friends • SUNSUN [✓]

ᝰ. friends - I

"Why is it always my shift when you get injured?"

The question lingered in the air, quiet yet heavy with exasperation. Kim Sunoo—his blonde hair falling in soft, wavy strands that parted just slightly at the middle—held a pair of tweezers between his slender fingers, a cotton ball pinched delicately at the tip. The faint scent of antiseptic clung to the air as he dipped the cotton into the golden stain of povidone-iodine, the liquid pooling slightly before soaking into the fibers.

Seated before him on the small infirmary bed, Park Sunghoon winced, his lips pressing into a thin line as Sunoo dabbed at the fresh cuts adorning his cheek and lower lip. The sting bit deeper than he anticipated, forcing a sharp breath through his teeth. His hand shot up, fingers curling around Sunoo's wrist in reflex.

"Can't you be a little gentler?" Sunghoon muttered, irritation threading through his voice. His grip tightened slightly, his brows drawn together in frustration. He ignored Sunoo's question entirely, dismissing it as though the answer were too troublesome to entertain.

Sunoo merely raised an eyebrow, unfazed by the complaint. With a practiced motion, he twisted his wrist free from Sunghoon's grasp, his eyes flickering with something unreadable. "Stop being dramatic, and I will." His voice was calm, yet laced with a quiet authority that made Sunghoon scoff.

Sunghoon huffed, tilting his head slightly, his arms crossing over his chest. "It's not like I asked for your help. I could've handled this myself." His words carried their usual bite, but his gaze betrayed him, lingering just a second too long on the medkit perched atop Sunoo's lap—then, lower, where his uniform pants stretched against his thighs. The moment stretched between them, unspoken and charged.

Sunoo caught him staring.

"Students aren't allowed to touch anything in the infirmary without permission," Sunoo reminded him coolly, not missing the way Sunghoon's jaw tensed at being caught. "And since I happen to be the one in charge today, I'm not allowing you—of all people—to lay a finger on anything in this room."

Sunghoon exhaled sharply through his nose, shifting in place, his pride bristling under Sunoo's authoritative tone. "And what gives you the right to stop me? You're just a student like me."

Sunoo sighed, setting down the tweezers for a moment before his fingers wrapped around Sunghoon's wrist with quiet confidence. He tugged, just enough to pull Sunghoon closer, forcing the space between them to shrink. Sunghoon's breath hitched.

"A student, yes," Sunoo murmured, his grip firm yet gentle. "But a student who always ends up treating your wounds. Every single time."

The words should have been nothing more than a simple fact. Yet, to Sunghoon, they struck something far deeper, settling in the space between his ribs like an ache he didn't know how to soothe.

His heartbeat pounded against his eardrums, drowning out the distant hum of the rain outside. Sunoo's fingers were warm against his skin—warm in a way that had nothing to do with temperature, warm in a way that made his throat dry and his lips part just slightly in hesitation.

He never asked to be in a fight.

And yet, somehow, it always seemed to happen on the days Sunoo was assigned to the infirmary.

Pure coincidence.

Absolutely just a coincidence.

And yet—if Sunghoon were to be honest with himself, if he were to strip away all the half-truths and quiet denials—he might have admitted that he missed him.

That maybe, just maybe, his bruises and split lips were never the real wounds at all.

That perhaps, the real injury was this: a love hidden in plain sight, a secret wrapped in layers of fleeting glances and unspoken longing.