Oh Sehun

            The feeling one has, when his or her heart throbs in each corner of the body, when each palpitation can be seen clearly in the pulsing of his or her vision, when he or she chokes on words, that’s what Sehun is experiencing. It hurts and he doesn’t know why; the last time he saw Suho was nearly a year ago, and the boy clearly does not care enough to call every once in a while, to let Sehun know that he, in actuality, is not fine, at all. The feeling he has is a painful reminder that, no matter how hard he tries to forget and push the memory of Suho into the back of his head, he simply cannot, and the memories all resurface, then and there, right in front of Kai: in the form of tears.

            Now, looking at Sehun, Kai is not prepared for the crying reaction. He reaches out a trembling hand, but his fingers grasp at air as Sehun is too enveloped in himself and his emotions.

           He’s able to swat the falling tears away from his blurring eyes long enough to see Kai’s expression somewhat. While the boy is not as distraught as Sehun, there are tears, and his eyes are red. “It’s his heart.” Kai sputters amid gasps for air, “He has a bad heart.”

            All at once, Sehun remembers. He recalls Suho clutching his heart and shutting his eyes tight in pain. He recollects instances in which Suho would swallow his pills early in the morning while gazing at Sehun selfishly playing his oboe in the center of the band room. He gathers all those memories of Suho, aching, needing—those instances in which Sehun did absolutely nothing an actual friend would do in such a situation—and he puts them into the front of his mind and says, “I need to see him.”

            Neither one of them says a word in response, although Kai seems to convey an unspoken, “Yes, you do.” Before they sit in silence, sniffling and swabbing the remnant of the tears away from their now tinted cheeks. Luckily, the courtyard has emptied and the only other students around are a couple and seem to be making out on the lawn, minding their own business. 

            The first words Kai utters out loud are insensitive, “We look like two idiots acting out a sappy drama, Sehun. Let’s cut this out.” It makes him sound more characteristically jackass, though, and Sehun forgives him for this because it makes the situation a lot less awkward. He squeezes himself into the gap between Kai and the bench’s armrest, elbowing the former once to shove him out of his personal space, and again to push him to speak.

            “Now, you said you want to see my brother Suho, right?” Sehun nods, and the brown-haired boy puts his arm around him, eyebrows dancing in suggestive patterns, “Well, I’d love to set you two, if you know what I mean, but there’s one large problem and that is this: he refuses to see anyone outside his family so I have to somehow figure out a way to sneak you in there and keep you in there. It sounds stupid, I know. You’re probably thinking, ‘Kai, just wait until Suho is sleeping and then you can have me sit by his bedside oh-so romantically and it’ll be just like Sleeping Beauty’ or some sentimental stuff like that, right? Well, I ought to give you some advice in saying that Suho is not easily tricked. He really hates the idea of being seen in the hospital.”

            “However,” adds Kai, “I do believe he takes a nap right around this time, so we might catch him dozing if we go now. You just have to do this one thing for me—just a simple thing; tell me what Suho is to you. It’s an easy question to answer, actually.”

            But it’s not: Sehun knows this and Kai knows this; it’s not an easy question to answer. And that’s why Sehun freezes, and why Kai smirks, and why the breeze seems to stop for a moment to let Sehun think over his answer peacefully.

            He wants to answer the question with a simple, “Friends.” But he knows easily that saying that would mean lying to himself; friends do not break down and sob about one another in the way Sehun just did. “Um.” He begins loosely, hoping words won’t fail him now, “I want to say we’re friends, but we’re not. I think of him as a person I can look up to, who I can cherish and whatnot—like sunshine.”

            “So,” Kai chuckles, pulling himself off the wooden bench and ambling towards the school gate, “Is this your final answer, Sunshine?” Sehun knows he’s going to be mocked about this for the entire walk to come.”Come on, Sunshine.” He beckons.

            With his Oboe case swinging at his side, Sehun scampers back to the side of Kai, whimpering his pleas, “Don’t call me that. Suho is my sunshine, therefore, I’m not sunshine; you can’t call me that.”

            “Whatever you say, Sunshine.”                                                       

            The walk is quiet and rather comfortable, with Kai, of course, leading the way. Though, Sehun does stop for bubble tea on the way to calm the nerves that are jumping around in his stomach. The chocolate drink and the balls at the bottom are normally enough to calm him, but not this time; he only anxiously the drink down in ten minutes, resorting to chewing the straw to lessen the worry. “You need to calm down.” Kai whispers in his ear as he pulls Sehun down a ‘detour’ otherwise considered a dark and abandoned alley with a grumpy, mangy cat as its sole inhabitant—the cat that nearly attacks Sehun while he is so innocently walking, might he add. He’s about ready to yell at Kai for the detour when he looks upwards to see a towering white building with a sign that indicates the pair has arrived at their destination: the hospital.

            And, in they go, through the entrance, past the front desk. The lady at the counter nods in the direction of Kai, curls bouncing forwards, before pausing a minute to contemplate Sehun’s presence. He almost thinks that he’ll be in trouble, but she smiles and nods at him, as well, allowing the boys to meander their way down the hallway, towards the elevator at the very end.

            In the elevator, Kai lends a cheeky smile to the situation, being smashed up against some hormonal pregnant woman’s shoulder, but Sehun manages a small grin for the other before spying on the old man in the back corner, holding a bouquet of flowers protectively. His pale, wrinkled fingers contrast incredibly with the radiant reds and vibrant yellows that are the flowers of the bouquet. His eyes dance merrily, gazing at the flowers in admiration and what seems to be anticipation. The nurse next to the man smiles and asks, “Are those for your wife?” to which he coyly nods before flushing in embarrassment.

            Sehun thinks the man is absolutely adorable until the ring of the elevator has the elderly man rushing out the door, leaving room for pondering this: why the hell didn’t Sehun think about buying Suho flowers? Everyone buys sick people flowers, right?

            He’s already messed something up and he hasn’t even begun. He might as well turn back now. “This is it.” Kai tugs Sehun towards the elevator door as the ring sounds again, “We’re past the point of no return, sunshine. It’s time for the plan to be set in action.” What plan? There is no plan. “Just walk in, pray to god that he’s not awake, and think of a better plan when he’s fast asleep.” He steers the pair down the gray-painted corridor, coughing and wheezing patients abound, nurses and doctors pacing about from place to place, before arriving at a door, “You get to go in there, and I’m going to be in the cafeteria, deemed the ‘safe zone.’ Don’t bother calling for my help because I’m not going to come and bail you out of anything. Bye.” Kai shoves Sehun into the door, hard, and skirts off back from whence they came, laughing almost maniacally in the face of Sehun’s misery.

            “Here goes nothing.” He whispers, pushing his palms into the door and his way through the entrance. “And, there he is.”

            The fact that Suho is laying there so peacefully asleep is entirely unreal to him, because in that moment, the boy is as vulnerable as a flower, so easily trampled, so easily squashed; Suho’s eyelids hang heavily over his eyes and he lets out little moans and sighs as he sleeps, and Sehun just watches the boy as lays in front of him does exactly what he’s always done: enchanting, enticing.

            The long locks of his brown hair float about his face in rhythm with his breaths. Sehun unconsciously synchronizes his breathing with Suho’s and feels the silence of the off moments, when neither he nor Suho are inhaling or exhaling, consume him. More than anything, he wants to wake Suho with some sort of grand greeting, flowers in hand, a smile on his face, breathtaking words on the tip of his tongue, but instead he has absolutely nothing planned, a rather puzzled expression, and lackluster words that will probably end up as a garbled mess; without Kai to push him forwards, Sehun has no confidence and he’s at a standstill.

            So, he opts to give himself a pep talk. “You’re staring, Sehun. Get your act together.” He paces about the room, albeit light as a feather as means of not waking the sleeping boy, imagining all the ways in which he would be able to approach the situation of talking with Suho.

            He practices, “So, Suho, it’s been a while, hasn’t it? How long, exactly? Has it been a year? Really, it’s difficult to figure how long it’s been exactly, it’s been mostly a blur. I would say I counted the hours, then days, then months it was without a single word from you, but then I realized it was much too painful to remember that the only friend I’d ever had seemed—all of a sudden—too good to send one measly text message my way. I realized that maybe, just maybe, if I could forget you, you could remember me; maybe, then, you would contact me. Funny, though, how things work out, how I couldn’t forget, and how I came, anyways. Sure, I’m upset that you didn’t text me or call me or happen to tell me that you’re ing in the hospital, but you know what? It’s good to see you and, oh hey, I ing love you.” Sehun’s jaw drops at his own words, “I don’t mean that. I do not mean that at all.”

            He stands there, struck dumb because he can’t believe how utterly useless he is. With his oboe in hand, he would be able to do nearly anything, the composers of the most challenging solos or concertos would bow down in the face of Sehun, and every person within hearing distance would be fascinated. But, because the oboe is at home, and his confidence, with it, Sehun’s left with shaking fingers that clutch the hem of his shirt.

            And, he’s left with a voice, a vaguely familiar voice that’s characteristically the exact voice he wants to hear, and, the very voice he doesn’t, shouting so loudly that Sehun’s shoulders fly up towards his ears in a reflex of terror, “You shouldn’t be here!” His voice erupts and Sehun doesn’t bother turning, for fear of seeing a fuming Suho when he wants one that’s happy and kind, “You can’t be here and I expect you out.” His voice cracks, “Believe me, I will threaten you if you don’t leave. Who do you think you are?”

            “To be honest, I think I know exactly who I am.” Sehun mutters meekly, “And you ought to as well, except I don’t believe you do, considering that you haven’t called me. Remember?” He turns, eyes locking with the furious Suho, whose eyes light with intensity upon seeing Sehun’s face, “Because, as it seems to me, you do.”