sieun answered, voice flat but the corners of his mouth twitching. He stopped a respectable distance away, still getting used to the fact that he was allowed to stand this close now. That they were… whatever this was. Boyfriends. The word still felt too big in his mouth.
Suho didn’t seem to mind the distance. He just reached out and flicked the hood of Sieun’s jacket lightly. “Hungry?”
“Not really.”
Suho didn’t say anything else, just stepped forward, lifted the spare helmet, and gently settled it over Sieun’s head like he’d done it a hundred times. He tugged the strap under Sieun’s chin, fingers brushing skin for a second longer than necessary, then clicked the buckle closed. Habit now. Routine. Something that made Sieun’s stomach flip every single time.
“Liar. You always say that when you’re starving.” Suho grinned, already swinging a leg over the motorcycle. “C’mon. I’ll take you home, Sieun-ah.”
The ride was familiar now—the way Sieun’s arms looped around Suho’s waist a little tighter than necessary, the rumble of the engine under them, the city lights streaking past. Sieun’s cheek pressed against Suho’s back through the windbreaker. But tonight Suho didn’t take the usual turn toward Sieun’s neighborhood. Instead, he veered left into the small park near the river.
Sieun lifted his head. “This isn’t the way.”
“Shortcut,” Suho said, casually.
He killed the engine near the entrance and turned off the lights too. The park was quiet, just the distant hum of traffic and the soft rustle of leaves. Dusk had settled into something prettier, streaks of violet and orange bleeding into soft yellow across the sky, like someone had spilled watercolor.
Suho killed the engine and twisted around on the seat. “Hey. Open the top box for me? I forgot something.”
Sieun blinked. “You want me to—”
“Yeah, just pop it open.”
Suspicious but obedient, Sieun slid off the bike and unlatched the storage compartment. Inside sat a neatly organized gift box, pale cream paper fillers with a thin silver ribbon. A small bouquet of tulips, soft pink and white, peeked out from the side. His fingers stilled.
“…What is this?”
Suho rubbed the back of his neck, suddenly looking anywhere but at Sieun. “I prepared it for you, for today.”
Sieun carried the box to the nearest bench and sat down. The box wasn’t closed with a lid—just open, cushioned with white crinkle paper. Nestled inside are the contents arranged carefully on top of the filler. A small bouquet of pale pink and white tulips lay to one side. Next to them: a pack of his favorite black gel pens (0.38mm, the kind he always hunted for), a set of pastel highlighters shaped like tiny animals, sticky notes with little star borders, mechanical pencils with star charms dangling from the ends, a small box of sour gummies he pretended not to like but always finished first, and pepero with different flavours.
In the very center sat a simple silver necklace, thin chain, delicate open circle pendant—hollow like a tiny ring of gold but in cool silver. Inside the circle, engraved so small you had to look close: S + S.
Tucked against the side was a folded note in Suho’s messy handwriting.
Sieun picked it up first.
해피 발렌타인데이 <3
(오늘 밤 당신의 눈은 별처럼 밝게 빛납니다.)
Sieun stared at it for a long second. His cheeks burned. He glances up to find Suho walking toward the bench, a shy smile tugging at his lips.
Suho grinned like he could read his mind. “You hate it?”
“No.” Sieun’s voice dropped. “I can already see where everything goes.” He says, "I love it, thank you, Suho-yah."
Suho’s smile turned stupidly soft.
“I… didn’t get you anything this good,” he muttered.
Suho, who had followed and was now sitting beside him, laughed softly. “What? You got me something?” He asks as he peeks at his side.
“I did.” Sieun’s voice dropped even quieter. “I’m ashamed.”
Suho’s smile faltered. “Ashamed? Why?”
Sieun reached into his school bag and pulled out a slightly dented white box tied with a pink ribbon that was already coming undone. He set it on Suho’s lap without looking at him.
“I tried to bake. It’s… not great.”
Suho opened the box like it was made of glass.
Inside were cookies—some plain sugar cookies with messy pink sprinkles, others dyed a soft pink with tiny chocolate hearts pressed into the centers. Beside them, strawberries dipped in chocolate, a little uneven but decorated with white chocolate drizzles and heart sprinkles. A couple had cracked.
Suho picked up one of the pink cookies and took a huge bite without hesitation.
Sieun winced. “You don’t have to—”
“Fuck, these are good,” Suho said through a mouthful, eyes wide. “Seriously. Like, actually good. The chocolate one is sweet but not too sweet. And the strawberries, did you do the little hearts yourself?”
Sieun looked away. “I asked Beomseok. He was useless. We set off the smoke alarm. Twice.”
Suho laughed so hard he almost choked on cookie. “God, I wish I’d seen that.”
Suho continued laughing, bright and loud, the kind that made Sieun’s chest feel too tight. “I can picture it. Beomseok probably panicked over the sprinkles.”
“He did.”
They settled on the bench properly, the gift box and cookie box between them. The sky kept shifting colors, violet bleeding deeper as the sun disappeared. Suho kept eating the cookies like they were gourmet, complimenting every single one even when Sieun pointed out the burnt edges.
“Imperfections make them better,” Suho said, licking chocolate off his thumb. “Tastes like you tried. That’s the best part.”
Sieun poked at a strawberry, cheeks warm. “You’re embarrassing.”
“You’re cute when you’re embarrassed.”
“Stop.”
Suho pulled out his phone instead and snapped a photo before Sieun could protest—Sieun mid-bite of a cookie, eyes wide in surprise.
“Suho.”
“Another one for the collection.” Suho grinned, already taking another as Sieun tried to cover his face with his sleeve.
“Delete it.”
“No way. You look soft.”
Sieun huffed, but the downward tug of his smile gave him away—the small, shy one that made his eyes crinkle and his lips press together like he was trying not to be happy. Suho’s thumb hovered over the shutter button again.
“Stop taking pictures.”
“One more—”
“Suho-yah.”
While Sieun was distracted inspecting the animal highlighters, a tiny cat-shaped one made him pause, he suddenly remembered.
“Oh. I have one more thing.”
He dug into the front pocket of his bag and pulled out a small plastic package. Two cat keychains—one black, one white—connected to form a heart when clicked together. Simple, a little childish, but the second he’d seen them in the store he couldn’t stop thinking about Suho and him having cute matching keychains together.
Suho’s eyes went wide. “No way.”
He took the white one immediately, turning it over in his palm. “This is so cute. Holy shit.” He unclipped his keys right there and attached it, the little black cat dangling next to his motorcycle key. “Your turn.”
Sieun clipped the black one to the zipper of his school bag. The two cats faced each other, almost touching.
Suho stared at the necklace still sitting in the box. “You’re not wearing it?”
“I didn’t… know how to put it on without a mirror.”
Suho’s expression softened. “C’mere.”
Sieun scooted closer. Suho picked up the necklace, fingers brushing the back of Sieun’s neck as he fastened the clasp. The small circle settled cool against Sieun’s collarbone. Suho’s thumb lingered for a second, tracing the engraved letters.
“Looks good on you,” he said quietly. “Really pretty.”
Sieun’s face went hot. He ducked his head, that same smile breaking through again. Without thinking, he leaned in and pressed a quick, shy kiss to Suho’s cheek.
Suho froze.
His ears turned bright red—visible even in the dimming light.
Sieun pulled back, suddenly mortified. “Sorry, I—”
“I love you.”
The words tumbled out of Suho’s mouth like he hadn’t meant to say them out loud. He looked just as shocked as Sieun felt.
Sieun blinked. Then a tiny laugh escaped him—rare, soft, a little breathless. “I love you too.”
The air between them changed. Suho’s gaze dropped to Sieun’s mouth. Sieun’s heart hammered so loud he was sure Suho could hear it.
Suho moved first, slow and careful, one hand coming up to cradle Sieun’s jaw like he was something breakable. “Can I…?”
Sieun closed his eyes and gave the smallest nod.
The kiss was soft. Tentative. Suho’s lips were warm, tasting faintly of chocolate and the strawberry he’d eaten earlier. He tilted his head just a little, thumb brushing Sieun’s cheekbone, and Sieun felt his whole body melt into it. First kiss. Their first everything, really.
When they pulled apart, Suho rested his forehead against Sieun’s, eyes still closed.
“You’re so cute,” he whispered. “I can’t handle it.”
Sieun laughed again, small and embarrassed, and hid his face in Suho’s shoulder.
They stayed like that for a long time, eating the rest of the cookies, talking about nothing and everything. Suho told him about almost crashing his bike earlier because he was distracted thinking about tonight. Sieun admitted he’d stayed up until 2 a.m. making sure the chocolate on the strawberries didn’t melt. The moon rose, round and silver, turning the river into a ribbon of light.
Eventually Sieun leaned his head on Suho’s shoulder. Suho’s arm came around him automatically, warm and steady, fingers playing idly with the sleeve of Sieun’s jacket.
Sieun pulled his earbuds from his pocket, the white one he always used, and offered the other end to Suho. Suho took it without question, slotting it in.
The opening guitar filled their ears—soft, aching.
"Baby I don’t know how to go now I’m sick…"
Suho’s arm tightened around him just a fraction. Sieun’s fingers found the silver pendant again, turning it over and over.
They stayed like that—sharing music, sharing warmth, sharing the quiet night—until the song looped and the moon hung high, and neither of them wanted to move.
“Happy Valentine’s,” he said quietly.
Suho pressed a kiss to the top of his head. “Happy Valentine’s, baby.”
The nickname made Sieun’s ears burn, but he didn’t pull away. He just smiled—small, downward, impossibly soft—and let the quiet night settle around them, the two cat keychains swaying gently in the breeze, heart to heart, while the song played on.
Extra:
The ride home felt longer than usual, even though the streets were the same. Suho took it slow, no revving the engine like he sometimes did to make Sieun grip tighter. Tonight everything was quiet—Sieun’s arms around his waist, the necklace cool against his skin under his shirt, the little white cat keychain swaying from his bag every time they turned a corner.
When they pulled up to the apartment building, Suho killed the engine and helped Sieun off, taking the helmet as always. He walked him to the entrance, then up the stairs to the fourth floor, neither of them saying much. The hallway light buzzed faintly overhead.
At Sieun’s door, they stopped. Sieun shifted the gift box in his arms, with the tulips drooping a little, pens and highlighters peeking out.
“…Thanks for tonight,” Sieun said, eyes on the floor. His voice was small, still flushed from everything earlier.
Suho rubbed the back of his neck, ears pink again. “Yeah. Anytime. See you tomorrow?”
Sieun nodded quickly. “Tomorrow.”
They stood there another second—awkward, flustered, like neither wanted to be the first to turn away. Suho finally gave a small wave. “Night, Sieun-ah.”
Sieun managed a tiny smile, and turned the key.
The door opened.
His father was standing right there in the entryway, still in his coat like he’d just gotten home, arms crossed. Face stern under the hallway light carrying plastic bags.
Sieun froze. “Appa?”
The man’s eyes flicked from Sieun to the box in his hands, then past him to Suho still lingering in the doorway.
Suho straightened instantly, nerves spiking. He bowed slightly, polite, automatic. “Hello, sir.”
Sieun’s heart hammered. “I didn’t expect you to be home. You usually—”
“Who’s this?” His father’s voice was low, even. Not angry, but direct. He nodded toward Suho.
Sieun opened his mouth, scrambling for something—friend, classmate, anything—but Suho stepped forward half a step before he could.
“We’re together,” Suho said, clear and steady despite the way his hands flexed at his sides. “I’m Ahn Suho, his boyfriend. I’ve been… looking out for Sieun. Taking him to and from cram school. He swallowed, meeting the older man’s eyes. “I promise I won’t hurt him, sir. Ever. I just want to take care of him.”
Silence stretched for two heartbeats.
Then Sieun’s father let out a short, surprised laugh—more exhale than anything. He reached out and patted Suho’s shoulder, firm but not hard.
“Relax, kid. You look like you’re about to pass out.”
Suho blinked, tension easing out of his shoulders like air from a tire.
“Come in,” the father said, stepping aside. “You’re eating dinner with us. I bought too much anyway.”
Sieun glanced between them, stunned, then hurried inside to his room. He set the gift box carefully on his desk, tulips upright, necklace pendant catching the desk lamp light. He took a second to breathe. His neck was still burning.
When he came back out, his father was already setting an extra plate. Suho stood awkwardly by the table, jacket off, sleeves rolled up.
Sieun’s dad turned to Suho while Sieun hovered near the kitchen doorway.
“I’m gone a lot,” the older man said quietly, almost to himself. “Job takes me everywhere. I know I’ve left him alone more than I should.” He looked at Suho directly. “Thanks for being there when I can’t. Means more than you know.”
Suho smiled—small, genuine. “Anything to make him happy, sir.”
Sieun felt his chest tighten in the best way.
They sat down to eat, simple jjajangmyeon from a takeout place, plus some side dishes his dad had warmed up. Conversation was quiet at first: school, cram classes, how Suho’s bike was holding up, his part-time jobs. Sieun mostly listened, picking at his noodles, stealing glances at Suho across the table.
Halfway through, Suho pulled out his phone under the table and snapped a photo of the three of them, plates steaming, Sieun mid-bite looking soft and surprised.
He typed fast, sent it to his halmeoni with a caption: “Sieun’s dad approved ✅ dinner at his place tonight”
Then he pocketed the phone, grinning to himself.
Sieun caught the smile and raised an eyebrow.
“Updating halmeoni,” Suho whispered when his dad stepped away to grab water. “She’s been asking about you nonstop.”
Sieun ducked his head, hiding the flush creeping up again. "Tell her I miss her," under the table, his knee brushed Suho’s—and stayed.
The rest of dinner passed easy, warm. No big speeches, no drama. Just three people eating together in a quiet apartment, the kind of normal Sieun hadn’t felt in a long time.
When Suho finally stood to leave, thanking Sieun’s dad again, the older man clapped him on the back once more.
“Come by anytime, Suho. Door’s open.”
Suho bowed. “Thank you, sir.”
At the door, Sieun walked him out. In the hallway, alone again, Suho leaned in close.
“Your dad’s cool,” he murmured.
Sieun huffed a tiny laugh. “He scared me half to death.”
Suho’s eyes softened. “You okay?”
“Yeah.” Sieun touched the necklace under his shirt. “Really okay.”
Suho pressed a quick, feather-light kiss to his forehead—barely there, but enough.
“See you tomorrow, baby.”
“See you, Suho-yah.”
The door closed softly behind Suho. Sieun leaned against it for a second, smiling to himself in the quiet hallway.
Inside, his dad was clearing plates, humming something old under his breath.
For once, the apartment didn’t feel empty.