People Watching ★ 𝐒𝐮𝐧𝐒𝐮𝐧

27: Comfort

The swing creaked quietly as Sunghoon sat motionless, watching the spot where Sunoo had disappeared. The warmth of Sunoo's teasing lingered in the air, stubbornly refusing to fade, like the faint echo of a song stuck in his head.

He sighed, dragging his hand down his face. It was stupid, really—how a few sarcastic comments and a half-smile from Sunoo could soften the weight pressing down on his chest. But that was the thing about Sunoo. He had this ridiculous way of cutting through the noise without even trying.

And Sunghoon hated how much he needed it.

The streetlights flickered faintly above him, casting long shadows across the empty park. He should go home. Face whatever lecture Heeseung had prepped for him or just crawl into bed and pretend none of this night had happened. But his feet stayed planted, the chill in the air grounding him more than the thought of four walls ever could.

"Still here?"

Sunghoon startled, head snapping up. Sunoo stood a few feet away, hands shoved into the pockets of his jacket, like he'd never actually left.

"I thought you—" Sunghoon frowned. "Why'd you come back?"

Sunoo shrugged, stepping closer. "Forgot something."

Sunghoon blinked. "What?"

Sunoo stopped in front of him, eyes glinting under the dim light. "You."

For half a second, the world tilted. Sunghoon forgot how to breathe, forgot the ache in his chest, forgot the words his father had thrown at him like knives. All he could focus on was Sunoo, standing there with that stupid, lopsided grin that always seemed one step away from sincerity.

"You're an idiot," Sunghoon muttered, standing up and brushing past him, heart pounding in his ears.

"Yeah, well," Sunoo called after him, falling into step without missing a beat, "takes one to know one."

They walked in silence, side by side, the city lights bleeding into the dark sky. Sunghoon didn't ask why Sunoo was still here. He didn't have to. Sunoo never left until Sunghoon was ready to be alone, no matter how much he pretended otherwise.

"Do you ever," Sunghoon started, voice rough with hesitation, "feel like you're running in place? Like, no matter how hard you try, you're just stuck?"

Sunoo glanced over, surprise flickering across his face. He didn't answer right away. When he did, his voice was quieter than usual, stripped of its usual bravado.

"Yeah," he admitted. "More than I'd like."

Sunghoon swallowed, throat tight. "How do you deal with it?"

Sunoo snorted softly. "Poorly, probably. But... I guess I remind myself that being stuck doesn't mean I'm not moving. Even if it feels like I'm not getting anywhere, I'm still standing, still breathing. And sometimes, that's enough."

They reached the edge of the park, the soft glow of the corner store's neon sign flickering like a heartbeat. Sunghoon stopped, turning to face Sunoo fully for the first time that night.

"Thanks," he said quietly. "For coming back."

Sunoo's grin softened into something almost fond. "I always do, don't I?"

The words hung between them, heavier than they should've been, and Sunghoon realized, with startling clarity, that Sunoo wasn't just talking about tonight.

He never was.

They didn't talk much on the walk to Sunghoon's house. The city buzzed quietly around them—passing cars, faint music from a nearby open window, the occasional chatter of late-night pedestrians. But between them, there was only silence. Comfortable, steady silence.