Chapter Text
The house was too quiet.
It wasn’t always like this. There was a time when laughter filled every corner, when even the smallest things—burnt toast, mismatched socks, late-night conversations—felt like something to hold onto. Now, the silence sat heavy in the air, pressing against the walls like it had something to say.
Sunoo stood by the kitchen sink, staring at the glass in his hand long after he had finished drinking. The water had turned lukewarm, forgotten, just like everything else between them.
The front door clicked open.
Evan stepped inside, his movements slow, almost hesitant, as if he wasn’t sure he was allowed to be there anymore. He loosened his tie, eyes briefly scanning the room before landing on Sunoo’s back.
“You’re still awake,” Evan said.
It wasn’t a question. It never was, these days.
Sunoo hummed softly, not turning around. “Couldn’t sleep.”
A pause.
“Again?”
There was something in Evan’s voice-concern, maybe. Or habit. It was hard to tell the difference now.
Sunoo finally turned, leaning against the counter. “You’re late.”
“Work.”
“Right.”
That one word carried more weight than it should have. Evan felt it, settling somewhere in his chest, but he didn’t argue. He didn’t have the energy to.
He placed his bag down and walked further into the house, stopping just a few steps away from Sunoo. Close enough to reach him. Far enough to feel like strangers.
“I told you I had a meeting,” Evan added, quieter this time.
“And I told you dinner would get cold,” Sunoo replied, just as quiet.
Their eyes met.
For a second—just one—it felt like something might break through. Like maybe one of them would say what they were both thinking. Like maybe they’d go back to how things used to be.
But the moment passed.
It always did.
“I’m not hungry,” Evan said, looking away first.
Sunoo let out a small laugh, though there was nothing funny about it. “You’re never hungry anymore.”
Evan frowned. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
“Nothing.”
“Sunoo—”
“I said it’s nothing.”
The words came out sharper than intended. The air shifted, tension slipping in like it had been waiting for an opening.
Evan ran a hand through his hair, exhaling slowly. “Why does everything have to turn into this?”
“Into what?” Sunoo shot back. “A conversation?”
“A fight.”
Sunoo shook his head, looking down at the floor. “We don’t even fight properly anymore, Evan. We just… talk like this. Like we’re careful not to touch something that’s already broken.”
That hit harder than anything else.
Evan didn’t respond right away. He just stood there, staring at Sunoo like he was trying to memorize something he was already losing.
“When did we start feeling like this?” Evan asked quietly.
Sunoo swallowed.
“I don’t know,” he admitted. “Maybe when we stopped asking.”
Silence fell again—thicker this time.
Evan took a step forward.
It was a small movement, barely noticeable, but Sunoo saw it. He always did. For a moment, hope flickered in his chest—fragile and dangerous.
But Evan stopped.
Just short of reaching him.
“I’m tired,” Evan said instead.
And just like that, the moment disappeared.
Sunoo nodded slowly, masking the disappointment that settled deep inside him. “Yeah. Me too.”
Evan turned away, heading toward the bedroom without another word. The sound of his footsteps faded down the hallway, leaving Sunoo alone in the quiet once more.
He stayed there for a long time, unmoving.
Then, almost absentmindedly, he reached for the plate on the table—food long gone cold—and began to clean up.
This was what they had become.
Two people living in the same space, orbiting around each other without ever colliding. Holding on—not out of certainty, but because neither of them knew how to let go.
Sunoo paused, gripping the edge of the table.
“We weren’t always like this,” he whispered to no one.
Somewhere down the hall, a door clicked shut.
And the silence answered back.