Work Text:
Keeping me going how you show up like July, July
And July is still coming
It's made real by the things that you do
And July, July
And July is still coming
Just knowing that it's getting me through
Sunoo had been live for about two hours now, and his stream showed no signs of slowing down. Korea’s rising YouTube star, affectionately dubbed “the nation’s sunshine,” had carved out a space in the digital world that felt more like a cozy living room than a high-powered studio.
Known for his playful energy, charm, and chaotic sense of humor, he had amassed millions of subscribers in just over a year—his content ranging from gaming and reaction videos to spontaneous vlogs that showcased his pastel-themed apartment and his enviable skincare routine.
He wasn't just popular—he was adored.
Fans followed him not just for his looks or his laugh, but for the way he made every stream feel like a sleepover with your best friend.
Whether he was baking banana bread at midnight or crying over a sad anime ending, Sunoo had a way of drawing people in, making them feel like they mattered.
Tonight, the LED lights in his room glowed softly—blends of pink, orange, and soft purple spilling warmth over the carefully decorated space.
The walls were dotted with polaroids and hand-drawn fan art, plushies lined the shelves, and on his desk sat a tiny, potted plant he’d once named in a stream poll (“Sprouty,” the undefeated winner). His camera framed him just right—hair styled into soft waves, lips glossy, skin dewy under the soft light.
He wore a hoodie that looked two sizes too big, sleeves covering most of his hands as he played.
He was deep in another Goose Goose Duck session, wildly gesturing as he tried to defend himself during a heated round.
His high-pitched squeal when he got betrayed again echoed through the mic, followed immediately by dramatic wailing and the accusatory, “YOU DID NOT JUST DO THAT TO ME!”
His chat, as always, was a blur of laughter and capital letters.
“HE’S SO CUTE I CAN’T”
“SUNOO PLEASE YOU’RE HILARIOUS”
“OUR PRINCE IS ON FIRE TODAY”
“HOW IS THIS BABY REAL”
“CAN I BITE YOU SUNOO”
He grinned as he glanced over at the chat, eyes sparkling as he read a few comments out loud with exaggerated reactions, then turned back to the game. It was clear he was in his element—this was his zone, where the screen lit up with color, where fans from around the world waited every week just to hear him laugh.
And yet, as vibrant and commanding as his presence was online, no one watching knew what was about to happen next. Not even Sunoo himself.
What he didn’t expect was the door to his stream room swinging open.
Sunoo blinked, confused for a split second—he always locked the door when he streamed. Had he forgotten this time?
Before he could turn his head to check, the door creaked open slowly, and in walked a familiar figure.
Sunghoon.
His boyfriend of almost a year now, wrapped in an oversized hoodie, grey sweatpants hanging low on his hips, and damp hair still clinging to his forehead from post-practice shower mist or maybe melted ice. His cheeks were flushed pink from the cold, eyes barely open, looking like he was surviving on pure instinct.
“Baby…” Sunghoon murmured, sounding half-asleep as he shuffled across the room with the grace of a sleepy puppy.
Sunoo’s eyes went wide, one hand flying up like he could summon a barrier spell. “Wait—Hoon—!”
But it was far, far too late.
Sunghoon had already reached him, arms sliding around Sunoo’s shoulders from behind, face burrowing into the crook of his neck. He pressed a kiss to Sunoo’s cheek. Then another. Then another, slower and softer, like he hadn’t seen him in years instead of just ten hours.
“I missed you,” he mumbled, breath warm against Sunoo’s skin. “Practice was hell. I just needed my baby for five minutes. That’s all.”
Sunoo froze mid-breath.
The mic.
The camera.
The chat.
The stream.
It was still live.
The chat exploded in real-time:
“WAIT WHA—WHA—WHAT”
“IS THAT WHO I THINK IT IS????”
“THE FIGURE SKATING PRINCE JUST KISSED OUR STREAMER”
“THIS ISN’T A SOFT LAUNCH THIS IS A METEOR STRIKE”
“I AM LITERALLY SOBBING SCREAMING CRYING”
“SUNGHOOOOOON??!???”
Sunghoon, completely oblivious, let out a quiet sigh and gave one last squeeze before pulling away. He stretched with a little groan, eyes still half-shut, and yawned.
“I’ll cook dinner first. You want the creamy pasta, right?” he asked, already turning to leave.
Sunoo just stared at him, mouth open like he forgot how speech worked.
Sunghoon ruffled his hair affectionately—one quick swipe of fingers through bangs—before padding toward the door with the softest, “I love you,” tossed over his shoulder like it was just a Tuesday night and not the moment the internet collectively exploded.
The door clicked shut behind him.
Silence.
Sunoo stared at the chat.
“CREAMY PASTA????? HE’S COOKING FOR YOU TOO???”
“DID HE JUST SAY I LOVE YOU???”
“I NEED TO LIE DOWN.”
“CAN HE BE MY BOYFRIEND TOO OR???”
“SUNOO YOU ARE WINNING AT LIFE RIGHT NOW.”
“IS IT REALLY PARK SUNGHOON????”
“IN FRONT OF MY SALAD???”
Sunoo slowly turned back to the camera, face bright red, both hands coming up to his cheeks like he could press the heat away.
“I—um. Let me just… scream into my pillow for like twenty minutes.”
He grabbed the throw pillow behind him and actually did it—muffled squealing into the fabric before flopping forward dramatically onto his desk with a long groan.
“Oh my god. Oh my god. I didn’t even know he was home,” he muttered, peeking up through his fingers.
The chat had zero mercy.
“YOU GUYS LIVE TOGETHER???”
“WAIT THIS MEANS YOU GUYS HAVE BEEN DATING FOR A YEAR????”
“SUNOO DO YOU REALIZE YOU’RE THE MAIN CHARACTER OF AN ENEMIES-TO-LOVERS SLOWBURN ROMCOM NOW”
“TELL HIM WE LOVE HIM TOO”
“I WANT SOME CREAMY PASTA TOO”
“IS THIS THE PART WHERE WE SPAM W W W W W????”
“IS THIS REALLY HAPPENING??!!!!!”
Sunoo let out a strangled laugh.
“Okay okay okay I need to… breathe. And maybe drink water. And maybe roll under my bed and live there now.”
He clapped his hands once, cheeks still violently pink.
“Alright, besties, I think that’s enough chaos for one stream. I love you, I appreciate you, but I am dangerously close to combusting from secondhand embarrassment and first-hand boyfriend exposure.”
He gave the camera one last flustered grin, eyes crinkling.
“Please don’t tweet too much about this… actually no, I know you will. Okay. Love you. I’ll… go now. I need to go beg him not to leave the house for the next six months.”
With one last wave and an embarrassed squeal, he hit end stream .
Seconds later, Sunoo was bolting to the kitchen, face bright red, fingers clutching at the hem of his hoodie like he could somehow tuck himself into it.
He stopped in the doorway.
There was Sunghoon, standing at the stove with a towel slung loosely around his neck, hair still slightly damp and curling at the ends. He was humming something faint and tuneless, hips swaying lazily as he stirred the sauce. The kitchen was cozy with warmth from the stove and the faint scent of garlic and cream.
Sunoo leaned against the counter, arms crossed and trying very hard not to look like he’d just squealed into a pillow on camera.
“You kissed me,” he said, deadpan. “On a live stream. ”
Sunghoon looked up mid-stir, blinking once. “Wait. That was a stream?”
Sunoo’s hands flew up. “Yes! You walked in, kissed me three times, said ‘I love you,’ and announced dinner plans in front of like eighty thousand people!”
Sunghoon’s spoon clattered slightly against the pot as he froze.
He blinked again. “Oh.”
Then his whole expression shifted—brows furrowing, lips parting slightly, the kind of guilty surprise that made Sunoo’s chest ache even before he said anything.
“I’m so sorry,” Sunghoon said, already setting the spoon aside and stepping toward him.
“I didn’t know—I seriously thought you were just gaming like usual. If I’d known you were streaming, I wouldn’t have come in like that. I swear.”
He reached up, gently brushing his thumb over Sunoo’s wrist.
“Are you okay? Do you want me to say something? Like… clear it up online or say it was just a joke? I’ll do anything. I didn’t mean to expose us like that. I’d never—”
“Hey—hey,” Sunoo said quickly, his voice softening. “I’m not mad. Just… flustered. And very aware that I squeaked like a hamster on livestream.”
Sunghoon’s brows relaxed just a little, though he still looked apologetic, like a puppy that got caught digging up a flowerbed.
“You did kind of squeak.”
Sunoo narrowed his eyes, but couldn’t help the smile pulling at his lips.
“I’m really sorry,” Sunghoon said again, quieter this time. “Everything kind of sucked at practice today. I got yelled at, my blade chipped, and I was cold and tired and I just—” he reached out and tucked a strand of hair behind Sunoo’s ear, “—wanted to see you. I wasn’t thinking.”
Sunoo’s heart softened completely. “You’re lucky I like you.”
Sunghoon managed a small, sheepish smile. “Lucky I’m good at pasta too.”
“Oh my god,” Sunoo muttered under his breath, dragging both hands down his face.
“Do you know what chat was saying? Someone said this wasn’t a soft launch, it was a meteor strike.”
Sunghoon winced. “That bad?”
“You basically revealed our entire relationship and dinner plans in under thirty seconds,” Sunoo said. “Also, you called me baby. Twice. ”
“Right,” Sunghoon said with a wince, running a hand through his hair. “In my defense… I do call you baby. Like, all the time.”
“Yeah, but usually when eighty thousand people aren’t listening.”
Sunghoon hesitated. Then offered carefully, “To be fair… most of my teammates and coaches already know. They know I live with my boyfriend.”
Sunoo stared. “They what? ”
“I talk about you all the time,” Sunghoon said, gently turning back to stir the pasta one last time. “I mean… you make my lunches, you leave me notes, you do that thing where you fold my socks together into little dumplings—what was I supposed to do? Not tell them about you?”
Sunoo covered his face again. “You didn’t think to tell me that they knew?!”
“I thought you wanted to keep it quiet,” Sunghoon said honestly. “I never posted anything. But I’m proud of you. Of us. I wasn’t hiding you.”
Sunoo peeked through his fingers. “Even though I’m a whole disaster?”
“You’re my disaster,” Sunghoon said, flashing him a soft grin as he plated the pasta. “And I’m very much okay with that.”
Sunoo dropped his hands, lips twitching into a helpless smile.
“I’m gonna get so many comments tomorrow…”
“Then tell them the truth,” Sunghoon said simply, placing two steaming plates on the table. “That you’re dating the guy who crashes your streams and makes decent pasta.”
Sunoo squinted at him as he slid into his seat. “You mean the guy who gave me heart failure?”
“The guy who’s going to grate fresh parmesan for you now,” Sunghoon said, already grabbing the cheese and grater like the smug little domestic menace he was.
Sunoo smiled, cheeks still a little pink, and reached for a fork.
“Hey,” Sunghoon said, gentler now as he slid into the seat beside him instead of across.
His voice was lower, softer, like it was meant only for Sunoo. “Really though. If you’re not okay with this… we’ll fix it. Whatever you want. You come first. Always.”
Sunoo glanced up, eyes wide and still a little pink around the edges, heart tugging like it always did whenever Sunghoon got like this—so careful, so soft.
He didn’t say anything right away. Just reached over and curled his pinky around Sunghoon’s, their fingers tangling quietly.
“I’m okay,” he murmured, his voice light and sincere. “Just… maybe next time, knock? Preferably before kissing me three times and declaring your love to half the internet?”
Sunghoon let out a breathy laugh, full of affection, before his grin melted into something more tender. “Noted, baby.”
And then—because he was ridiculous and gentle and so, so in love—Sunghoon turned in his chair, reached over, and cupped Sunoo’s cheeks with both hands.
Sunoo blinked, a surprised noise caught in his throat as warm palms framed his face.
“I just—” Sunghoon began, then stopped, eyes soft as they searched his. “You’re too cute when you’re flustered. I had to.”
And with that, he leaned in and started peppering his face with kisses—light, fluttery ones. A kiss on his cheek. Then the tip of his nose. Another to his other cheek. His forehead. His jaw.
Sunoo squirmed, laughing as he tried and failed to duck away. “Hoon— stop— I just recovered from the stream—!”
“Nope,” Sunghoon said, voice muffled as he kissed the space beside his mouth. “You’re my boyfriend and I love you and I reserve the right to smother you in affection whenever I want.”
“Help,” Sunoo whined, giggling as Sunghoon grinned against his skin. “Chat already thinks we’re gross.”
“Let them,” Sunghoon said, finally pulling back just enough to look at him—hands still cradling his face like Sunoo was something rare and precious. “They should know you’re adored.”
Sunoo's face was practically radioactive now, lips twitching into a sheepish smile as he leaned forward and nudged their foreheads together. “You're really something, Park Sunghoon.”
“And you’re everything,” Sunghoon said easily, like it was the most obvious thing in the world.
They ate together at their tiny round dining table, the one they found at a secondhand shop and painted pastel blue during a rainy weekend.
The table was a little chipped now, but Sunghoon said it gave it character. Their knees brushed under the table, feet tangled without thinking. The windows were cracked open just enough to let in the night air, and the world outside was quiet except for the hum of the city in the distance.
Sunghoon kept sneaking glances at Sunoo between bites—like he couldn’t believe he was real and right there and his. Sunoo caught him once and raised an eyebrow.
“What?” he said, trying not to smile.
“You’ve got sauce on your lip,” Sunghoon said.
“I do not—”
But Sunghoon leaned in and kissed it off before he could argue, and Sunoo nearly dropped his fork.
After dinner, dishes forgotten in the sink, they curled up on the couch under their soft, oversized blanket—the one Sunoo had chosen because it was “the color of clouds, but make it cozier.”
Sunoo’s head rested against Sunghoon’s shoulder, their legs tangled. Their cat, Tteok, hopped up into Sunghoon’s lap, purring and promptly making himself at home across both of them.
The TV played something in the background, but neither of them were really watching. The room was quiet, peaceful. Just the two of them, tucked into their little apartment, hearts beating in rhythm.
Sunoo tilted his head, cheek brushing against Sunghoon’s hoodie. “You really talk about me at practice?”
Sunghoon didn’t even pause. “All the time.”
Sunoo peeked up, blinking. “Really?”
Sunghoon nodded. “They’re sick of hearing about you. they even groan every time I start a sentence with, ‘Sunoo said…’” He paused, smile crooked and eyes soft. “I don’t care, though. You’re my favorite topic.”
Sunoo’s face went pink, and he looked down, trying to hide the small, pleased smile spreading on his lips. But his heart felt full—overflowing, even.
They hadn’t meant to go public. It wasn’t planned. But now, curled up on the couch with Sunghoon, Tteok sprawled over them like a warm, fluffy blanket, and the soft buzz of the city muffled by the quiet safety of their home… it didn’t feel scary anymore.
Because somewhere in between pasta and kisses and flustered laughs, Sunoo had realized something.
Sunghoon had already made room for him—in his routines, in his days, in his conversations at practice and in his kitchen. He’d carved out space without asking for anything in return.
Maybe letting the world see this—the soft, lived-in kind of love, the one that bloomed over shared meals and sleepy hugs and too many kisses on the nose—wasn’t so terrifying after all.
Especially when the one by his side was Sunghoon.
Sunoo let out a quiet sigh, content, and nuzzled closer.
Sunghoon pressed a kiss to his temple without needing a reason.
“Hey,” he murmured.
“Hm?”
“I love you.”
Sunoo’s smile was shy and sleepy as he whispered it back.
And that night, under the soft light of their living room, tangled in each other and smelling faintly of garlic and fabric softener, the world felt far away—and perfect.