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Sundays
Sundays always arrived quietly.
They didn’t announce themselves the way deadlines did, or the way weeks collapsed into one another. Sundays slipped in through half-open windows, through the smell of coffee that lingered too long, through the kind of light that made everything feel a little more forgiving.
Heeseung noticed this mostly when he was with Sunoo.
He didn’t remember when Sundays became theirs. There was no conversation, no agreement, no calendar reminder. They simply began to orbit each other one day, pulled by something gentle and insistent, like gravity that didn’t need explaining.
Some Saturdays, Heeseung didn’t even go home.
He would leave the studio late, head full of unfinished melodies and half-written lyrics, fingers sore from replaying the same progression over and over again. Instead of turning toward his apartment, he would walk a few more blocks, take out his phone, and punch in the familiar code without thinking.
Sunoo had given it to him months ago.
“Just in case,” he’d said, smiling like it wasn’t a big thing.
It became a big thing quietly.
Those Saturdays always melted into Sundays.
Heeseung would wake up on Sunoo’s couch or mattress—sometimes he couldn’t remember which—wrapped in a borrowed blanket that smelled faintly like detergent and something sweeter. Morning light filtered in soft and pale, and somewhere in the apartment, Sunoo would already be awake.
There were sounds: cabinets opening, a kettle clicking on, the quiet hum of music playing from a phone set on low volume. Nothing loud. Nothing demanding.
Heeseung would lie there for a moment, listening, feeling the unfamiliar comfort of knowing exactly where he was.
In the kitchen, Sunoo always acted like it was nothing.
“Morning,” he’d say, tossing a packet of ramyeon onto the counter. “You’re cooking.”
Heeseung was good at it—everyone knew that—but Sunoo still hovered nearby, pretending to supervise, stealing snacks and commenting unnecessarily.
“You added the egg too early,” Sunoo would say.
“I did not, it's perfect."
“You absolutely did.”
They would bicker softly, their voices still warm with sleep, until the steam fogged the air and Sunoo leaned against the counter, watching Heeseung move with practiced ease.
There was something grounding about it. About being useful in such a small, ordinary way.
Afterward, they’d sit on the floor or the couch, bowls balanced in their hands, knees brushing. Sometimes Sunoo would talk about work at the café—the regulars he liked, the ones who ordered the same thing every day without fail. Sometimes Heeseung would say nothing at all, just listen, his thoughts slowing down for once.
Other Sundays belonged to the studio.
Sunoo liked sitting on the floor there, back against the wall, legs stretched out, phone forgotten beside him. He listened differently than anyone else—without impatience, without analysis. He listened like the music mattered because Heeseung mattered.
“This part,” Sunoo would say sometimes, eyes closed. “I like this part.”
And that would be enough to make Heeseung keep it.
In spring, they walked at night.
The air carried a soft chill, the kind that made you pull your jacket closer without actually feeling cold. Streetlights blurred into halos, and their steps fell into an easy rhythm. They talked about nothing until they talked about something.
Sunoo admitted, once, that being cheerful all the time was tiring.
Heeseung admitted, once, that he was afraid of never making something good enough.
They didn’t rush to fix each other. They didn’t have to.
Sundays held space for those confessions, the way they held space for laughter over stupid jokes, for silence that felt full instead of awkward, for the comfort of knowing that next Sunday would come too.
It never crossed either of their minds to question it.
Why Heeseung always ended up there. Why Sunoo always left the door unlocked on Saturdays. Why Sundays felt wrong when they weren’t together.
They didn’t have words for it yet.
For now, it was just Sundays.
And somehow, that was everything.
ㅤㅤㅤㅤ၄ㅤׂㅤㅤ⊹ㅤㅤ︵⏜︵ㅤㅤ࣭ㅤㅤ⊹ㅤ၃
﹙♡﹚
The call came at 2:57 a.m., when the world was still holding its breath.
Sunoo’s phone vibrated against the nightstand, a soft insistence in the quiet of his room. He stirred, half-dreaming, fingers fumbling until he found it. The name on the screen blurred for a second before coming into focus.
Heeseung.
He answered without thinking.
“Hello?”
His voice was low, sleep-warm, unguarded.
On the other end, there was silence at first. Not an empty one—just the sound of someone there, breathing.
“Hey,” Heeseung said eventually, careful. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to wake you.”
Sunoo turned onto his side, the phone cradled between his cheek and the pillow.
“It’s okay,” he whispered. “What’s going on?”
Another pause. Longer. Heeseung always needed a second to decide how honest he could be.
“I couldn’t sleep,” he said. “I didn’t want to bother you, but I was wondering if you… maybe wanted to go out? Just walk. No plan.”
Sunoo didn’t weigh the question.
He didn’t consider the hour or the cold or the fact that he had been asleep seconds ago. His body moved before his thoughts could catch up, already sitting up, already swinging his legs over the edge of the bed.
“Yeah,” he said softly. “Give me ten minutes.”
There was a quiet, breathless laugh through the speaker. Like relief.
“...—are you sure?”
“I’m sure, even if i'm gonna freeze my ass out.”
He stood, the room still dark, the air cool against his skin. He moved through the familiar motions like they were instinct: pulling on clothes, tying his shoes, smoothing his hair with sleepy fingers. The phone stayed with him the whole time, resting on the counter, Heeseung’s voice a low constant.
“I’m really sorry,” Heeseung said again, somewhere between the kitchen and the bathroom.
“It’s late,” Sunoo replied, smiling as he dabbed concealer under his eyes.
He paused by the door, then turned back.
The hoodie hung where he’d left it earlier—thick, worn, warm. He grabbed it without hesitation, draping it over his arm like a second thought he didn’t question.
Outside, the cold was immediate and sharp, the kind that woke you all the way up. The city was quiet in that rare, fragile way it only was before dawn. Streetlights cast long shadows, and the sky hadn’t yet decided whether it wanted to be night or morning.
Heeseung was waiting where they’d agreed to meet, hands shoved into his pockets, shoulders slightly hunched. He looked tired. Beautiful in that soft, undone way, hair messy, eyes a little too thoughtful.
“You didn’t bring a jacket,” Sunoo said, fond accusation laced into the words.
Heeseung blinked, then gave a sheepish smile. “I forgot.”
Sunoo sighed, dramatic and affectionate all at once.
“You could be in Antarctica and still walk out like this,” he said, already handing over the hoodie.
Heeseung hesitated. “You don't need to...”
“Take it.”
Their fingers brushed when Heeseung accepted it, pulling the fabric on and immediately sinking into it like it belonged there. He looked down at himself, then back up.
“Thank you,” he said, quiet. “Really.”
Sunoo shrugged, hands tucked into his own sleeves. “Don’t freeze. That’d be inconvenient for me.”
They started walking.
Their steps fell into sync without effort, shoes scuffing against the pavement, breath visible in the cold air. The silence between them wasn’t heavy—it was soft, like something resting.
They talked about nothing. About everything. About the music Heeseung couldn’t get right, about a customer at the café who always ordered the wrong thing and smiled anyway. Sunoo laughed. Heeseung laughed quieter, like he didn’t want to disturb the night.
A convenience store glowed at the corner, lights too bright for the hour.
“Coffee?” Sunoo asked.
“Yes,” Heeseung said immediately.
Inside, Sunoo grabbed two cups and a handful of snacks, ignoring Heeseung’s hand reaching for his wallet.
“No,” Sunoo said lightly. “This one’s on me hyung.”
Heeseung didn’t argue. He never did.
Back outside, coffee warm between their hands, they kept walking as the sky slowly began to lighten, blue bleeding into grey.
Sunday arrived without ceremony.
Neither of them said it out loud, but they both felt it—the quiet certainty of being exactly where they were supposed to be.
Together.
ㅤㅤㅤㅤ၄ㅤׂㅤㅤ⊹ㅤㅤ︵⏜︵ㅤㅤ࣭ㅤㅤ⊹ㅤ၃
The karaoke room was small, dimly lit, and warm in that way places became when time stopped mattering.
Two microphones rested on the table between half-empty cups and snack wrappers. The screen glowed softly, colors shifting with the music. Outside, it was still Sunday—slow, forgiving, stretched thin.
Some people said karaoke wasn’t fun with only two people.
Sunoo had always thought those people probably just didn’t have a Heeseung in their lives.
He sat on the couch, legs tucked beneath him, chin resting in his palm, watching as Heeseung stood near the screen. The opening notes of Can’t Feel My Face filled the room, smooth and familiar.
Then Heeseung started singing.
Sunoo’s sighed softly.
The lights shifted with the beat, washing over Heeseung in soft purples, gentle blues, warm pinks. They clung to him like they belonged there, tracing the lines of his face, settling into the curve of his cheekbones, reflecting in his wide, expressive eyes.
Sunoo watched, quietly mesmerized.
Heeseung looked unreal like this. His cherry hair caught the light, glowing faintly, almost coppery where the colors met it. The shadows softened his features, made him look gentler, kinder—like the version of him that only came out when he was singing or thinking too hard about something he loved.
Sunoo found himself cataloging everything without meaning to.
The way Heeseung’s eyes curved when he smiled mid-verse.
The way his voice filled the room without effort.
The way the music seemed to settle into him, like it had always known where to go.
Sunoo smiled so much his face started to ache.
He really couldn’t feel it anymore.
He’d always thought Heeseung had a beautiful voice. He’d learned that back in college, on a night filled with laughter and too many people and one slightly drunk Heeseung who’d stepped up to the microphone without hesitation and sung like an angel.
It had made sense, later. Someone who loved music the way Heeseung did—who studied it, shaped it, lived inside it—had to know how to sing.
Still, knowing didn’t make it any less unfair.
Sunoo watched him now, heart warm and a little too full, thinking that Heeseung was unfair in more ways than one. Visually. Vocally. Creatively. A friend who felt unreal in every possible sense.
It made him a little jealous.
Not in a bitter way—just that quiet, fleeting thought of how is one person allowed to be this much?
And maybe, too, the private realization that not everyone got to see this version of Heeseung. That hearing him sing like this felt like a privilege, one that came from years of knowing each other, of shared Sundays and soft moments and trust built slowly.
Like something he’d earned.
When the song ended, the room fell quiet for a heartbeat.
Sunoo clapped immediately, laughter slipping out with it. “You’re unfair,” he said, shaking his head.
Heeseung glanced over, sheepish, lights still dancing across his face. “What?”
“That voice,” Sunoo replied easily. “And your face. And—everything, honestly. You can’t just do that and pretend it’s normal.”
Heeseung laughed, rubbing the back of his neck, feeling a bit shy. “It’s just karaoke.”
Sunoo smiled at him, fond and bright, the kind of smile that carried more feeling than he knew what to do with.
“Yeah,” he said. “But I like this version best.”
Heeseung held his gaze for a moment longer than necessary, something soft and unreadable settling in his eyes.
Outside, Sunday kept unfolding.
Inside, Sunoo sat there, heart warm, face aching from smiling, thinking—without quite realizing it—that having a friend like Heeseung felt a little bit like winning something he didn’t remember entering.
ㅤㅤㅤㅤ၄ㅤׂㅤㅤ⊹ㅤㅤ︵⏜︵ㅤㅤ࣭ㅤㅤ⊹ㅤ၃
The rain started without warning.
One moment, the evening was merely grey and heavy; the next, the sky split open, water crashing down in sheets so thick it blurred the streetlights into trembling halos. Sunoo hadn’t brought an umbrella. He hadn’t even brought a jacket thick enough to matter.
By the time he reached Heeseung’s building, he was soaked through.
His hoodie clung to his skin, hair plastered to his forehead, sneakers squelching softly with every step. The cold had worked its way into his bones, sharp and unforgiving, and the frustration hit all at once—too much rain, too much noise, too much everything.
He swallowed hard, blinking rapidly as he pressed the buzzer.
For a second, nothing happened.
Then the door clicked open.
Heeseung stood there, eyes widening just a little.
He was wearing a white hoodie and soft grey sweatpants, the kind that looked unfairly comfortable. His hair curled slightly at the ends, like it always did when he hadn’t bothered to style it. His lips were a little red, like he’d been biting them absentmindedly.
Warm. He looked warm.
“Sunoo?” Heeseung said, surprised. “What—are you okay?”
Sunoo nodded quickly, even though he felt a little like crying, even though his teeth were starting to chatter. “Yeah. I just—” He gestured vaguely behind him, at the rain still pounding down. “It got bad.”
Heeseung stepped aside immediately. “Come in. You’re freezing.”
The door closed behind them, shutting out the storm like it had never existed.
Sunoo stood awkwardly by the entrance, water dripping onto the floor, arms wrapped around himself. Heeseung disappeared down the hall without a word, and for a moment Sunoo was left alone, breathing in the unfamiliar scent of the apartment.
It smelled sweet.
Cotton candy, maybe. Soft and comforting, nothing sharp or overwhelming.
When Heeseung came back with a towel, Sunoo barely had time to react before Heeseung gently draped it over his head and started drying his hair.
“There,” Heeseung said, smiling. “You look like a wet cat.”
Sunoo huffed out a small laugh despite himself. “Rude.”
“But accurate,” Heeseung added fondly, careful as he rubbed the towel through Sunoo’s hair, fingers warm, touch light.
Sunoo relaxed without meaning to.
He didn’t come to Heeseung’s apartment often. It was usually the other way around—Heeseung showing up at his place like it was second nature, claiming it felt better there. More grounding. More Sunoo.
But being here now, Sunoo noticed everything.
The lighting was dim, violet LEDs casting a soft glow along the walls. No harsh white lights anywhere. The rest of the apartment stayed mostly in shadow, save for the TV’s muted glow and Heeseung’s laptop resting on the coffee table in front of a black couch.
It felt intimate. Intentional.
Like a place made for quiet.
Heeseung handed him dry clothes. Made ramyeon. Opened snacks without asking. At some point, he returned from the freezer holding a tub of mint chocolate ice cream.
“I got this because you like it,” Heeseung said, casual, like that wasn’t everything.
Sunoo’s chest felt warm again, this time for a different reason.
They ate slowly, rain tapping against the windows, the storm softened into background noise. The world outside felt far away, irrelevant.
Later, when Sunoo lay down on Heeseung’s bed, he felt like he’d sunk into a cloud.
The sheets were impossibly soft, still warm. The mattress hugged him gently, and when Heeseung settled beside him, close but not touching, the warmth doubled.
Sunoo exhaled, finally.
His body stopped shivering. His thoughts slowed.
Heeseung was breathing evenly next to him, presence steady, comforting. The rain kept falling, but it couldn’t reach them here.
As sleep crept in, Sunoo thought—faintly, hazily—that if every storm ended like this, maybe he wouldn’t mind the rain at all.
Sunday held them gently.
And for once, everything felt exactly right.
Sunoo woke up slowly.
Not all at once—just enough to realize he was warm.
The rain was louder now, drumming insistently against the windows, the kind of sound that seeped into your dreams and pulled you halfway out of them. His eyes fluttered open, heavy, unfocused, the room still wrapped in darkness tinted faintly violet from the lights Heeseung never turned off completely.
For a moment, Sunoo didn’t move.
Then he felt it.
A weight against his shoulder.
Not uncomfortable. Not sudden. Just… there. Like it had always been there.
He looked down.
Heeseung was curled in closer than before, forehead pressed gently against Sunoo’s arm, body drawn in on itself in sleep. His breathing was slow and even, warm against Sunoo’s sleeve, lips parted just slightly. One of his hands rested near Sunoo’s waist, relaxed, trusting.
Sunoo’s chest tightened in that soft, confusing way that felt more like warmth than panic.
It was fuzzy. Everything was fuzzy.
Like waking up at four in the morning from a good dream and realizing you hadn’t really left it. Like the world was still blurred at the edges, forgiving, half asleep with you.
Sunoo let out a quiet sigh without realizing it.
His fingers moved on their own.
He threaded them gently into Heeseung’s hair, careful not to wake him, brushing through soft strands that curled faintly at the ends. The motion was absentminded, instinctive, something he might’ve done without thinking if Heeseung were—
Sunoo paused, amused at the thought.
If Heeseung were a cat.
The way he leaned into warmth. The way he curled up when he slept. The way he gravitated toward comfort without ever asking for it.
Except Heeseung didn’t really feel like a cat.
Sunoo thought, hazily, that Heeseung looked more like a deer when he slept. Something gentle. Soft. A little too fragile-looking for how strong he actually was.
Or maybe a hamster.
That thought made Sunoo smile into the darkness.
His eyes drifted between the rain-streaked window—drops racing each other down the glass, blurring the city into watercolor—and Heeseung’s sleeping face, peaceful and warm against him.
The room smelled faintly sweet. Cotton candy and clean fabric and something that was just Heeseung.
Sunoo’s fingers kept moving, slow and light, tracing nothing in particular. Heeseung shifted slightly, pressing closer, a soft sound escaping him in sleep.
Sunoo froze.
But Heeseung didn’t wake up.
Instead, he relaxed even more.
Sunoo swallowed, heart thudding quietly in his chest, not quite understanding why it felt so full all of a sudden. He stared at the ceiling for a moment, then back down at Heeseung, who fit there like he belonged.
Like this was normal.
Like this was safe.
The rain kept falling.
Sunoo’s eyelids grew heavy again, his hand still tangled gently in Heeseung’s hair. Somewhere between one breath and the next, he let himself drift back to sleep, warmth pressed to his side, the storm held at bay outside the window.
Sunday wrapped around them softly.
Neither of them woke up alone.
ㅤㅤㅤㅤ၄ㅤׂㅤㅤ⊹ㅤㅤ︵⏜︵ㅤㅤ࣭ㅤㅤ⊹ㅤ၃
Sunoo watched from the couch, body sprawled comfortably across the cushions, one arm draped over the backrest, the other tucked beneath his chin.
Heeseung sat on the floor in front of the TV, legs crossed, controller loose in his hands. The balcony door was cracked open, letting in pale afternoon light that spilled softly into the living room. It painted everything in gold—dust floating lazily in the air, the edges of the furniture softened, Heeseung’s silhouette calm and familiar.
Sunoo’s thoughts drifted without urgency.
He thought about Heeseung.
About the way he leaned forward when he focused, brows knitting just slightly. About the small sounds he made when he messed up, quiet clicks of his tongue, a barely-there sigh. About how natural he looked there, like he fit into Sunoo’s space as easily as he fit into Sunoo’s life.
They’d been like this since college.
From the beginning, everything with Heeseung had been easy. Effortless in a way that felt rare. They talked without forcing it. Listened without trying. Showed up for each other without needing to ask.
They went out together. Played games. Ate meals side by side. Sometimes they did nothing at all, and even that felt full.
Sunoo stared at the ceiling for a moment, then back at Heeseung.
It was strange—how he couldn’t quite imagine his Sundays without him anymore. Or his weekdays. Or gatherings with their shared friends. Somewhere along the way, Heeseung had stopped being just there and started being necessary.
The thought settled quietly in his chest.
Sunoo didn’t panic about it. He didn’t try to name it.
He just let it exist.
A sharp sound cut through the room.
GAME OVER flashed across the screen.
Heeseung let out a soft, disappointed noise, lips pushing into a small pout as he leaned back slightly. Sunoo smiled without realizing he was doing it.
Heeseung turned around then, eyes immediately finding Sunoo like they always did. Without a word, he extended the controller toward him.
“Your turn,” he said simply.
Sunoo sat up, reaching out to take it, their fingers brushing briefly.
“Already gave up?” Sunoo teased.
Heeseung shrugged, easy and familiar. “I trust you.”
Sunoo’s heart skipped—just a little, just enough to notice.
He settled into the couch, controller warm in his hands, Heeseung shifting closer to watch over his shoulder. The light outside softened further, the afternoon slowly leaning toward evening.
Sunday held them gently.
And Sunoo thought—without quite understanding why—that as long as Heeseung was there, things would always feel like this.
Easy.
Right.
ㅤㅤㅤㅤ၄ㅤׂㅤㅤ⊹ㅤㅤ︵⏜︵ㅤㅤ࣭ㅤㅤ⊹ㅤ၃
It wasn’t Sunday.
And somehow, that was okay.
The café was calm in a way that felt intentional, like the world had agreed to move a little slower just for the afternoon. Sunoo stood behind the counter, wiping it down with unhurried movements, the cloth tracing familiar paths he could’ve followed with his eyes closed.
There was music playing low—nothing demanding, just something warm enough to fill the space without crowding it.
A couple of customers sat near the window, talking quietly between themselves, their voices blending into a soft murmur. Further back, someone studied with headphones on, tapping a pen absently against a notebook. Cups clinked now and then. The espresso machine hissed once, then went still again.
It was peaceful.
Sunoo liked days like this.
He liked when there wasn’t too much noise, when he didn’t have to be on all the time. When he could exist gently, smiling when needed, moving at his own pace, letting the rhythm of small tasks ground him.
He leaned his elbows against the counter for a second, glancing around.
The sunlight filtered in just right, catching on glass jars and polished surfaces, turning everything softer at the edges. The café looked pretty like this—quietly alive, breathing.
Sunoo felt full.
Not in a loud, overwhelming way. Just… complete.
He thought about how there had been a time when he’d believed happiness had to be something big. Something you chased. Something that announced itself. But standing there, hands slightly damp from cleaning, surrounded by warmth and stillness, he realized maybe it didn’t.
Maybe it was this.
A job he didn’t dread.
A place that felt safe.
People he cared about.
Moments that didn’t rush him.
Somewhere in his thoughts, Heeseung drifted in—uninvited, but welcome. Not in any specific memory. Just the idea of him. Like a constant background presence, steady and reassuring.
Sunoo smiled to himself, small and private.
He wiped the counter one last time, neat and clean, then set the cloth aside. Outside, the world kept going. Inside, everything felt exactly as it should.
For now, Sunoo had everything he wanted.
And that felt like more than enough.
ㅤㅤㅤㅤ၄ㅤׂㅤㅤ⊹ㅤㅤ︵⏜︵ㅤㅤ࣭ㅤㅤ⊹ㅤ၃
It started as nothing.
Or at least, Sunoo thought it would be.
He spotted them through the café window—Heeseung standing outside, leaning slightly closer to someone Sunoo didn’t recognize. A girl, maybe. She laughed, head tilted back, hand briefly touching Heeseung’s arm as she said something he couldn’t hear.
Sunoo froze mid-motion, cloth still in his hand.
Heeseung smiled.
Not a big smile. Not the kind he gave Sunoo when he was half-asleep or laughing at something stupid. But still—warm. Easy. Familiar.
Something in Sunoo’s chest tightened.
He told himself it was silly. That Heeseung had other friends. That he’d always known that. Still, the sight of it lodged somewhere uncomfortable, a quiet ache that didn’t quite know where to go.
When Heeseung came in a few minutes later, the bell above the door chimed softly.
“Hey,” Heeseung said, eyes immediately finding Sunoo behind the counter.
Sunoo smiled. Automatically. Practiced.
“Hey.”
Heeseung waited for something more—for the usual warmth, the easy banter—but it didn’t come. Sunoo turned away to grab a cup, movements a little sharper than usual.
“What do you want?” Sunoo asked, not unkind, just… distant.
Heeseung blinked. “Uh—whatever you recommend.”
Sunoo nodded, already moving. He didn’t ask questions. Didn’t tease. Didn’t linger.
Heeseung watched him carefully, something uncertain settling in his expression.
They didn’t talk much after that.
Later, when the café emptied and Sunoo was stacking chairs, Heeseung lingered near the counter, hands shoved into his pockets.
“Did I do something?” he asked quietly.
Sunoo paused.
The question caught him off guard. He stared at the chair in his hands for a second too long before setting it down.
“No,” he said. Too quickly. “Why?”
Heeseung hesitated. “You’ve been… different.”
Sunoo sighed, shoulders dropping just a little. The truth pressed at the back of his throat, awkward and embarrassing and too vulnerable.
“I just—” He stopped, shaking his head. “It’s stupid.”
“Tell me anyway,” Heeseung said.
Sunoo finally looked at him.
“I saw you earlier,” he admitted. “Outside. With that girl.”
Heeseung’s eyes widened slightly. “Oh. Her?”
“Yes. Her.”
There was a beat of silence. Then Heeseung laughed—soft, surprised.
“She’s my cousin,” he said. “She’s in town for a few days.”
Sunoo felt heat rush to his face.
“Oh.”
Heeseung tilted his head. “You thought—?”
Sunoo looked away, embarrassed. “I didn’t think anything. I just—felt weird about it.”
Heeseung studied him, something gentle and thoughtful in his gaze.
“I was worried you were mad at me,” he said quietly. “I couldn’t figure out why.”
Sunoo swallowed. “I wasn’t mad. Just… jealous, I guess.”
The word hung between them.
Neither of them moved.
Heeseung’s lips curved into a small, soft smile—not teasing. Not smug. Just warm.
“I’m glad you told me,” he said.
Sunoo nodded, heart still beating a little too fast. “Me too.”
The tension eased, dissolving into something calmer, something honest.
They stood there for a moment longer than necessary.
And even though neither of them said it, they both felt it—that small misunderstanding had mattered more than it should have.
Which meant something else mattered too.
Something neither of them was ready to name yet.
The feeling didn’t go away.
Sunoo thought it would—once the café closed, once he got home, once he curled up under his blankets and let the day fade out of him. But it lingered, stubborn and unfamiliar, sitting somewhere just beneath his ribs.
Why did that bother me so much?
He stared at the ceiling, lights off, phone abandoned somewhere near his pillow. The room was quiet, too quiet, his thoughts suddenly much louder without the comfort of background noise.
He replayed the moment without meaning to.
Heeseung outside the café.
The easy smile.
The closeness.
Sunoo squeezed his eyes shut.
It wasn’t like Heeseung had done anything wrong. He knew that. Heeseung had always been kind, open, honest. He’d never hidden things. Never made Sunoo feel pushed aside—until that moment, when Sunoo had felt it anyway, sharp and irrational.
Jealous.
The word still felt strange in his mouth.
Sunoo rolled onto his side, pulling the blanket closer. He thought about college, about how naturally they’d fallen into each other’s lives back then. How conversations had flowed. How being around Heeseung had always felt easy, like breathing.
He’d never questioned it.
He’d never questioned him.
But now—
Now he wondered why the idea of Heeseung choosing someone else’s company, even briefly, had made his chest tighten like that. Why the distance he’d created afterward hadn’t felt relieving, but hollow.
Sunoo exhaled slowly.
This isn’t normal, he thought.
Friends don’t—
He stopped himself there.
Because friends could feel things deeply. Friends could care. He knew that. He’d always cared deeply. That was just who he was.
Still… this felt different.
He pictured Sundays without Heeseung.
The thought landed wrong. Heavy. Like trying to imagine a room with one wall missing.
His Sundays weren’t just days anymore. They were routines shaped around a presence. Coffee cups poured for two. Games played side by side. Music listened to together. Silence shared.
Sunoo’s heart thudded softly.
“Why does this matter so much?” he whispered into the dark.
The answer didn’t come.
Not in words, at least.
But his mind offered him images instead—Heeseung asleep beside him during the storm. Heeseung singing in the karaoke room, lights dancing across his face. Heeseung handing him a controller, saying your turn like it meant something more than just a game.
Sunoo’s throat tightened.
He turned onto his back again, one hand resting over his chest, grounding himself in the steady rhythm there.
I don’t have to know yet, he told himself.
I don’t have to name it.
For now, it was enough to admit one thing.
Whatever this was—
Whatever he felt—
It wasn’t nothing.
And that realization followed him into sleep, quiet and unresolved, waiting patiently for the next Sunday to come.
ㅤㅤㅤㅤ၄ㅤׂㅤㅤ⊹ㅤㅤ︵⏜︵ㅤㅤ࣭ㅤㅤ⊹ㅤ၃
The cold by the sea had a way of settling into everything, but somehow it never felt unpleasant with Heeseung beside him. Sunday stretched out slowly, gray sky melting into gray water, waves crashing in a steady rhythm that felt like breathing. They walked along the shore without any rush, coats brushing, steps naturally falling into sync as if they’d practiced this for years.
They ended up sitting on the large rocks near the water, the kind that held the cold even through layers of fabric. Heeseung talked about a ramyeon he’d tried recently—too spicy, apparently, but with a broth that almost made up for it. Sunoo laughed, told him about a dessert recipe he’d completely ruined earlier in the week, something that was supposed to be soft and sweet and instead came out tragically dense. They talked about nothing important. And somehow, it felt like everything.
At some point, Sunoo pulled out the camera he carried sometimes. Just for a small memory, he told himself—and it wasn’t a lie. Heeseung didn’t pose much, just glanced over now and then, scarf wrapped loosely around his neck, gray against the gray of the sky. The cold had tinted his lips red, his cheeks and nose softly pink beneath his makeup, hair shifting in the wind. The ocean framed him perfectly, waves breaking behind him like they’d agreed to be there.
Sunoo snapped a few photos, heart doing that quiet, annoying thing it always did around Heeseung. He thought, absurdly, that this looked like one of those memories in movies—the kind people look back on and say "she was beautiful, wasn’t she?" when talking about the death wife. The thought startled a small snort out of him.
Heeseung nudged his side with a gloved hand.
“What are you laughing at?” he asked, squinting at Sunoo. “Are you making fun of me?”
Sunoo shook his head, smile lingering, camera still warm in his hands.
“No,” he said softly. “Just… something dumb.”
And maybe it was dumb.
But standing there by the sea, with the cold in his lungs and Heeseung right there—close, familiar, unreal—Sunoo thought that if this became just a memory one day, it would still be a gentle one.
The kind you carry carefully.
ㅤㅤㅤㅤ၄ㅤׂㅤㅤ⊹ㅤㅤ︵⏜︵ㅤㅤ࣭ㅤㅤ⊹ㅤ၃
The Sunday with friends felt louder than the others.
Not in a bad way—just fuller. More voices overlapping, laughter spilling into spaces Sunoo usually shared only with Heeseung. Someone had music playing softly in the background, something hazy and low, the kind that blended into conversations instead of leading them. It reminded Sunoo of songs that felt like late-night drives and unspoken thoughts.
Heeseung was there, of course. He always was. Laughing easily, shoulders relaxed, answering questions about music, about work, about nothing at all. He looked the same as always, and yet Sunoo felt strangely displaced, like he’d been nudged half a step to the side without realizing it.
Someone leaned a little too close to Heeseung while talking. Someone laughed a little too hard at his jokes. Someone touched his arm when they spoke.
Sunoo told himself it was stupid.
They were friends. This was normal. This was just a Sunday that didn’t belong to only the two of them.
Still—
why does this bother me so much?
He watched from where he stood, cup warming his hands, chest feeling oddly tight. He knew Heeseung was kind, magnetic in a quiet way. People gravitated toward him without even trying. Sunoo had known that since college. Maybe that was why this small, sharp feeling surprised him so much.
And then—almost like clockwork—Heeseung looked over.
Their eyes met across the room, and something in Heeseung softened immediately. His gaze lingered, longer than necessary, longer than polite. A small smile tugged at his lips, familiar and unguarded, like he’d found home in a crowded place.
A few minutes later, Heeseung drifted back to Sunoo’s side without announcing it, shoulder brushing his, standing close enough that their sleeves touched. He leaned in slightly, murmuring something about how loud it was, about how he might escape outside in a bit.
Sunoo noticed it then—how Heeseung always ended up here.
How no matter how far he wandered, his body seemed to remember where it belonged.
Heeseung laughed with others, yes, but his eyes kept flicking back to Sunoo. When conversations lulled, it was Sunoo he spoke to. When he grew quiet, it was Sunoo he stood next to. When the noise got overwhelming, it was Sunoo he leaned into without thinking.
And Sunoo felt something loosen in his chest.
Maybe it was selfish of him.
Maybe a little narcissistic.
But as far as he knew, Heeseung only shared his Sundays like this with him. Every hour. Every week. Without fail. Sunoo was the one who saw him when he was unsure, when he doubted himself, when the music in his head felt heavier than usual. Sunoo was the one Heeseung called at three in the morning just to walk and talk and exist. The one he let into his bed, into his quiet, into the softest versions of himself.
Sunoo was the one who could get jealous and hear Heeseung say, gently, don’t worry—no one else matters like that.
And maybe—
maybe Sunoo liked it that way.
Heeseung nudged him lightly, offering a lazy smile.
“You okay?” he asked.
Sunoo nodded, warmth blooming where their arms touched.
“Yeah,” he said, honest this time.
Because even in a room full of people—
Heeseung always came back to him.
ㅤㅤㅤㅤ၄ㅤׂㅤㅤ⊹ㅤㅤ︵⏜︵ㅤㅤ࣭ㅤㅤ⊹ㅤ၃
The Sunday felt slow in the best way. Like time had decided to sit down with them instead of rushing past.
Heeseung stood in the kitchen wearing one of Sunoo’s hoodies—too big on him, sleeves pushed up, fabric soft from being washed too many times. Sunoo already knew it would smell like cotton candy later, like everything Heeseung touched when he stayed too long. He cooked with quiet focus, moving around the space like it was second nature, like this was his place too.
Sunoo sat on the counter, legs swinging lazily, phone resting in his hands as he scrolled without really reading anything. Soft music played from the TV, low enough to blend into the room instead of demanding attention. The light coming through the window was warm and pale, catching dust in the air, making everything feel unreal—like a memory that hadn’t finished happening yet.
Sunoo looked up.
And that’s when it hit him.
They looked like a couple.
Not in the loud, obvious way people usually imagined—no dramatic gestures, no declarations. Just this. Quiet domesticity. Shared space. Comfort so deep it didn’t need to be spoken aloud.
The realization didn’t shock him. If he was honest, it almost made him laugh.
Everyone had said it at least once. Niki, teasing and relentless. Sunghoon, more careful with his words. Jungwon glancing between them like he was connecting invisible dots. Jay and Jake exchanging looks when they thought Sunoo wasn’t paying attention. The way Heeseung and Sunoo were always together. The way Sundays had stopped being available to anyone else three years ago—no nights out, no last-minute plans, because they already belonged to each other.
The codes to each other’s apartments.
Sleeping in the same bed like it meant nothing—and everything.
Heeseung cooking for Sunoo without being asked.
Sharing snacks when neither of them shared food with anyone else.
Being in each other’s apartments even when the other wasn’t there, like permission had never been required in the first place.
Sunoo knew Heeseung’s parents.
Heeseung knew Sunoo’s.
Hell—Sunoo’s mom invited Heeseung over even when Sunoo wasn’t home.
Thinking about it now made something warm and heavy settle in his chest.
Wow.
Heeseung glanced over his shoulder, catching Sunoo staring.
“What?” he asked, a small smile tugging at his lips.
Sunoo shook his head, returning the smile without even trying.
“Nothing,” he said softly.
And it was true.
And also not at all.
Because standing there, in Sunoo’s kitchen, wearing Sunoo’s hoodie, cooking for Sunoo on a Sunday that already felt claimed—Heeseung looked like he belonged.
And maybe—
Sunoo realized—
he always had.
ㅤㅤㅤㅤ၄ㅤׂㅤㅤ⊹ㅤㅤ︵⏜︵ㅤㅤ࣭ㅤㅤ⊹ㅤ၃
It was late—one of those Sundays that had quietly crossed into night without asking permission.
Heeseung’s apartment was dim, lit only by the soft glow of the city slipping in through the windows and the small lamp near the couch. The studio door was half open, music paused mid-project, as if even the songs knew to wait. Rain wasn’t falling tonight, but the air felt heavy with something unspoken.
Sunoo sat on the couch, knees pulled to his chest, scrolling lazily through his phone. Heeseung moved around the kitchen, barefoot, hoodie brushing against the counter when he leaned forward. Everything felt normal.
Too normal.
Heeseung brought over two mugs, setting one down in front of Sunoo.
“Careful,” he murmured. “It’s hot.”
Sunoo thanked him, fingers wrapping around the warmth, watching as Heeseung sat beside him—close enough that their shoulders touched, closer than necessary. They stayed like that, quiet, listening to the hum of the city below.
“I was thinking,” Heeseung said suddenly.
Sunoo hummed, inviting him to continue.
“I don’t think I’ve spent a Sunday without you in… years.” Heeseung laughed softly, not quite amused. “Isn’t that weird?”
Sunoo turned his head, meeting his gaze.
“Is it?” he asked.
Heeseung thought about it. Then he shook his head.
“No,” he said. “I don’t think it is.”
The silence that followed wasn’t awkward. It settled gently between them, like a shared breath. Sunoo looked down at his mug, heart beating a little faster than usual.
“I feel—” Heeseung stopped himself, fingers flexing against his knee. He tried again, softer. “I feel better when you’re here.”
Sunoo froze.
It wasn’t dramatic. It wasn’t loud. Heeseung didn’t look nervous or grand or desperate. He just looked honest.
“Like,” Heeseung continued, voice almost thoughtful, “even when I’m tired, or stressed, or my head won’t shut up… it all goes quiet when you’re around.” He glanced at Sunoo, hesitant but steady. “So I hope you don’t ever feel like you’re… intruding. Or just killing time.”
Sunoo’s chest ached.
He set his mug down carefully and leaned in—just slightly—until his head rested against Heeseung’s shoulder. The movement felt instinctive, natural, like muscle memory.
“I don’t,” Sunoo said quietly. “I never have.”
Heeseung inhaled sharply, then relaxed, shifting just enough to rest his cheek against Sunoo’s hair. His arm lifted, slow, giving Sunoo time to pull away if he wanted.
Sunoo didn’t.
Heeseung’s arm settled around him, warm and certain.
Nothing else was said.
But something shifted—something irreversible.
Because from that night on, Sunoo never wondered if he had a place in Heeseung’s life.
And Heeseung never spent another Sunday pretending he didn’t already know what Sunoo was to him.
ㅤㅤㅤㅤ၄ㅤׂㅤㅤ⊹ㅤㅤ︵⏜︵ㅤㅤ࣭ㅤㅤ⊹ㅤ၃
Again, It was one of those Sundays that felt full before anything even happened.
Sunoo’s apartment smelled like vanilla and sugar, warmth clinging to the walls as if it had soaked in over time. The oven hummed quietly, and outside the window the sky was already starting to dim, afternoon slipping toward evening without resistance.
Heeseung sat on the counter, legs dangling, a small plate balanced in his hands. Strawberries, cream, layers of soft vanilla cake—he took his time with it, like he always did when Sunoo made something. Like savoring it was a form of gratitude.
“It’s really good,” he said, voice calm and sincere. “It always is.”
Sunoo let out a small breath that turned into a quiet laugh, more fond than shy. He pulled the cupcakes out of the oven, setting them aside carefully, steam rising as he slipped off the oven mitts. When he turned around, Heeseung was finishing the last bite, lips faintly glossy from the cream, eyes soft, content.
Sunoo thought—very simply—that Heeseung looked happy.
Pretty.
Comfortably his.
And if that was true… then he had the right.
Didn’t he?
Sunoo stepped closer without overthinking it. One hand rested on Heeseung’s thigh, grounding, familiar. The other slipped up to the nape of his neck, warm skin beneath his fingers. Heeseung barely had time to process the movement before Sunoo leaned in and pressed a small, gentle kiss to his lips.
It was casual.
Almost absentminded.
Like it had always been meant to happen.
Sunoo pulled back just as easily and turned away again, focusing on the cupcakes like nothing monumental had occurred.
Heeseung, on the other hand, froze.
For a split second, his heart genuinely stopped—eyes wide, breath caught, heat flooding his face all at once. He stared at Sunoo’s back, mind scrambling, lips still tingling where they’d been kissed.
But he didn’t complain.
Didn’t question it.
Didn’t ask what it meant.
Because he knew.
That’s how they were now.
Heeseung stayed red for most of the night, flustered in a way Sunoo pretended not to notice. They ate, talked, moved around the kitchen like always—like nothing had changed.
Except everything had.
And neither of them backed away.
ㅤㅤㅤㅤ၄ㅤׂㅤㅤ⊹ㅤㅤ︵⏜︵ㅤㅤ࣭ㅤㅤ⊹ㅤ၃
Sunday settled over Sunoo’s apartment like it always did—quiet, familiar, kind.
The lights were low, warm, the city humming softly outside the windows. Heeseung was there, barefoot, curled into the couch like he belonged. Because he did. Sunoo knew that now, in the way you know something that’s always been true but only recently stopped pretending otherwise.
Sunoo moved around the apartment slowly, deliberately, like he was savoring every second. When he sat beside Heeseung, their knees touched. When he leaned in, Heeseung leaned too—no hesitation, no question. Just instinct.
Heeseung’s hand found Sunoo’s almost absentmindedly, fingers fitting together like muscle memory. Sunoo squeezed once, gentle, grounding. Heeseung looked at him then, eyes soft and open, all the noise of the world turned down low.
“You okay?” Heeseung asked quietly.
Sunoo smiled.
“Yeah,” he said. “Just… happy.”
That was all it took.
Heeseung shifted closer, their foreheads brushing, breath shared, warm and slow. Sunoo pressed a kiss to his lips—unrushed, tender, like he had all the time in the world. Heeseung melted into it with a small sigh, hand sliding to Sunoo’s necks, holding into him like something precious.
There was no need to hurry. No need to prove anything.
Sunoo traced gentle paths along Heeseung’s arm, his shoulder, drifting down to the hem of Heeseung shirt, a hand lifting it softly, having Heeseung shiver softly, exposing soft skin to Sunoo's eyes, memorizing him in this new way that felt new. Every touch said the same thing, over and over again: You’re mine—and I’m yours.
Kisses, so soft, everything felt so warm it made Sunoo’s head so dizzy, the way Heeseung was just letting him do whatever he wanted, pushing him further until his back hitted the cushions of the couch, with Sunoo hovering above him, and all he could think was how pretty Heeseung really is, the way those eyes looked at Sunoo with so much love he could cry. They ended up tangled together on the couch, limbs loose, heartbeats syncing. Sunoo rested his head against Heeseung’s chest, listening, fingers lightly clutching the fabric of Sunoo’s shirt like he was afraid of letting go, it all just felt right, the way Sunoo would trail soft kisses down Heeseung’s neck, the way his hand would touch him so tenderly. This is what love should felt like... Or maybe this is just how love felt with Sunoo.
Sunoo kissed his forehead, slow and reverent.
Sunoo gazed deep into Heeseung's soft doe eyes, their faces inches apart, breaths intermingling in the scant space between them. His fingertips traced the delicate curve of Heeseung's cheek, marveling at the silky smoothness of his skin.
"You're so beautiful, hyung," Sunoo murmured, his voice low and soft with emotion. "I want to touch every inch of you"
Heeseung blushed prettily at the compliment, a tender smile playing at the corners of his lips. He turned his head slightly to press a kiss into Sunoo's palm.
"You're being cheesy now...," Heeseung breathed, his own hand coming up to cup Sunoo's cheek, thumb brushing over his bottom lip. "I really love you"
Sunoo's heart swelled at the loving words, his body already responding eagerly. He captured Heeseung's lips in a tender searing kiss, pouring all his love into it like the words weren’t enough. He wanted to be closer to Heeseung, he wanted to fuse with him if he could, with his warmth. Sunoo pushed his tongue inside Heeseung’s mouth, distancing in between kisses to leave soft pecks in Heeseung’s face, his eyes, his cheeks, his nose, before going back to his mouth. Sunoo would be lying if he said he didn’t want Heeseung so bad now, he couldn’t even help it, he just needed him so much, to be close, to give him everything.
Slowly, reverently, Sunoo began to divest Heeseung of his clothes, his hands caressing every bit of skin he revealed like they had all the time in the world, Heeseung would shiver softly at the cold that hitted his revealed skin and the feeling of Sunoo’s fingertips caressing him with so much care. He leaned down to press open-mouthed kisses to the swell of Heeseung's chest, to his toned stomach. Heeseung gasped and writhed beneath him softly, he felt like he could really cry, Sunoo was just, so soft with him, so tender and with so much care like Heeseung would break so easily.
Sunoo took his time exploring every dip and curve, his fingers mapping out the landscape of Heeseung's body. He wanted to remember every detail, to burn this moment into his mind. Heeseung was really a gift, a treasure, Sunoo's treasure.
As he settled between Heeseung's thighs, he could feel the evidence of his pretty now lover arousal pressing urgently against his stomach. Sunoo sighed softly, wrapping his hand around Heeseung’s cock, the other let out a soft sigh, closing his eyes at the feeling of Sunoo’s hand enveloping fully his member, the way Sunoo would stroke him slowly, while tracing patterns with his thumb in Heeseung’s hips, he felt a bit shy, the way Sunoo was staring down at him with so much fascination, like Heeseung’s was the eighth wonder of the world.
Heeseung would let out a small moan the moment Sunoo's fingertips gently traced his tip, arching slightly, his body felt sensitive, like just the touch of Sunoo set him on fire.
Before he knew it, he was already lying face down, ass up while Sunoo worked him open with his fingers, soft whines coming out of him without him realizing it, his thighs trembled every time Sunoo hooked his fingers a bit, making Heeseung let out whimpers louder with shame. Sunoo would coo at him and reassure him with words - "Hyung sounds so pretty" -, he would ask things "Do you feel good?" and Heeseung could only nod and whine every time Sunoo would hit with his fingerstips that sweet spot before he pulled his fingers out. Heeseung almost cried, it was feeling so good, so so so good. and now it was gone, he looked back, seeing Sunoo look around in a drawer of condoms and lube. - "Who the hells keeps those in drawers in the living room?" Heeseung thought, but that wouldn't matter a lot now.
The moment Sunoo sat down again, hands holding Heeseung's hips softly, everything didn't matter anymore, he could feel his cock twitch while watching Sunoo slide his member into the condom, pouring some of the lube. Sunoo sighed softly, nudging against Heeseung's entrance carefully before beginning to sink inside Heeseung. He whined softly, it felt so full when Sunoo bottomed inside him. and still, Sunoo would caress his waist, letting him get used to the pain and shower Heeseung's skin with kisses on his back, shoulders and cheeks.
It did feel amazing, Heeseung was enveloping him so well, and he was making so many pretty noises, Sunoo even thinked they sounded as beautiful just like Heeseung's singing, even small tears forming on his face that Sunoo wiped away with pecks and caresses while Sunoo pounded into him.
They went for a while like this, but even if they were so aroused, they were also so in love with each other now, maybe even more than when they barely realized those feelings.
This—
this—
was love as it was meant to be.
Quiet. Certain. Cherished.
And if anyone asked when it started, Sunoo wasn’t sure he could answer.
It felt like it always had. ㅤㅤㅤㅤ