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Sunghoon misses the noise. Which is never something he thought he would admit.
It’s always so quiet now. No one likes talking anymore. Maybe it’s out of fear that any word could be one’s last. Maybe no one is willing to shatter the silence, one so heavy Sunghoon feels the weight of it every time he wakes up. What it most likely is, though, is that no one is ready to address it. How seven has become six. How they failed.
Everyone’s silence feels like a knife twisting in Sunghoon’s gut, or a bomb tick-tick-ticking its way towards destruction. Above all, he’s angry. Angry that it came to this, angry he couldn’t stop it, angry that out of anyone, they got Riki. The kid was barely 16, it isn’t fair that he—
“Hyung?” a quiet voice begins, cutting through Sunghoon’s spiral. He knows that voice. Its recent absence has hit him the hardest.
Sunoo finds him on the rooftop, staring out at the desolate landscape. What was once Seoul is now a rotting wasteland. Sunghoon glances back at him before turning away once again. Something about seeing Sunoo nowadays makes his heart ache. In another life, in another timeline, Sunghoon would have had the courage. Sunghoon would have said something without needing the end of the world to coerce him.
He wishes the end of the world had done something. Make him confess, finally squash these feelings for good, something. But, no, he sits there, these thoughts like thorns piercing his lungs, his brain, his heart, piercing him. The ache keeps him up at night. The fear drags him through the day, restless yet weary. He doesn’t want to lose anyone, but losing Sunoo would be like losing himself. And Sunoo’s capable. Sunghoon knows that.
But so was Riki.
“Do you need me for something?” Sunghoon asks, addressing Sunoo while his eyes are still on the horizon. Gravel crunches behind him as Sunoo walks up to him. He stops just a couple feet away, just out of reach.
“I was just wondering where you were.”
Of course he was. Because Sunoo always worries. Because all Sunoo has done since the virus broke out is worry, worry more than he ever has. Sunghoon wonders, for a brief moment, if Sunoo’s kept up at night by the same thorns, the same fear of losing someone else. Sunghoon wonders, for a brief but terrifying moment, if Sunghoon is Sunoo’s “someone else.”
Even at the end of it all, Sunghoon can’t stop his heart from wishing.
Sunghoon hums in response, nodding. “Here. Am I needed?”
“No. I…I just wanted to check on you.” Sunoo’s voice is softer now. Sunghoon doesn’t let himself wonder why, still doesn’t turn around, still doesn’t face it.
“Ah.”
Silence kills any words that dare dance on the tip of Sunghoon’s tongue. He’s a hypocrite, he knows, for lamenting over the quiet yet refusing to speak. But some things are better left unsaid.
Sunoo still hasn’t left. Sunghoon still hasn’t turned around. Stasis. Uncomfortable, stagnated quiet. The issue isn’t that words were never Sunghoon’s strong suit. It’s that words were once Sunoo’s.
A soft breeze whistles past them, tousling Sunghoon’s hair. He doesn’t remember the last time he got a haircut. Back when things were normal, it was always the younger ones that would harp on “fixing up the hyungs” or whatever they called it. Sunoo would always insist on doing his hair. I know what looks best on you, he’d claim, carding his fingers through Sunghoon’s hair. And he always did. And Sunghoon always wanted him to.
He swallows harshly, closing his eyes. The memory carries itself on the breeze, the grey skies giving little aid in assuaging the emotions that burn in his throat. Echoes of laughter, the ghost scents of smuggled-in sweets, hazy memories of—
“Hyung.”
Eyes snapping open, Sunghoon tenses. He rapidly blinks back tears, glancing at the empty space next to him only to see that Sunoo’s now filled it. He has the unfortunate luck of meeting Sunoo’s eyes, and Sunoo’s looking at him. Really looking at him, looking with the same concern that always seemed to be reserved just for Sunghoon. Like he was special. Like he still is.
Sunghoon’s quick to look away.
Eyes still burn into his cheek. Or is that the blood rushing to Sunghoon’s face?
Belatedly, Sunghoon remembers that he’d been called. He inclines his head towards Sunoo and only hums, not trusting himself to speak without his voice breaking.
Expecting an answer, Sunghoon waits. The air around them seems to grow stagnant for a second, as if it, too, is waiting for someone to do something. And it comes, though not verbally.
Gravel crunches beneath worn-down sneakers, heat grows closer, a shoulder brushes against his own. An arm presses against his. A head rests against his shoulder, familiar and grounding, as if it’s found its way back home.
Sunghoon is deathly still, unsure of what to do, of what this means, of why Sunoo’s doing this. But again, neither speaks. Words require too much effort for too little impact.
Sunoo doesn’t pull away. Sunghoon suddenly finds himself hoping he never does. If they could stay like this forever, however long that is now, he’d be alright with that. Perfectly alright. It’s a moment of normalcy in the abnormal, one Sunghoon desperately needs but couldn’t find the strength to ask for. One Sunoo could understand without him needing to hear it, just like he always has.
It’s now that Sunghoon finally dares to look. Sunoo’s all still-healing scratches, messy hair, and tattered clothes these days. Cracked lips and dried blood and eyes that hold much more than they were ever meant to. A change, one that Sunghoon has forced himself to adapt to. Gone are the days of flirting disguised as playful teasing. And God knows how much he misses Sunoo’s fingers in his hair. They were just kids a few months ago. They still are, with their aches, their wants, their needs.
Sunghoon still is, only 17 and still wanting.
Sunoo meets his eyes in a gaze that would only ever be meant for him, a moment of crumbling walls and vulnerability where Sunghoon bears witness to just how tired Sunoo is. And it hurts. Kim Sunoo has always been bright in every sense of the word, almost burning with positivity and a There’s always tomorrow ready on his lips. That’s all but gone now.
It’s always so quiet now. And Sunghoon should do something about it.
“You look tired.”
An obvious statement. Sunghoon is quick to remember that a zombie apocalypse has not made him socially adept. He supposes he’ll never be.
“So do you.”
The corner of Sunghoon’s mouth quirks up in the idea of a smile. Sunoo’s eyes grow just a shade brighter. At least moments like this haven’t been lost in the city’s wreckage.
“Really? What gave it away? The giant eyebags?”
“Those have always been there.”
“Hey.”
Sunghoon hears it, the small huff of laughter, and clings to it as if he’ll never hear it again. He hopes that's not the case.
All too quickly do recent memories rush in, dampening his mood before the rain above them has even had a chance to dampen everything else.
“Don’t die, alright? You’ll promise me that?”
Every time Sunghoon recalls anything about that moment, it feels as if he’s watching a movie. Nothing about it feels real. Even now, there are moments where their presence as six feels jarring, yanking him back to a reality that feels so much…emptier. A month of surviving both the quiet and the rotting has not left any of them with much room to mourn. No one has had a chance to grieve. Not properly. And maybe that’s what they all need.
But Sunghoon can’t find the words. That was always Sunoo’s thing.
Sunoo’s presence quells the storm just a bit, though. Because that was also always Sunoo’s thing. His innate ability to pull Sunghoon back down to Earth without a word is unmistakable, and sometimes, Sunghoon wonders if he's even aware of it.
The older boy swallows, exhales, glances away moments too late. He feels Sunoo's gaze fall away from him again. Still, no one tries to breach the topic. No one dares to. And Sunghoon certainly wouldn't force Sunoo, the one who first went to console Riki, to talk about it.
So Sunghoon lets the silence win. But quietly, gently, does he wrap an arm around Sunoo. And quietly, gently, does Sunoo relax in his embrace.
In another life, there would be more to this. But in this life, if this is all they can have, this is enough.