instagram | sunsun

epilogue

three years later

—

Sunoo learned, eventually, that peace didn't announce itself.

It didn't arrive loudly or all at once. It didn't come with apologies or explanations or grand realizations. It settled in quietly — in routines, in mornings that didn't feel heavy, in nights that didn't end with his chest tight and waiting.

It lived in the way Sunghoon reached for him without thinking.

—

Sunoo was half-awake when he felt it — the familiar weight of an arm draped over his waist, fingers warm where they curled against his stomach.

The room was still dim, curtains barely parted enough to let in the early light. Burt was sprawled at their feet, a soft, unmoving lump that had claimed the bed as his rightful territory years ago.

Sunoo shifted slightly, careful not to wake either of them.

Sunghoon made a quiet sound anyway, a low hum that vibrated against Sunoo's back. His arm tightened instinctively, pulling Sunoo closer like his body had learned the shape of him by heart.

Sunoo smiled to himself.

Three years ago, he would've stayed still — afraid of breaking the moment, afraid of wanting too much.

Now, he turned in Sunghoon's arms and pressed his face into the curve of his chest, breathing him in. Vanilla, laundry detergent, something warm and familiar that had long since replaced the scent of fear in Sunoo's memory.

Sunghoon blinked awake slowly.

"Mornin'," he murmured, voice still rough with sleep.

Sunoo tilted his head up. "You're awake."

"Mm. You moved." Sunghoon's eyes opened fully then, soft and unfocused, a smile already forming. "Did Burt kick me again?"

Burt's tail flicked once, unapologetic.

Sunoo laughed quietly. "You're the one who lets him sleep there."

Sunghoon glanced down at the cat, then back at Sunoo. "He pays rent."

Sunoo snorted.

Sunghoon leaned down and kissed the corner of his mouth, unhurried, like there was nowhere else to be. No rush. No fear of interruption.

Just them.

Sunoo stayed there for a moment longer than necessary, letting himself feel it — the calm, the certainty, the way his body no longer braced for impact that never came.

He reached for his phone on the nightstand, more out of habit than need.

A notification was already waiting.

—

groupchat (do not leave)

dimples
okay but be honest.
who forgot to answer the groupchat last night.

rikishimura
SUNOO.

sun <3
I WAS ASLEEP.

rikishimura
LIAR YOU WERE DEFINITELY DOING COUPLE SHIT

icyhnoon
mind your business.

rikishimura
EW.

jakela
why are you ew-ing like you didn't sit on his lap three years ago