Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

The bathroom of the MARS group house looked like a salon had exploded mid-existential crisis.

Dye boxes. Gloves. Towels. One mirror already fogged up from someone forgetting to turn off the hot water. And seated defiantly in the middle of it all, like a cat that accidentally agreed to a bath, was Dylan.

They had originally planned on starting the hair-saviour session in the backyard but when its almost mid-morning and mid of June it’s more a heat torture than a hotness retrieval process.

“I’m only doing this because Pepper said the pink would ‘match the spring concept,’” Dylan muttered, arms crossed as Jun tugged on plastic gloves. “And because Nano wouldn’t stop tweeting polls about it.”

“Sure,” Jun replied, popping the cap off the dye bottle. “You volunteered. Loudly. After Nano posted a fan edit of you with a pink mullet and 20K people said you'd look ‘dangerously edible.’”

“I volunteered for the group,” Dylan corrected, looking at his reflection like it had personally betrayed him. “It’s marketing. Not vanity.”

“Of course,” Jun deadpanned. “This has nothing to do with you stalling for ten minutes in front of the mirror yesterday and muttering, ‘I could pull it off.’”

“I didn’t say that.”

“I heard you say that.”

“You weren’t even in the room.”

Jun leaned over, just close enough that his breath grazed Dylan’s cheek. “I was in the hallway. Thin walls, pretty boy.”

Dylan went quiet.

He always did when Jun got too close — not that Jun ever pointed it out. But it was in the way Dylan’s shoulders stopped their usual lazy slouch. The way he blinked slower, like rebooting. The way he suddenly had nothing to say, which for Dylan, was suspiciously loud silence.

Jun pretended not to notice as he tilted Dylan’s chin slightly with one gloved finger, pushing his bangs away.

“Hold still. I don’t want to accidentally dye your soul pink too.”

“Bold of you to assume I have one.”

Jun smiled to himself. There it was — the usual rhythm.

“I’m starting with the roots,” he said, brushing the bleach across Dylan’s scalp with more gentleness than necessary. “Because your hair is so tragically golden it’s practically begging for a redemption arc.”

Dylan smirked, looking forward. “You talk a lot.”

“I’m literally doing your hair.”

“You’d be talking even if you weren’t.”

Jun hummed, applying more bleach. “You’re just mad I’m right most of the time.”

“I’m mad you think that’s something to brag about.”

“Better than bottling all your emotions and acting like an aloof anime protagonist.”

“I’m not aloof,” Dylan said, eyes narrowing. “I just don’t believe in oversharing my trauma to sell records.”

Jun paused, blinking. “That was...actually kind of deep.”

“Yeah well, don’t get used to it.”

For a moment, the room was quiet, save for the soft slick of dye and the distant hum of the washing machine across the hall. The kind of domestic silence that felt almost intimate.

Jun dipped the brush again, this time with the soft pink dye.

“You’re not gonna back out now, right?” he asked. “Because once this goes on, there’s no turning back. You’ll be reborn. Like a strawberry phoenix.”

“I’m already committed,” Dylan said. “Might as well match the chaos aesthetic Nano’s curated for me.”

Jun leaned down again to start on the back of his head, his fingers brushing the nape of Dylan’s neck.

Dylan tensed — not a lot. Just enough for Jun to feel it. Like a wire pulled taut beneath cool skin.

Jun didn’t say anything. He kept working, but his voice was lower when he spoke next.

“You’re quiet.”

“I’m always quiet.”

“You’re extra quiet.”

“Maybe because someone’s practically breathing on my neck like a vampire with pink dye.”

“Would you prefer I leave you with half your head unpainted?” Jun teased, letting his voice get just a little closer. “You’d look like a half-eaten macaron.”

“I’d still look better than you when you tried silver that one time.”

“That was for art. And your exact words were, ‘weirdly hot, like a K-pop ghost.’”

“I was delirious from tour fatigue.”

“You liked it,” Jun said with a grin. “You’re just scared I’d out-hot you.”

“I’m not scared of anything.”

“Oh?” Jun stepped around to the front again, now facing him directly. “Not even fan cams of us going viral every time we accidentally breathe in the same room?”

Dylan flinched — not visibly, but Jun caught it. That little tick in his brow. That subtle twitch of his lip.

“I don’t care about that stuff,” Dylan muttered.

“Right. That’s why you deleted the tweet where Nano tagged us in a ‘soulmates’ meme.”

“I deleted it because Nano spelled ‘soulmates’ as ‘solemeats.’”

Jun snorted. “Admit it. You’re embarrassed.”

“I’m annoyed.”

“You get quiet when you’re embarrassed.”

“I get quiet when people get too close.”

Jun blinked. He hadn’t expected Dylan to just...say that. Not without a sarcastic buffer or a dodge disguised as apathy.

Their eyes met. The moment thinned like stretched sugar — fragile, glittering, just a touch too warm.

Jun swallowed. He meant to pull back. Meant to laugh it off.

But Dylan didn’t move.

Neither of them did.

Jun’s hand, still gloved, was hovering just under Dylan’s jaw. Pink dye clung to his fingertips like something inevitable. Dylan’s hair was half-processed, messy and soft and glowing under the yellow light.

“You know,” Jun said, voice lower now, quieter, “this whole ‘we hate each other’ thing? It’s getting hard to sell.”

Dylan tilted his head slightly. “Then stop trying to sell it.”

Jun’s breath caught.

There was a heartbeat — his or Dylan’s, he didn’t know — that echoed so loud he swore it rattled the bathroom tiles. The air crackled. The silence was a storm surge.

Their faces were inches apart now.

Not accidental. Not incidental.

Deliberate.

Jun’s fingers brushed Dylan’s jawline as if daring him to pull away. Dylan didn’t. His eyes flicked to Jun’s mouth. Once. Twice. A blink too long, a breath too deep.

Neither of them moved forward.

But neither of them moved back.

The heat in the room wasn’t from the dye.

It was from the words they weren’t saying. From every moment like this that they’d laughed off, every ship name they pretended not to hear, every charged argument they’d used to hide the thing boiling beneath their skin.

Jun leaned in just a little more. “If we do this, I’m still going to argue with you.”

Dylan’s voice was husky. “Wouldn’t want it any other way.”

There was a pause.

One second longer, and they would have crossed it — that line they danced around with every breath.

But fate — being the petty gremlin it is — had other plans.

KNOCK KNOCK.

“Hey!” Nano’s voice. Too loud, too chipper. “You guys still alive in there? Pepper says if Dylan comes out with a blotchy dye job he’s quitting the group.”

Jun jumped back like he’d been electrocuted. Dylan blinked, the spell broken, suddenly blinking hard like he was trying to reboot his cool.

Jun cleared his throat, voice too high. “We’re fine! Almost done!”

Dylan said nothing. He just stared forward, cheeks slightly pinker than his dye.

Jun hesitated, hand still mid-air.

“You okay?” he asked, quieter now.

Dylan finally looked up at him, that unreadable expression back in place.

“Yeah,” he said. “Just... don’t miss any spots.”

Jun smiled, small and real. “Wouldn’t dream of it.”

Chapter Text

Jun was regretting every life decision that led to this moment.

Not because he hated dancing. Not because he was tired. But because he was currently trying to correct Dylan’s footwork — and Dylan was standing approximately three inches away from him, looking like a crime scene in a tank top.

Pink hair, damp from sweat.

Eyes slightly narrowed, annoyed, hot.

Jun was going to pass out.

“You’re doing it wrong again,” Jun said, maybe a little too sharply. “The left foot’s supposed to slide, not stomp.”

“I’m sliding,” Dylan replied. “It’s not my fault the floor hates me.”

“No, the floor’s just reflecting your energy.”

“You mean amazing and misunderstood?”

“I mean chaotic and mildly aggressive.”

Dylan rolled his eyes and ran a hand through his sweaty hair. Jun almost forgot how to blink.

They’d been paired to polish the new duet choreo for the upcoming showcase — a sultry, R&B-inspired piece with way too much hip contact and tension for two people who allegedly hated each other.

Allegedly.

In reality, it was more like “I want to kill you but also maybe kiss you and that’s deeply inconvenient.”

Jun checked the mirrored wall. “Okay. Again. From the top.”

“Why? So you can judge me in 4K this time?”

“No. So I can save our stage from disaster.”

Dylan gave him a smirk, the kind that spelled trouble. “If I trip, you’ll catch me, right?”

Jun didn’t dignify that with an answer. He just hit play on the speaker, and the beat pulsed through the room, slow and deep.

The routine started simple.

Facing each other. Step, pivot, lean in.

But by the time they hit the bridge — the part where Dylan’s hand had to land on Jun’s waist while Jun spun back into him — it was too much.

Too close.

Too personal.

Too hot.

Jun felt the contact, sharp and magnetic, even through his shirt. Dylan’s grip was firm but not rough. Like he knew exactly where to touch but was pretending not to mean it.

“Don’t be stiff,” Jun muttered, stepping into the next move. “You’re supposed to—”

“I’m not stiff,” Dylan muttered back, “but keep talking like that and I will be.”

Jun choked on air.

“Excuse me?” he said, scandalized and also maybe a little intrigued.

“Just following your lead, hyung,” Dylan said, dripping with fake innocence and real heat.

Jun turned, glaring, but the next beat forced him into position — one arm slung over Dylan’s shoulder, the other trailing down his arm as they dipped in unison.

Jun’s knee brushed Dylan’s thigh.

Dylan’s breath hitched.

Jun felt it like a spark down his spine.

“You’re flushed,” Dylan said, voice lower now. “Did I wear you out already?”

“I’m flushed because it’s eighty degrees in here and you’re radiating heat like a broken radiator.”

“Flattering.”

“Get over yourself.”

Dylan smirked, but his eyes didn’t leave Jun’s. Not even for a second.

Then came that step — the one where Jun had to step backward while Dylan guided him, their legs brushing, bodies aligned.

It was supposed to be smooth.

It wasn’t.

Jun’s foot caught on Dylan’s, or maybe Dylan shifted too soon — either way, gravity betrayed them.

“Sh—!”

They collapsed, a mess of limbs, heat, and sweat, falling hard onto the studio floor.

Jun landed first. Dylan followed, and the world went silent.

Because Dylan was on top of him.

And not just on him — his thigh was between Jun’s, one hand braced beside his head, their chests rising and falling in the same rhythm.

Jun’s breath stuttered.

Dylan didn’t move.

The speaker glitched, looping the same beat three times like even it was holding its breath.

Jun stared at him.

Dylan stared right back.

“Nice catch,” Jun whispered, voice caught between sarcasm and something else entirely.

“I always deliver,” Dylan murmured, voice rough.

Neither of them moved.

Jun could feel Dylan’s breath on his lips now. It smelled faintly like gum and danger.

“This is extremely inappropriate,” Jun said.

“Should I move?”

Jun didn’t answer.

Because he wasn’t sure what answer would be worse.

Instead, he lifted his hand — slowly, like he was testing physics — and touched Dylan’s shoulder.

His skin was hot.

Dylan exhaled. “You’re not pushing me off.”

“You’re not getting off.”

“Maybe I’m waiting for a sign.”

Jun rolled his eyes. “You’re such a drama queen.”

Dylan dipped his head a little lower. “Say that again.”

Jun didn’t.

Because his mouth was already opening — not for another insult, but because Dylan’s lips were suddenly there, brushing against his, soft at first, testing.

And then—

Everything shattered.

The kiss deepened like a dam breaking.

Hands moved.

Jun’s fingers tangled in Dylan’s hair. Dylan’s hand gripped his waist. The air turned molten.

It wasn’t slow. It wasn’t tentative.

It was months of unresolved tension erupting all at once. Teeth. Tongues. Breathless heat. A muffled noise from Jun’s throat that Dylan swallowed whole.

Dylan pulled back an inch, just enough to talk, lips brushing.

“You kiss like you fight,” he muttered. “Loud and unrelenting.”

Jun gasped. “You kiss like you’ve been waiting.”

Dylan grinned against his mouth. “Maybe I have.”

Jun yanked him closer. “Then shut up and do it again.”

They kissed like they hated each other and had something to prove.

Like rivals trying to outdo each other even with their mouths.

It was wild, hot, chaotic — the kind of kiss that knocked stars out of orbit and rewrote equations.

When they finally stopped — because oxygen was a thing — they lay there in a tangled mess, breathing hard.

Jun’s shirt was rucked halfway up. Dylan’s hair looked like it’d been through a blender.

“I think we just broke several rules,” Jun said, voice hoarse.

“Like gravity?”

“Like group harmony.”

Dylan chuckled. “Pepper always said we’d kill each other or make out.”

“Why not both?” Jun deadpanned.

Dylan grinned, eyes glowing. “You’re unbelievable.”

“You’re sweaty.”

“You’re under me.”

Jun smacked his chest lightly. “Get off.”

Dylan rolled to the side, laughing. “Yes, sir.”

They lay side by side for a moment, the dance studio buzzing with leftover heat.

Jun stared at the ceiling.

Dylan stared at him.

“So…” Dylan said.

Jun turned his head slowly. “So?”

“Was that a one-time thing or…?”

Jun arched a brow. “You trying to plan a schedule now?”

Dylan smirked. “Just want to pencil in ‘ruin Jun’s life emotionally’ between rehearsals.”

Jun gave a slow, wicked grin. “Too late. You’ve already done it.”

Their hands brushed.

Dylan didn’t pull away this time.

Neither did Jun.

Chapter Text

Jun hadn’t slept.

Not really. Sure, he technically closed his eyes. Lay in bed. Stared at the ceiling like it had answers. Tried to block out the memory of Dylan’s hand on his waist, of how their mouths fit too perfectly, of the way Dylan had looked at him like he was the center of the universe and also maybe a terrible idea.

Spoiler: it didn’t work.

Across the hall, Dylan hadn’t fared much better. Except his strategy involved blasting music through his headphones and pretending the kiss was an anomaly. A mistake. A weird oops I tripped and fell into your mouth kind of situation.

But it wasn’t.

They’d kissed like they meant it.

Worse — they’d kissed like they wanted to do it again.

Which was a problem.

Because now they were back to living under the same roof. Same dorm. Same schedule. Same stupid choreography that threw their bodies into each other like fate was drunk and horny.

So naturally, they did what emotionally constipated people do best.

They avoided each other.

Violently.

Day 1:

Nano, blissfully unaware of the emotional Armageddon brewing between his favorite ship, skipped into the kitchen. “Good morning, emotionally stable friends!”

Jun muttered a vague greeting while staring deeply into his cereal bowl.

Dylan, across the table, scrolled his phone with the intensity of someone researching how to build a time machine.

Nano blinked. “Okay. Weird vibe. Who died?”

“Your sense of personal space,” Jun replied.

“I’ll have you know my vibe radar is elite, thank you,” Nano sniffed, then pointed between them. “Did something happen?”

Jun: coughs into spoon

Dylan: drops phone

Nano: gasps “Wait. Wait, no. Did you two—”

“NO,” they both said at once. Loud. Too loud.

Nano's eyes lit up like he’d won a game show.

“Oh my god, you did! I KNEW IT—”

Dylan stood up so fast his chair screeched. “I’m going for a run.”

“You don’t run,” Jun said without thinking.

“Maybe I do now.”

“Since when?”

“Since today, Jun.”

He was out the door in two seconds flat.

Jun stared after him, pulse racing, wondering how Dylan’s back could still look unfairly attractive from thirty feet away.

Nano sipped his tea smugly. “So… tongue?”

Jun choked on his cereal.

Day 2:

The dance studio was a minefield.

Jun arrived early, headphones on, ready to claim neutral territory.

Too late. Dylan was already there, pretending to stretch but clearly just sitting and glaring at the floor like it owed him money.

Jun cleared his throat. “We need to talk about the choreo.”

“No, we don’t.”

“It’s due in three days.”

“Then let’s dance and not talk.”

Jun blinked. “You want to just… do the routine?”

Dylan stood. “Unless you think I’ll tackle you and make out with you again.”

Jun’s face turned crimson.

Dylan froze. Realized what he’d said. “That came out wrong.”

“Wow,” Jun said, dry. “Do you practice your charm in a mirror or does it just leak out naturally?”

Dylan ran a hand through his hair, visibly panicking. “I meant—I’m not gonna—like—it was a mistake.”

A pause.

Jun crossed his arms. “Right. A mistake.”

Dylan looked up sharply. “That’s not what I meant—”

“No, it’s fine. I’ve kissed worse mistakes.” His voice cracked on worse, which was humiliating.

Dylan stepped closer. “Jun—”

“Let’s just rehearse.”

They did. Sort of.

Except every time their hands touched, they flinched. Every time they had to get close, one of them made a dumb joke. And during the spin-dip move that led to the kiss last time?

They both stopped mid-spin and pretended to check the time.

“Wow,” Jun said. “Is that a cloud in the mirror?”

Dylan deadpanned, “Yeah. Wild weather today.”

They didn’t finish the routine.

Day 4: 

Pepper, the designated peacemaker of the group, noticed something was off.

Jun and Dylan weren’t bickering. Not once.

In fact, they hadn’t exchanged more than three sentences in four days.

That was like… unnatural.

“Okay,” Pepper said at dinner. “What’s going on with you two?”

Jun stabbed his rice with surgical precision. “Nothing.”

Dylan chewed like his food had wronged him. “Same.”

Even Thame, who's 28/9 busy texting his 'P'Po', glanced up from his phone. “They’re being weird. Weirder than usual.”

Nano snorted. “Oh, it’s delicious. Jun keeps looking at Dylan when he’s not looking and vice versa. It’s like a badly written enemies-to-lovers fanfic.”

Jun threw his chopsticks.

Dylan caught them mid-air and threw them back.

They hit Jun’s chest. He blinked. Dylan blinked. Everyone stared.

“Okay,” Thame said slowly. “So something happened.”

“Nothing happened,” Dylan snapped.

“Yup,” Nano grinned. “Totally nothing. Except the way you look like you saw god and then punched him.”

Jun stood up. “I’m going to bed.”

“It’s 7:14,” Pepper said gently.

“I’m evolving.”

He left.

Dylan followed ten minutes later.

Neither of them said a word.

Day 5:

Jun was brushing his teeth when the knock came. He spat, wiped his mouth, and shouted without opening the door, “If it’s Nano, no, I’m not coming out for a ‘healing group vibe circle.’”

A beat.

Then Dylan’s voice, flat and low: “It’s me.”

Jun hesitated. Then, grudgingly, cracked the door open.

Dylan leaned against the frame, wearing an oversized hoodie and an expression Jun couldn’t quite read—somewhere between exhausted and annoyed. Classic Dylan. Default mode: aggressively chill.

Jun raised an eyebrow. “Lose a bet?”

“I need my charger,” Dylan said, clearly lying. “Yours is longer.”

Jun stared. “You came all the way over here at midnight. For a charger.”

“Why? Is this a restricted zone now?” Dylan stepped inside without permission, brushing past him like he wasn’t the walking embodiment of confusion and unresolved sexual tension.

Jun blinked at the contact. “It should be.”

Dylan ignored that and went straight for the outlet. Plugged his phone in like he actually planned to leave it. Sat on the edge of Jun’s bed like he owned the place.

Jun crossed his arms. “You’ve got exactly two minutes before I start charging you rent.”

Dylan glanced at him, a small smirk playing on his lips. “Expensive for someone who still sleeps with that ugly pillow.”

Jun's eyes narrowed. “It has lumbar support. Something your personality lacks.”

Dylan laughed—quiet, under his breath—but it was real. And unfortunately, it made something traitorous flutter in Jun’s chest.

Silence stretched between them again. Too long. Too tense.

Jun shifted, arms still crossed, pretending not to care. “So… are we gonna keep pretending it didn’t happen?”

Dylan looked up, expression blank. “What?”

Jun rolled his eyes. “The thing. The kiss.”

Dylan’s jaw ticked. “What about it?”

Jun leaned back against his desk. “Just wondering how long we’re doing this Cold War routine. You flinched when I touched your arm today.”

“You flinched first.”

“Yeah, well. You flinched harder.”

Dylan stood suddenly. “Do you want to talk about it, Jun? Is that what this is?”

Jun’s smirk dropped. “No. I want you to stop acting like I injected you with some disease.”

“I’m not,” Dylan muttered.

“You are.”

“I’m just—” Dylan ran a hand through his hair, frustrated. “It’s complicated.”

Jun tilted his head. “You sure that’s not just your excuse for not dealing with things that make you feel anything remotely human?”

That hit harder than it should have. Dylan froze.

Jun’s voice dropped to something quieter. Not soft—Jun didn’t do soft—but honest. “Look. I’m not asking for a relationship debrief, okay? I just want to know if I should be pretending it never happened, or if I should be avoiding certain corners of the dorm where we apparently go to lose control.”

Dylan stepped closer, jaw tight. “I didn’t lose control.”

Jun smirked bitterly. “Right. You meant to make out with me against the mirror.”

Silence. Heavy. Crackling.

Dylan’s eyes dropped to Jun’s mouth for a split second. Then he turned away, muttering, “I’ll get the charger later.”

He was out the door before Jun could decide whether he wanted to kiss him again or punch him in the throat.

Maybe both.

Jun stared after him, chest burning, the ghost of Dylan’s stare still prickling on his skin.

Chapter Text

The venue was chaos.

Screaming fans outside. Harried staff inside. Pepper already misplaced his second mic pack. Thame was doing his last-minute PDA with Po in a corner, and Nano was bouncing in place like the sugar in his system had unionized.

Jun had a headache.

Not because of the fanmeet — he loved those. He loved the fans. He loved performing. He even tolerated Nano.

No, the problem had very strawberry hair and a habit of standing exactly two feet too close during stage rehearsals, just to ruin Jun's internal equilibrium. Dylan had been walking around all morning like nothing was weird. Like his mouth hadn’t ever so casually destroyed Jun’s life in a moment of backstage insanity days ago.

Which, unfortunately, meant Jun had to also pretend nothing happened.

Pretending was exhausting.

Especially when Dylan was wearing eyeliner and a smirk and that stupid ripped shirt under his jacket that was just barely within the dress code. There should be rules. Like, strict “no existing while looking like a fantasy” rules.

“Don’t look now,” Nano whispered, sidling up to Jun with a knowing grin. “But Dylan just checked you out again.”

Jun didn’t look up from his phone. “He wasn’t.”

“Oh, he was. He did the ‘look-down-smirk-shoulder-shift’ thing. Classic Dylan Flirt Number Four.”

Jun sighed. “It wasn’t a flirt.”

“Oh, honey.” Nano patted his back. “Denial looks great on you, but unfortunately, it doesn’t go with your outfit.”

Jun shoved him lightly. “Go bother Pepper.”

“I already did. He told me to go fall off a light rig.”

Jun snorted. “Tempting.”

Still, his heart was pounding. Because the truth was, Dylan had looked. And worse — Jun had looked back.

This whole thing was like standing next to a fire pretending you weren’t getting burned.

An Hour Later — On Stage

The fanmeet was electric. Questions. Games. Laughter. MARS being chaotic as ever. Jun was in his element — snappy comebacks, charming fans, quick wit. Dylan, of course, played the broody straight man to Jun’s sass. Classic routine. Crowd loved it.

Except the banter was hitting different today.

Fan Q: “If you had to be stranded on an island with one member, who would it be?”

Jun, without missing a beat: “Anyone but Dylan.”

The crowd roared.

Dylan, dryly: “Good. I’d rather eat sand.”

Jun smirked. “That explains your personality.”

Dylan raised a brow. “Careful. You keep this up and I’ll start thinking you enjoy my company.”

Jun blinked. That came out weirdly serious. Or hot. Possibly both.

Nano made a dramatic gagging noise. “Oh my god, just get married.”

The crowd screamed again.

Dylan looked away, jaw tight. Jun tried to ignore the way his own pulse spiked.

The tension was getting harder to hide. Which made backstage all the more dangerous.

Backstage the adrenaline was still high. Staff buzzed around like bees. Everyone was talking at once. But all Jun could think about was the moment Dylan brushed past him in the hallway and their arms touched.

It was stupid.

Just skin on skin.

But it felt like being struck by lightning.

He found himself walking faster. Away. Toward the green room. Or a closet. Anywhere. Somewhere safe.

Too bad fate had other plans.

He turned a corner and—bam—walked right into Dylan.

“Seriously?” Jun muttered.

“Hi to you too,” Dylan said, leaning against the wall like he hadn’t just scrambled his molecules.

Jun went to sidestep.

Dylan moved at the same time.

They both stepped the same way.

And then again.

They froze. Inches apart. Like idiots in a dance choreographed by mutual bad decisions.

Jun narrowed his eyes. “You’re doing this on purpose.”

Dylan’s mouth twitched. “Doing what?”

“The thing. With the arms. And the smug face. And the… proximity.”

Dylan tilted his head, infuriatingly calm. “You’re the one who walked into me, Jun.”

“You’re blocking the hall.”

“You’re deflecting.”

Jun’s breath caught.

Because now they were too close.

His back hit the wall. Dylan didn’t even touch him, but somehow his presence felt like pressure. Like gravity. Like everything Jun shouldn’t want but god he did.

Dylan’s voice dropped, low and dangerous. “You’re acting like I started this.”

Jun’s mouth went dry. “You kissed me.”

“You kissed me back.”

They stared at each other.

The silence between them was loud. Heavy. Charged.

Jun’s chest rose and fell too fast. His voice, when it came, was quiet but sharp. “You’ve been acting like it didn’t matter.”

Dylan stepped even closer. “I’ve been acting like I didn’t want to do it again.”

Jun’s eyes flicked down — lips, throat, collarbones — and then right back up. “Then why haven’t you?”

“Because the second I start, I’m not going to stop.”

Jun’s breath hitched.

Dylan leaned in. His mouth hovered right next to Jun’s ear. “Say stop.”

Jun didn’t move.

“Say it,” Dylan whispered, voice like velvet and sin and every bad decision Jun had ever wanted to make twice.

Jun’s hands clenched at his sides. “You’re a goddamn menace.”

“You love it.”

Jun’s mouth opened. To argue. To insult. To push him away.

But instead—

He pulled Dylan in by the collar.

Their mouths crashed together with the force of everything they’d been denying. It wasn’t sweet. It wasn’t slow. It was heat and teeth and breathless frustration. Weeks of sarcastic banter and longing disguised as hatred spilled into the kiss.

Dylan groaned, deep and low, as Jun backed them into the wall. His hands fisted in Jun’s shirt, tugging him closer until their bodies were flush, heat radiating between them.

Jun bit Dylan’s bottom lip — hard enough to make him gasp.

Dylan’s response was a hand on his waist, fingers digging in, possessive and desperate.

“Fuck,” Jun whispered against his mouth. “We’re idiots.”

“Shut up,” Dylan growled, kissing him again.

Someone walked past the hallway.

They froze.

Waited.

No one stopped.

Jun pulled away just enough to breathe, lips red, chest heaving. “We can’t—”

“Then stop me,” Dylan said, voice hoarse.

Jun didn’t.

He dragged Dylan into the nearest dressing room and locked the door behind them.

Clothes stayed on — barely. Hands under shirts, mouths on necks, gasps muffled against shoulders. It was messy. Heated. Everything that had been brewing finally spilling out in a blaze of chaos and want.

Dylan kissed like he hated Jun. Jun kissed like he was trying to win a fight. It was perfect.

Finally, breathless, they pulled apart just long enough to look at each other.

“Shit,” Jun said, still panting.

“Yeah,” Dylan replied.

Neither of them moved.

They were still pressed close. Still high on adrenaline. Still very much not over it.

A knock pounded on the door.

“Guys!” Nano yelled. “Where the hell are you?! Fans are literally crying outside waiting for selfies!”

Dylan buried his face in Jun’s chest.

Jun cursed under his breath.

“Give us a sec!” Dylan shouted.

A long silence.

Jun stood in front of the mirror in the dressing room, frantically adjusting his collar for the seventh time. His lips were still tingling. His hair was definitely more ruffled than usual. And no amount of water was fixing the light flush that refused to leave his cheeks.

Behind him, Dylan was doing a terrible job pretending he wasn’t rattled. He’d zipped up his jacket halfway, then halfway again, then unzipped it like it had personally betrayed him.

They stood in silence for a beat too long.

Jun glanced at Dylan’s reflection. “You look like you lost a fight with a closet.”

Dylan didn’t even blink. “You kissed like you were trying to win a war.”

Jun’s mouth twitched. “Did I win?”

A beat. Dylan didn’t smile, but his voice dropped just enough to make Jun feel warm all over again. “Call it a draw.”

Jun cleared his throat and turned around, putting on his best “nonchalant idol” face. “Right. So we’re not talking about it.”

“Nope.”

“Good.”

“Great.”

More silence.

Then—Nano’s voice echoed again, closer this time. “If you guys don’t come out in five seconds, I’m sending Pepper in with a vuvuzela.”

Dylan groaned. “Kill me.”

“Act normal,” Jun muttered, yanking the door open.

They walked out side by side, not touching, not looking at each other. Professionals. Perfectly composed.

Totally, absolutely, not just making out like feral teens ten minutes ago.

Nano caught sight of them and immediately narrowed his eyes.

Jun forced a yawn. “Sorry. Power nap. Very refreshing. Dylan was just… also napping. In the same room. As one does. Innocently.”

Dylan raised a brow. “Do you always sound like a malfunctioning robot when you lie?”

Jun elbowed him in the ribs.

Nano was still squinting. “Right. Power nap. You both look like you ran a marathon. Why is your shirt backwards, Jun?”

Jun didn’t miss a beat. “Fashion statement. You wouldn’t get it.”

Nano slowly turned to Dylan. “And your necklace is on inside out.”

Dylan blinked. “New trend.”

Nano opened his mouth. Closed it. Then made a strangled sound of frustration and threw his hands up. “You two are so weird.”

Jun beamed. “That’s showbiz.”

They breezed past him, overly casual, Jun’s hands firmly in his pockets, Dylan pointedly not looking anywhere near Jun’s mouth.

Nano stared after them, muttering, “I swear if they aren’t secretly dating by the end of this tour, I’m gonna lose it.”

From behind him, Pepper called out, “Lose what?”

“My patience. My mind. My will to live. Everything.”

Jun and Dylan turned the corner and finally exhaled.

Jun whispered, “Think he bought it?”

Dylan smirked. “You wore your shirt backward. What do you think?”

Jun huffed. “Whatever. I looked hot.”

“You always do.”

Jun stumbled slightly at that — and Dylan didn’t wait for a reply.

Just kept walking like he hadn’t just set off a five-alarm fire in Jun’s chest.

Jun cursed under his breath and jogged to catch up.

They didn’t speak the rest of the way.

But the silence?

Still buzzing.

Still hot.

Still dangerous.

And absolutely, 100% not fooling anyone for much longer.

Chapter Text

The hotel room door clicked shut behind them.

Jun threw his bag onto the bed, trying not to let the silence stretch too long. The air felt heavy. Like the walls knew. Like the room had been waiting for them to mess up again.

Across the room, Dylan toed off his boots with that lazy, deliberate grace that made Jun want to punch something. Or kiss something. Or both.

“You’re hogging the bed,” Dylan said flatly.

Jun blinked. “There’s literally two beds.”

Dylan shrugged. “Your ego’s taking up mine.”

Jun snorted. “Wow. I definitely missed this snark while your tongue was down my throat earlier.”

Dylan glanced at him, mouth twitching. “You didn’t seem to mind.”

Jun hated how fast his face got hot. “That was—heat of the moment.”

“Mm. Seemed like several heated moments.”

Jun looked away, jaw tight, pretending to fiddle with his phone. “Don’t make this a thing.”

Dylan didn’t reply.

Instead, he peeled off his jacket, revealing a fitted black shirt that hugged his frame obscenely well. Then he walked to the window and pulled the curtain shut with slow, purposeful movements that definitely didn’t need to be that sexy.

Jun swallowed. “You’re doing it again.”

“What?”

“The thing. With the body. And the… presence.”

“You mean existing?” Dylan turned, one eyebrow cocked. “Sorry, didn’t know it offended you.”

“It doesn’t offend me,” Jun snapped, standing up and crossing the room to grab water. “It’s just distracting.”

“Oh?” Dylan leaned back against the dresser. “Am I distracting you, Jun?”

Jun froze, bottle halfway to his lips.

Then, as coolly as he could manage, he said, “Only when you open your mouth.”

Dylan smirked. “That’s ironic.”

Jun coughed, choking on the water.

Dylan walked forward, slow, deliberate steps on the carpet, until they were chest to chest again. He reached out, casually brushing his fingers along the hem of Jun’s hoodie.

“You gonna kiss me again?” he asked, voice low, all mockery and heat.

Jun held his ground. “If I do, are you gonna stop being distracting?”

Dylan smiled — wolfish. “Try me.”

Jun grabbed him by the front of the shirt and shoved him against the wall.

This kiss was different. Less chaos, more control. Like Jun had something to prove — and Dylan gave him enough room to let him try. Their mouths locked again, all teeth and tongues, hands tangled in hair and hoodie strings and breathless tension.

Jun groaned into Dylan’s mouth, pulling him closer by the waist, grinding their hips together.

Jun gasped. “Shit—”

“Still just heat of the moment?” Dylan murmured against his jaw, lips ghosting along skin.

“Shut up,” Jun growled, dragging them toward the bed.

They hit the mattress, tangled limbs and gasps that sounded way too loud in the quiet room.

“You’re such a menace,” Jun panted, hips bucking up.

“You like it,” Dylan whispered, voice wrecked.

Jun pulled him into another kiss — filthy, desperate, like they were both starving. It wasn’t polished. It wasn’t sweet.

It was raw.

Real.

Rushed and messy and perfectly them.

The room was quiet, except for the sound of their breathing—too fast, too shallow.

Jun’s back hit the mattress with a soft thud, Dylan hovering above him, eyes darker than anything he wore on stage. Their legs were tangled, and neither one was pretending anymore.

Dylan’s lips ghosted over Jun’s, not kissing yet. Just there. Threatening. Tempting.

Jun could feel every inch of him, all sharp angles and tense muscles, but it was Dylan’s stillness that nearly undid him. Like he was barely holding something back.

“You gonna do it or just look at me like that all night?” Jun murmured, voice low but challenging, fingers curling against Dylan’s hips.

Dylan’s gaze flicked down to Jun’s lips. “Looking works just fine,” he said, tone even but loaded.

“Coward.”

That was all it took.

Dylan surged forward, mouth crashing onto Jun’s like it was the only way he knew how to speak. It was fast and filthy and hungry, all tongue and teeth and months of pent-up tension exploding in one violent kiss. Jun’s head hit the pillow with a thud, but he didn’t care—he grabbed Dylan’s hoodie, pulling him in closer, their bodies together like he wanted to start a fire.

Dylan kissed like he rapped—sharp, deliberate, and with a point to prove. Jun met him blow for blow, lips parting to taste more, to devour more. Their mouths slid together in a messy rhythm, all biting and licking, breaths stolen mid-gasp.

Dylan’s hands slid under Jun’s shirt—half-off from earlier skirmishes—and pushed it up, palms dragging slowly across hot skin. His fingers trembled for a second, and Jun caught it, smirking against his mouth.

Jun gasped, then chuckled low. “This changes nothing, you know.”

Dylan pulled back slightly, his lips red and eyes burning. “Sure. Whatever helps you sleep at night.”

Jun flipped them before Dylan could blink, straddling his hips with a grin. “Let’s see if you can still talk in five minutes.”

They kissed again, deeper, more frenzied. Jun grabbed Dylan’s jaw, angling it to taste more, bite harder, mark him with every drag of his tongue. Dylan groaned low in his throat, his hands sliding down to Jun’s thighs, gripping like he needed something to hold onto before losing his mind.

“You talk too much,” Dylan murmured, panting, between kisses.

Jun nipped at his bottom lip. “You love it.”

Dylan growled, flipping them again. Their bodies rolled together, neither one willing to give up control, kissing like they could win a war with their mouths. Dylan pressed Jun down, hips grinding with intent, both of them moaning into the other's mouths.

Jun’s fingers tugged at Dylan’s waistband, then slipped under the hem of his shirt, dragging it up over his ribs. Dylan shivered, not from cold, but from the way Jun’s hands moved—slow, teasing, possessive.

“I hate you,” Jun muttered.

“Shut up,” Dylan hissed, and kissed him harder.

They kissed until they were dizzy, mouths swollen, skin flushed. Until the only thing louder than the wet sounds of their lips were the gasps and curses breaking between them. Dylan kissed like he wanted to erase everything else. Jun kissed like he wanted to be memorized.

They clawed at each other, lost in heat and movement. At one point Jun bit Dylan’s lip just to feel him groan. Dylan retaliated by kissing down his neck, open-mouthed and reckless, leaving Jun breathless and gripping the sheets.

No one let up. No one surrendered. They kissed like two people at war with themselves—and utterly addicted to the battle.

The look in his eyes—dark, unreadable—said this isn’t surrender. It’s strategy.

Somewhere in between heated kisses and low moans, Jun grabbed Dylan by the collar, yanked him close. “Don’t think this means you’ve won.”

Dylan’s breath hitched. He whispered near Jun’s ear, “Then let’s both lose.”

That shut Jun up for a long, long while.

When they finally collapsed side by side, it was with heaving chests and burning lips. The room still pulsed with tension, heavy with heat and the weight of everything unsaid.

Jun lay flat, arm thrown over his eyes, still catching his breath. Dylan, red-cheeked and panting, stared at the ceiling.

Neither spoke for a long moment.

Then, Jun let out a breathless laugh. “That was... dumb.”

Dylan’s voice was hoarse but firm. “Yeah. The dumbest.”

Jun turned his head. “You good?”

Dylan met his gaze, and for the first time all night, a flicker of that rare, fragile shyness crept in. “Yeah. You?”

Jun nodded, then added quieter, “Yeah.”

They didn’t touch. They didn’t say anything else. Not yet.

The silence wasn’t awkward—it was dangerous. A quiet before a storm neither of them was ready to name.

And still, their hands brushed on the sheets. Just barely.

And neither pulled away.

Jun rolled to his side, watching Dylan with something unreadable in his expression. Dylan’s hair was a mess, lips parted, chest still rising and falling too fast.

“You snore?” Jun asked quietly, voice softer now.

Dylan cracked one eye open, still breathless. “Only when I’ve had to put up with you all day.”

Jun smirked, but it didn’t quite reach his eyes. “So always, then.”

Dylan didn’t answer. Just turned on his side, facing Jun.

Their faces were inches apart again.

Jun stared at him. Words hovered in the space between them like smoke. But instead of saying any of them, he scooted closer, pressing their foreheads together.

Chapter Text

“You want me to do what now?” Jun asked, deadpan, mid-sip of his protein shake.

Their producer didn’t even flinch. “Just three days. One tiny, harmless dating show. They’re calling it Love Lite. It’s cute. No real commitment, no drama—just good clean chemistry. And you, my dear Jun, were born to flirt on camera.”

Across the MARS practice room, Nano gasped like it was Christmas. “YES. This is the moment.”

Jun turned his glare on him. “You’re enjoying this too much.”

“Of course I am,” Nano beamed. “I’ve been waiting to see you try to flirt with someone who doesn’t want to strangle you after five minutes.”

Thame gave a slow, amused nod. “It’s solid PR, Jun. You’re good on camera. And let’s be honest—people want to date you. Even if it’s fake. And it definitely has nothing to do with shooing you away from my P'Po.”

Pepper chimed in. “Will they let you give a TED Talk about eye contact while fake-holding hands?”

Jun stared at all of them like they were mutinous rats.

But the silence that hit hardest came from the other end of the room.

Dylan.

Leaning against the mirror wall, arms folded, hoodie sleeves pushed up to his elbows, expression unreadable. He looked like he hadn’t heard a thing.

“Nothing to say?” Jun asked him directly. “Not even a half-assed insult? You feeling okay?”

Dylan met his eyes for a second. A flicker. Then looked away like the ceiling suddenly needed his full attention.

“If it’s for the group, what’s the point in complaining?” Dylan’s voice was flat. “You’re the obvious choice. You like talking. You like being liked. Go… shine or whatever.”

Jun felt something in his chest lurch.

He covered it with a smirk. “Wow. Dylan giving me a compliment. Mark your calendars, this is historic.”

Dylan’s jaw ticked. “That wasn’t a compliment.”

Nano whispered to Pepper, “He’s definitely dying inside.”

Day One: The Flirt King Takes the Stage

Jun wasn’t nervous. Please. He was trained for this. Idol boot camp didn’t prep you to flirt, but Jun had range. Smiles, soft laughs, shoulder touches—the works.

“Hi,” he said to the male contestant, who had dimples deep enough to fall into.

“Hey,” the guy replied. “So… what’s your favorite dessert?”

Jun tilted his head just enough to be suggestive. “Depends who I’m sharing it with.”

The crew laughed. The contestant flushed. Score.

But no matter how charming Jun acted, his brain kept playing reruns of Dylan's voice in his head.

“You like talking. You like being liked.”

It was maddening.

The female contestant had sparkling eyes and better flirting instincts than Jun expected. They were laughing, fake-feeding each other cake, and Jun was halfway through a teasing comment when the camera director said, “Perfect—hold that smile, Jun!”

And for one whole second, Jun thought: Is Dylan watching this? Right now? Sitting at the dorm, hoodie up, scoffing?

Jun smiled harder.

Day Two: Nose-Touch Games & Delusions of Control

Things escalated on set.

“Okay,” the director said, “we’re doing the ‘Guess My Flavor’ game. Jun, lean close—closer. Closer. Touch foreheads.”

Jun and his co-star laughed nervously. They were millimeters apart, noses nearly brushing.

“What do you think I smell like?” the girl asked coyly.

“Uh…” Jun faltered. “Vanilla. And sabotage.”

She blinked. “Sabotage?”

“Don’t worry, it’s a compliment.”

It was chaos. Flirty chaos.

And Jun did it all with a buzzing tension under his skin like he was being watched by someone who wasn’t there.

Later that night, lying on his hotel bed, Jun opened Instagram and scrolled—not at the fan edits or trending hashtags about his flirty scenes—but to Dylan’s story.

A single photo of his coffee. The caption?

“bitter.”

Day Three: Level: Distraction

It started normal. As normal as reality TV got. A “café date” mission with a cinnamon roll boy who looked like he played acoustic guitar for stray cats.

Jun was joking about how he only drinks espresso if he’s planning to cry afterward when the stage manager ran in.

“Jun, someone’s here to drop something off.”

Jun blinked. “Huh?”

“Said he’s from MARS.”

He stood, expecting Pepper or Nano with a charger or phone or—God, a script revision.

What he got instead?

Dylan.

Standing just outside the set lights. Wearing sin like an accessory.

Black button-down shirt, sleeves rolled. Ripped jeans that sat too well on his hips. Silver rings. Hair artfully tousled. And his eyes—lined with smudged liner, dark and smoky like he belonged to a noir film and heartbreak was his full-time job.

Jun’s mouth went dry.

“What the hell…” he whispered, half to himself.

Dylan looked him up and down slowly. Then held up a paper bag.

“You forgot your lozenges,” he said flatly.

Jun blinked. “I—I didn’t even know I packed any.”

“You sounded hoarse yesterday,” Dylan said, tone dangerously neutral. “Didn’t want your co-star thinking you’re contagious.”

Jun stepped forward, took the bag, brushing Dylan’s fingers on purpose.

“You’re not subtle,” Jun muttered.

“Didn’t realize I had to be,” Dylan replied, eyes sharp and unreadable.

Jun’s jaw clenched. “You’re gonna throw off the shoot.”

Dylan smiled slightly. “Just wanted to see you in action. Thailand’s flirt king.”

“Don’t call me that.”

“Why not? You’re good at it.” Dylan's voice dipped lower. “Almost convincing.”

The director called out, “Jun! We need you on set!”

Jun turned, fuming, and hissed, “Stay. Right. There.”

Dylan smirked. “Wasn’t planning on moving.”

Jun made his way back on set with Dylan following him in.

The shoot began again.

Jun sat across from the day’s partner, trying to remember the script.

“What’s your ideal type?” they asked sweetly.

Pink hair, black eyeliner, terrible attitude.

“I… uh… I don’t really have one,” Jun said, brain short-circuiting.

“Really?” they leaned in. “So you’d date anyone?”

“I mean—not anyone. I—I’m—uh…”

Jun peeked sideways.

Dylan, arms folded, leaning against a pillar, watching like he was judging a school play.

Jun forgot his co-star’s name.

The scene tanked. The flirting was off. Jun dropped a cookie in fake coffee, cursed, and then muttered “sorry” so low the mic didn’t pick it up.

After they cut, the director frowned. “Jun, you okay?”

“Yeah,” Jun said. “Just… distracted.”

That scene took longer than usual to shoot. 

"OK! Cut," the director yelled, "everyone take a five."

Jun cornered Dylan the second cameras stopped rolling.

He yanked him into a hallway behind the set, low-lit and thankfully empty.

“What the hell was that?”

Dylan leaned against the wall, maddeningly calm. “What was what?”

“You—looking like you just walked out of a photoshoot for ‘Hotter Than Your Boyfriend Monthly,’ standing around like this isn’t a disaster zone!”

Dylan tilted his head. “You seem upset.”

“Of course I’m upset!” Jun snapped. “You come here dressed like sin and act like you’re just here for throat candy?!”

Dylan smirked. “You said nothing’s changed. I’m just being supportive.”

Jun’s hands curled into fists. “You’re trying to mess with me.”

“Didn’t have to try very hard,” Dylan said softly.

Jun stepped closer. Dangerous close. “Why now, huh? You couldn’t resist watching me fake-date someone? Needed to make it clear you still live in my head?”

Dylan’s voice dropped. “I didn’t have to make it clear. I already do.”

And Jun broke.

Their mouths crashed together with weeks of restraint burning at the seams. Teeth, lips, tongues — desperate and furious. Dylan shoved Jun against the wall. Jun bit his lip hard enough to taste the aftermath. Dylan groaned, low and wrecked. Jun gasped.

Somewhere outside, a crew member called for a wrap-up.

They didn’t move.

Jun finally broke the kiss, breath ragged.

“This,” he whispered, lips red and swollen, “changes nothing between us.”

Dylan, still panting, rested his forehead against Jun’s. “Yeah. Nothing at all.”

And then they kissed again.

Harder.

Hotter.

Worse.

Better.

Back on set, Jun flopped onto the picnic blanket like nothing had happened—except his ears were pink and his lips were definitely more kiss-bruised than five minutes ago.

The director leaned in. “Ready for the final confession scene?”

Jun nodded.

His co-star leaned closer, eyes playful. “So, if you had to pick one of us to actually date...?”

Jun looked dead into the camera.

“Probably someone who doesn’t wear smokey eye makeup and ruin your concentration by existing.”

The crew laughed, assuming it was just a snarky joke.

But Jun’s eyes flicked sideways—to where Dylan sat with his legs crossed, lips bitten and unreadable, rings glinting like small, smug secrets.

And Dylan, cool as ever, mouthed across the room: Concentrate harder.

Jun fought a smile. Lost.

The scene ended.

But the game?

Oh, it was just getting started.

Chapter Text

They announced it on a Tuesday. Just a regular, indifferent, press-release Tuesday.

Jun was sitting on the dorm sofa, halfway through his second coffee, staring blankly at a variety show replay, when the producer called them in. "It’s a soft launch," he said, smiling like he hadn’t just detonated a landmine in the middle of the room. "Think—mutual benefit, public interest, clean headlines. Jun and her, they’ve got chemistry. Fans will eat it up."

Pepper blinked slowly, like the audio was lagging in real life. "Wait. Jun’s... dating? Like, actually?"

"Fake dating," Nano corrected, already halfway to launching into questions. "Who is she? How famous? Is she going to be in dorm selfies? Do I need to pretend I ship it or can I be a passive-aggressive hater online?"

Thame just sighed. "It’s PR. That means we pretend it’s cute until it quietly dies."

Jun didn’t say anything. He stared at the carpet. Or maybe through it. The name of the girl—famous, beautiful, Thailand’s sweetheart, a fashion darling—spun around his head like a neon sign he couldn’t switch off.

Across the room, Dylan sat slouched on the armchair, legs spread in that annoyingly confident way of his. He didn’t react. Didn’t flinch. His eyes stayed locked on something on his phone, or maybe nothing at all.

Jun finally spoke. "You’re sure this is what the group needs?"

Their manager nodded, carefully measured. "It’s traction. It’s control. You know how brutal the press is—better to give them something crafted."

Nano tried to lighten the mood. "So... when’s the fake wedding?"

Jun stood up. "I need air."

He walked out.

No one followed. Except Dylan’s eyes.

It started fast. Headlines bloomed like weeds overnight. Jun and her at a scripted café. Jun and her with fingers grazing. Jun and her walking through a market with two bodyguards and one bouquet of flowers that screamed focus group tested.

It wasn’t subtle.

What was worse?

She tagged along.

Everywhere.

At first, Dylan thought maybe it was just the first week. Some overzealous PR. But she was there at the studio. Laughing behind the camera. Offering Jun water between rehearsals. Fixing his collar on set like she had a license to touch.

And Jun... didn’t pull away.

Not visibly.

He smiled the way he was trained to. He cracked jokes that made her blush. He let her link arms when they left the building.

Dylan never said a word. Not when she lingered backstage. Not when she sat on Jun’s dressing table, swinging her legs, talking about a weekend photo shoot they had to do together.

He didn't speak. But he looked.

And that look—every now and then—caught Jun.

It burned.

It was subtle at first, the way Jun started avoiding him. A missed breakfast. A late-night practice dodged. A hallway passed through with a quick nod, no sarcasm, no sass.

Dylan noticed immediately.

"Where the hell have you been?" he asked one night, leaning against the kitchen counter as Jun came in past midnight. Jun looked like he’d just come from a shoot—hair styled too perfectly, shirt tucked in just enough to look like he didn’t care even though Dylan knew he had.

Jun blinked. "What do you mean?"

Dylan straightened. "We were supposed to run vocals. You ghosted."

"Got caught up. She needed to reshoot some couple content." He shrugged like it didn’t taste like acid on his tongue.

"You’re not even trying to sound convincing anymore." Dylan’s voice was low, unreadable.

Jun set his phone on the counter. "Why do you care?"

The silence that followed was electric.

Dylan didn’t look away. "I don’t."

"Then drop it."

Dylan didn’t.

Jun left the room.

They didn’t talk for two weeks. Not really.

On camera, they were fine—still bickering, still performing the duo energy that fans loved. But something under it cracked. Their timing was off. Their energy was off. Nano asked once if they’d finally killed each other off-screen.

Thame glanced between them one night after practice, frowning. "You two good?"

Jun nodded. "Fine."

Dylan shrugged. "He’s busy."

Jun’s jaw ticked.

That night, Jun stayed late. Everyone else had gone. Dylan had turned off the studio lights, but heard the faint thump of music still playing. He peeked in. Jun was there—alone, practicing the choreo for a new track, shirt clinging to him from sweat.

He looked frustrated. Not with the moves—Jun never messed those up—but with himself. Or maybe the echo of Dylan’s name in the room.

Dylan watched from the doorway, unseen, unheard. For once, he didn’t feel smug about being quiet. He just felt... hollow.

The girlfriend didn’t make things easier.

She was radiant. Confident. And clingy in that press-perfect way—always just affectionate enough to trend, never scandalous enough to cross lines. She was on Jun’s shoulder like a new scent, constantly there.

Once, at an event, Dylan came around a corner backstage and found her adjusting Jun’s tie.

Jun caught Dylan’s eye, just briefly. It wasn’t a guilty look. It was worse. It was blank.

Like this is what it is now.

Dylan smirked, though it didn’t reach his eyes. "Cute. Should we get matching chokers too?"

Jun stiffened.

She laughed. "You’re funny. You always this sharp off-camera?"

Dylan smiled. "Only when it matters."

Then he walked away.

Jun didn’t follow.

He tried to act normal.

Tried to stay unaffected. Stoic. Still the Dylan everyone expected—cool, a little detached, untouchable.

But some days it cracked. Like when Jun brushed past him in the hallway and his cologne lingered too long. Or when Jun laughed at something she said, but his eyes found Dylan anyway. Or when she posted a behind-the-scenes selfie with Jun half-asleep against her shoulder, and Dylan had to physically stop himself from hurling his phone across the room.

That night, he showed up to a shoot in a silk black shirt—open low at the chest, sheer at the sleeves, tucked into slashed black jeans, lips a little too red, hair tousled like sin.

Jun saw him and choked on his water.

Nano muttered, “Holy shit, Dylan.”

Thame whistled. “Trying to murder the fanbase or just Jun?”

Dylan didn’t smile.

He didn’t have to.

Later, after another day of pretending nothing hurt, Dylan stood at the dorm balcony, staring at the city lights like they held answers.

Jun came out quietly, standing beside him.

They didn’t speak.

For a minute, it was almost like before—before the fake girlfriend, before the space between them became a canyon lined with unspoken truths.

Then Jun said, too softly, “You should stop looking at me like that.”

Dylan didn’t flinch. “Like what?”

“Like you’re waiting.”

Dylan’s voice came out rougher than he meant. “Maybe I’m not.”

Jun turned his head. Met his eyes. “You always are.”

Then he walked back inside, leaving Dylan alone with nothing but the ache.

Chapter Text

Next week was a shoot week.

The studio smelled like hairspray and panic.

Bright white lights cast sharp shadows across the minimalist set—pillows scattered on a velvet couch, fake city lights behind a sheer curtain, and a director yelling something about “emotive smolder” in the background.

Jun was already sweating.

Not from the heat. From the pressure. The kind that had been building for weeks—since the press launch, since the photos of him holding hands with Thailand’s current sweetheart actress hit the front page, since her lips found his cheek during that one live broadcast and Dylan didn’t even flinch.

Didn’t flinch.

Didn’t say a word.

Didn’t even look.

Not once.

Except when he did. That one time. When Jun caught him watching from behind the stage curtain. Just for a second, but Jun felt it like a slap—Dylan’s expression unreadable, but his hands clenched and jaw tight enough to make a statement.

Jun had told himself he was doing the right thing. That this was just another act. That none of it mattered. That this whole fake relationship with a touchy co-star wasn’t killing him from the inside out.

He’d been lying.

And now? Now he was stuck on a photo shoot set with him.

Dylan.

Hair ruffled like he'd just rolled out of someone's bed, lips glossy with some subtle tint that looked criminally edible. The stylist had swapped his usual chain and smoky eye for something more dangerous—a sheer black mesh shirt layered under a harness, black leather pants hugging his hips like sin, and gray-blue liner smudged like he’d kissed someone too hard and didn’t bother fixing it.

Jun felt like his lungs forgot how to expand.

“Right, gentlemen,” the photographer clapped, “we’re going for intimate distance. You’re close—but you’re holding back. A tension that’s unresolved. Think: lovers in denial. There’s heat, but no fire yet.”

Dylan gave the faintest smile. “How poetic.”

Jun scoffed. “Subtlety. Your favorite.”

But when he turned to look at Dylan fully, the joke died in his throat.

Because Dylan was looking back. With that look.

Cool. Collected. Just this side of mocking.

But there was a tightness around his eyes that only Jun would recognize.

A crack in the mask.

Jun had to look away or combust.

They moved into place. Dylan perched casually on the edge of the couch, legs spread. Jun stood behind him, one hand just barely grazing Dylan’s shoulder, fingers curled like he couldn’t decide if he wanted to touch or run.

The camera clicked.

“Jun, eyes on him. Like you’re remembering something,” the director called. “Good. Now, Dylan—tilt your head. Look up at him like you know the ending and he doesn’t.”

Jun swallowed. Hard.

Dylan tilted his head.

And smirked.

Jun’s fingers tightened on his shoulder before he could stop himself.

The camera flashed.

Click. Click. Click.

“Perfect,” the photographer murmured. “That’s the kind of tension we want.”

Jun wanted to scream.

Because it wasn’t tension. It was a disaster waiting to happen.

And the worst part? Dylan wasn’t breaking. Not publicly. Not even a single crack. He played cool so well, Jun almost hated him for it.

But Jun knew the truth.

He knew what it looked like when Dylan’s hands clenched a little too tight behind his back. When his jaw locked for half a second too long. When his gaze lingered just a beat too heavy on Jun’s throat, like he was thinking things he’d never say out loud.

Jun had seen the worst and the softest parts of him. And right now, he wanted to rip the whole damn set apart just to get Dylan alone for five minutes.

They moved positions.

Now they were seated—Jun on one side of the couch, Dylan on the other, knees brushing, eyes never quite meeting.

“Closer,” the director barked. “You’re almost touching, but you’re not. That ache. That restraint. Give me that.”

Jun inhaled through his nose.

Then leaned in.

Their faces were inches apart now. Dylan’s breath brushed his skin. Jun could see the faint shimmer of sweat on his upper lip, the flutter of his lashes when he blinked.

Too close.

Too much.

He was going to lose it.

Dylan shifted his weight—just barely—and their knees locked.

It felt like a spark had lit his entire thigh on fire.

The director muttered something approving. The camera kept snapping.

“Now hold,” came the order. “No talking. Just look.”

So they looked.

And for a moment, Jun forgot how to pretend.

Forgot the girlfriend.

Forgot the cameras.

Forgot the rules.

He leaned forward, instinct pulling him like gravity.

And Dylan didn’t move away.

Didn’t flinch.

Didn’t smirk.

Just watched.

Eyes dark. Barely breathing.

Jun got within a breath’s distance of his mouth.

And stopped.

The director exhaled, stunned. “...Wow.”

Jun blinked, remembered himself, and turned his face away sharply.

Dylan still hadn’t moved.

“That was perfect! Everything alright?” the director asked, voice suddenly unsure.

Jun cleared his throat. “Yeah. Just hot.”

Liar.

“Let’s reset for the bedroom set,” the assistant called.

Oh. Right.

The bedroom.

A fake bed with silky sheets and soft shadows. Dimmed lights. And one single prompt on the clipboard:

Pose: Lying down. Dylan on his back. Jun beside him, hand on his chest, faces close but not touching.

Jun could see his own funeral.

They climbed onto the set like men heading for execution.

Dylan laid back, one arm behind his head like it was the most casual thing in the world. Jun followed, slower, stiffer, pretending this wasn’t exactly what he’d imagined last night when his fake girlfriend had kissed his jaw on camera and he’d nearly gagged thinking of how wrong it felt.

He placed his hand over Dylan’s chest.

Felt the thump.

The real thump.

Too fast. Too loud.

Dylan was not as unaffected as he looked.

Jun curled his fingers slightly, pressing just a bit harder, and Dylan’s breath hitched.

Jun looked up, smirk dancing at the edge of his lips. “Careful. You’re gonna get caught slipping.”

Dylan’s voice was low. “You wish.”

Jun leaned closer. Their noses almost brushed.

He felt Dylan's hand shift near his own. Not touching. Just hovering. A threat. A dare.

Jun couldn’t breathe.

“Okay—yes, yes, yes,” the photographer muttered, nearly dropping the camera. “That’s the shot. That’s everything. Stay right there—”

Click.

Click.

And Jun broke.

He rolled toward Dylan fully, eyes burning, hand fisting into his mesh shirt.

“Stop looking at me like that,” he whispered, too low for the mics.

Dylan’s gaze didn’t flinch. “Like what?”

“Like you’re not seconds away from ruining everything.”

A pause.

Dylan’s voice was gravel. “You already did.”

Jun’s grip tightened.

And then—barely—he kissed the corner of Dylan’s mouth.

Quick. Silent. Not for the camera.

Then pulled back like it burned.

Dylan looked stunned for all of one second. Then he licked his lips and let his head fall back onto the pillow, exhaling shakily.

The director yelled, “Cut! That’s a wrap!”

Jun shot off the bed so fast he nearly tripped.

The moment he was off-set, he bolted to the hallway, fingers trembling.

He didn’t know what scared him more—

That he couldn't hold back and kissed Dylan almost on camera.

Or that he wanted to do it again and in the face of the overly touchy fake PR girlfriend. 

And again.

Until there was no camera to lie for.

No reason left to hold back.

Chapter Text

The door to the dressing room slammed shut behind Jun with a hard thunk. Dylan barely had time to breathe before Jun was in front of him—tense, pacing, his face flushed with a hundred unsaid things.

“You—” Jun started, then cut himself off, jaw clenched. He wasn’t even looking directly at Dylan. Not yet. His gaze was fixed just past him, somewhere on the carpet, like if he looked too directly he’d combust on impact.

Dylan leaned back on the couch, stretching one arm lazily over the backrest. “If this is about how photogenic I am—don’t worry. Happens all the time.”

Jun’s head snapped toward him, expression crackling. “Don’t. Start.”

“Oh?” Dylan arched a brow, lazy and cruel. “You dragged me in here for what, exactly? To yell at me for existing in high definition?”

Jun was already unraveling. “You know what you were doing.”

“Standing,” Dylan deadpanned. “With my face. Next to yours.”

Jun’s mouth opened, then shut. Then opened again like he was going to throw something more scathing—but all that came out was, “You looked at me.”

That stopped Dylan cold.

It wasn’t the words, exactly. It was the way Jun said them—quiet. Broken. Accusatory.

“You looked at me like you wanted to—” Jun cut off, pacing again, dragging a hand through his hair. “I can’t do this.”

Dylan’s mask cracked just slightly. “You’re the one who started it.”

“I had to,” Jun snapped, spinning around. “They stuck us in that shoot, and you—You were wearing that shirt, Dylan. And your hair was wet, and you smelled like goddamn citrus and sin, and I—” His voice broke, but he pushed through. “I’m not a monk.”

Dylan bit the inside of his cheek, jaw tense. “No one asked you to act like one.”

“I asked me.” Jun exhaled roughly, finally, finally meeting his eyes. “Because if I don’t avoid you, I’ll kiss you so hard we’ll both forget our names.”

Silence crackled between them like fire eating through the walls.

Then Dylan stood.

He didn’t touch Jun, didn’t take a step forward—just looked at him, eyes soft and dark and unreadable. “So what now?”

Jun stared at him for a beat too long.

Then said, almost bitterly, “Now I go pretend my girlfriend didn’t just send me seventeen selfies in the car.”

The moment they stepped into the group house later that day, the tension tripled like someone cranked the atmosphere to suffocating.

“Jun-junnn!” The girlfriend squealed as she swept through the doorway, heels clicking against the floor, designer handbag slung over one toned shoulder. She smelled like a luxury perfume store and attached herself to Jun’s side like a sticker.

Nano, lounging on the couch with popcorn, immediately whispered, “Incoming. Fake girlfriend vibes at full volume.”

Jun barely reacted. “Hey,” he said, patting her back with all the enthusiasm of a cardboard cutout. His gaze flicked—unavoidable—to Dylan, who was leaned against the kitchen counter in a new look that could only be described as deliberate danger.

Gone was the chain and smokey eyeliner. In its place: Dylan sat like sin in sweatpants. Not trying to be seductive—but God, Jun wanted to bite him. His blonde hair was messily fluffy, half tucked under a cap turned backwards. The silver-rimmed glasses only made it worse. He had the audacity to look both like a sexy underground rapper and a college boy who forgot his thesis, casually scrolling his phone with one hand while the other drummed against his thigh.

Headphones dangled around his neck. Studio boy aesthetic on point. Like he’d just stepped out of a recording booth, or a dream Jun hadn’t meant to have three nights in a row.

Jun choked on his soul.

Jun’s girlfriend blinked at him, then tugged at his arm. “Junnie, baby, show me your room!”

“No,” Jun said flatly.

She pouted. “Why not?”

“Because Nano sleeps naked and might be in there.” Jun turned toward Dylan, lips twitching. “You know, hygiene.”

Dylan didn’t smile—but the corner of his mouth almost curved.

Jun’s girlfriend frowned. “Then give me a tour of the kitchen! I saw it in that reality show episode—it’s so cute!”

“Right,” Jun drawled, dragging his feet behind her as she pranced across the room.

But he didn’t look at her. Not once.

Every comment, every sarcastic quip he threw out was aimed subtly sideways—toward the blond turned strawberry vision currently pretending to scroll on his phone at the counter.

Jun leaned against the counter, phone in hand, thumbs idle. The screen was on, sure, but he wasn’t watching anything. Just scrolling through reels, visually loud enough to act as cover.

“Wow,” Jun said aloud, phone still in hand. “These thirst traps really just go for it. No shame. You'd think the whole world needed to know they know they’re hot.”

Dylan didn’t look up. He shifted, adjusted the volume on a reel, and smirked to himself. “Mm. Wild, huh?” he said, voice smooth, not missing a beat. “Can’t relate. Who'd post shit like that?”

Jun glanced sideways. “Some of them have that ‘I know you’re watching me and I like it’ face. That smug, post-sex kinda vibe? God. Makes you wanna... punch a wall. Or climb someone.”

A nearly silent chuckle vibrated from Dylan’s chest. He turned slightly, not at Jun, but angled just enough. His fingers swiped to another reel, and he leaned back. “Damn,” he muttered with perfect timing. “Some people really out here looking like they wanna be worshipped.”

Jun grinned into his juice box. “Mm. Shame that half of them couldn’t pull off a pair of glasses to save their life.”

Dylan clicked his tongue like he disapproved of the reel. “That so?” he asked lazily, still not looking at him. “Personally, I think glasses are criminally underrated. Really ties a look together—like ‘hot but academically dangerous.’”

Jun raised an eyebrow. “So you’re into boring people now?”

“I said dangerous, not do your homework for you,” Dylan replied, still thumbing through his screen, but his mouth twitched.

“Wow,” Jun said, lifting a glass from the cupboard. “Somehow, everything in this kitchen still works. Unlike certain people’s emotional regulation.”

Dylan didn’t even blink. “Crazy how that’s coming from the guy who spent five minutes eye-fucking me with a camera crew three feet away.”

Jun’s girlfriend giggled. “You two always bicker so much.”

“We’re just naturally magnetic,” Dylan said smoothly.

Jun didn’t answer. He kept his gaze forward but flung out another line. “Some of them really give ‘I make people beg and then pretend I’m surprised.’”

Dylan let out a soft “pfft” like the reel he was “watching” was mildly ridiculous. “Yeah? Some people have that look like... you’d touch them once and forget how to breathe.”

Nano choked on his yogurt. “HELLO?”

Dylan didn’t look up. “You good?”

“I—No—what? You guys are literally flirting through reel commentary now?”

“We’re just discussing modern thirst baiting tactics,” Jun said innocently, biting his straw like it hadn’t been in his mouth long enough. “It’s academic.”

Nano narrowed his eyes between them. “I don’t know what’s worse—when you two are fighting or when you’re doing... this.” He pointed at the space between them like it was an active fire zone. “At least when you’re bickering, I can leave the room. But this? This is like being stuck in a 30-minute prelude to a make-out scene on mute.”

Nano coughed loudly from the living room. “Sexual tension!”

“Shut up, Nano,” both of them said in unison.

The girlfriend wrapped both arms around Jun’s arm again, leaning her head on his shoulder. “Junnie, you’re being mean to your members.”

Jun hummed. “They like it rough.”

Dylan looked up then. Locked eyes with him.

Jun’s throat tightened. God, he was such an idiot.

“Can I borrow Jun for a sec?” Dylan said suddenly.

The girlfriend blinked. “Oh, uh, for what?”

“Practice,” he said blandly. “Since we apparently have chemistry.”

Jun’s pulse roared.

Dylan didn’t wait for a response. He just jerked his head toward the hallway and walked off.

Jun followed like a man walking into war.

The door to the practice room clicked shut behind them. It was dimly lit, air thick with leftover heat from the day’s rehearsal.

“Stop looking at me like that,” Jun said first.

“Like what?” Dylan asked.

“Like you know you look hot and you’re waiting for me to implode.”

“I do know I look hot,” Dylan said. “And you have already imploded. So.”

Jun stepped forward, jaw clenched. “Why do you keep pushing?”

Dylan didn’t step back. “Because you keep pulling.”

“Not fair.”

“Nothing about this is.”

Jun stared at him for a moment. “You keep acting unbothered.”

“I am unbothered,” Dylan lied.

Jun reached up and flicked the collar of Dylan’s shirt. “Liar.”

“You’re the one with the girlfriend, remember?”

“Don’t,” Jun said, voice dropping. “Don’t say it like that. She’s not—She’s—”

“Touchy,” Dylan cut in. “Clingy. Always around.”

Jun breathed in. “It’s all fake.”

“I know.”

“I don’t want her.”

“I know that too.”

Silence.

Then Jun muttered, like the words were ripped from his throat, “I want you, idiot.”

Dylan closed his eyes for half a second. When he opened them, it was molten.

“No shit.”

They didn’t kiss.

Not yet.

But the moment was a loaded gun resting on a tightrope. Dangerous, explosive, inevitable.

Jun turned away first, chest heaving. “If we’re not careful—”

“We’ll get caught,” Dylan finished. “Yeah.”

Another beat passed before Dylan added, quieter, “But I don’t want to be careful around you anymore.”

Jun’s breath stuttered.

Dylan smirked. “Careful’s boring.”

Chapter Text

The silence in the practice room had weight.

Jun leaned back against the wall, heartbeat a war drum in his chest. Dylan stood just in front of him, arms crossed, eyes burning in that infuriating, unreadable way. He was close—too close, and he hadn’t said a word since Jun’s quiet confession.

The air was thick, not with heat, but with the kind of tension that left teeth marks.

Jun’s voice cracked the quiet. “Why are you just standing there?”

Dylan tilted his head. “Waiting to see how long it takes for you to come apart.”

Jun scowled. “You’re a menace.”

“And you,” Dylan murmured, stepping closer, until his voice was low in Jun’s ear, “are so easy to mess with it’s practically a hobby.”

Jun’s hand shot out to push him, but Dylan caught his wrist—not hard, just enough to hold him there. His thumb brushed a slow circle against the inside of Jun’s wrist. The touch made Jun’s breath hitch.

“I’m not easy,” Jun bit out.

Dylan’s laugh was low and cruel. “You literally just flinched because I touched your wrist.”

Jun yanked his hand away. “You’re doing it on purpose.”

“Obviously.”

Dylan stepped even closer, chest nearly brushing Jun’s. His hand slid around Jun’s waist like he had every right to touch him there, fingers slow, just warm enough to be maddening. He leaned in close—so close Jun could feel his breath at the curve of his jaw.

“You know what your problem is?” Dylan murmured. “You try so hard not to want me, you forget how obvious it is.”

Jun’s breath caught in his throat.

“And every time you pretend you don’t feel this,” Dylan said, trailing a hand over Jun’s hip—light, suggestive, not indecent, but not even pretending to be innocent—“I want to see how long it takes until you break again.”

Jun’s whole body tensed. “That’s sick.”

“You like it.”

“No,” Jun said.

Dylan’s hand slid up Jun’s back, brushing under his shirt—skin to skin. The contact was electric.

“Say that again,” Dylan whispered.

Jun’s voice cracked. “No.”

“You’re not even convincing yourself anymore.”

Jun turned his head, like looking at anything else would help, but Dylan caught his chin—gently, fingertips curling under his jaw. He didn’t tilt Jun’s face all the way, just kept him from running away from eye contact.

“Jun,” he said, and it was so soft, so deliberate, it made Jun want to scream.

He felt Dylan’s fingers tug slightly at his shirt. “Take this off.”

“No,” Jun said, and even he heard the weakness in it.

Dylan didn’t wait for real consent—he waited for the lack of resistance. He pulled the hem up slow, deliberately, and Jun let him. The shirt slid over his arms and dropped to the floor like it never mattered in the first place.

Jun stood there, shirtless and half-damned, as Dylan’s eyes dragged down his torso like a lit fuse.

“God,” Dylan said, half a breath. “You’re ridiculous.”

Jun’s hands clenched into fists at his sides. “You’re making me insane.”

“You’re already there,” Dylan replied.

Then he leaned in—and Jun tensed—but Dylan didn’t go for his mouth. Instead, he pressed a slow kiss just below Jun’s collarbone. Then another, lower, warm and maddening. And then—then—a sharp flick of tongue, a graze of teeth.

Jun gasped.

Dylan hummed against his skin. “You’ll feel that later.”

He bit down—not hard enough to bruise, but enough to sting, to leave a claim right under Jun’s ribs where no one would see it. A little mark no camera could catch, no fan could question. But Jun would know. Every time he changed clothes. Every time he was touched.

Especially by her.

“You’re evil,” Jun breathed.

“Am I?” Dylan questioned, softer than anything had the right to be.

Jun’s reply caught in his throat—but then—

Knock knock.

Both of them froze.

“Jun?” came the girlfriend’s voice, muffled but bright through the door. “Hey! Are you guys practicing? It’s sooo quiet in there.”

Dylan’s eyes met Jun’s, wicked.

Jun whispered, panicked, “Don’t say anything.”

Dylan smirked and leaned back casually against the wall, arms crossed, like they weren’t mid-situation and Jun wasn’t shirtless and breathless and clearly marked for internal disaster.

Jun scrambled for his shirt—but Dylan hooked it with a toe and pushed it farther away across the floor.

“You bastard—”

“Jun!” the girlfriend called again. “Are you guys fighting or something? Should I come in?”

“No!” Jun called too fast, too sharp. He coughed. “I mean—no, we’re practicing. It’s, uh, intense choreo. Arms flailing. You could get hit.”

“Oh,” she said. “Okay! But like—do you want bubble tea? I have extra!”

Jun looked at Dylan, who was clearly enjoying every second of this.

“Yes!” Jun shouted. “Leave it outside the door. I’ll get it in a sec.”

“Oh! Okay. Also, babe, do you like my new perfume? I wore it for you today.”

Jun's eye twitched.

Dylan raised his brows, mouthing, “Perfume?”

Jun glared at him. “Yeah,” he said toward the door. “Smelled it.”

Dylan choked down a laugh.

She continued. “So like, I was thinking—when our fake dating contract ends, we should still be friends, right? Like...besties?”

Jun blinked at the ceiling. “Of course,” he said, voice tight.

“I mean, unless like... we wanted to keep pretending. For the fans! Like a secret maybe-dating thing? That’d be spicy, right?”

Jun turned and glared absolute daggers at Dylan—who looked like he was about to combust from holding in laughter.

Jun answered slowly, trying not to explode: “Let’s...talk about it later. In depth. Thoroughly. Privately.”

Dylan mouthed, “Thoroughly,” with such scandalous expression that Jun nearly threw a dance shoe at him.

“Oh okay!” she chirped. “Well, I left the drink here. You better come out and get it before Nano does. Love you!”

“Thanks,” Jun managed, voice bordering on a wheeze.

Footsteps retreated.

Silence fell again.

Jun dropped his head against the mirror, eyes closed. “I’m going to die.”

Dylan, now behind him, trailed his fingers up Jun’s spine. “You’re doing great, sweetheart.”

Jun shot him a look in the mirror. “You’re an asshole.”

“An asshole you want to climb.”

Jun opened his mouth.

Closed it.

Looked away.

“Thought so,” Dylan said smugly, brushing his fingers once more over the place he’d marked, so lightly Jun nearly shivered.

“Stop,” Jun said.

Dylan didn’t.

“I said—”

“I heard you,” Dylan whispered into his ear. “But I also heard what you said earlier. About wanting me.”

Jun’s mouth opened again—before another knock startled them both.

“Jun! Babe, I forgot—do you still want me to help post your pictures from the fanmeet? I picked the one where you and Dylan were making eye contact. It’s sooo shippable.”

Jun was going to die.

Literally, spiritually, karmically implode.

From behind, Dylan let out a quiet, wicked, “Oh my god.”

“NO,” Jun said—way too loud. He scrambled for his shirt like it was a lifeline. “I mean—no, not that one. Pick a different one. Something... safe.”

“Aww, okay,” she said. “You sure you’re okay in there? You sound kinda breathless.”

“Choreo!” Jun yelled. “Jumping jacks!”

Dylan smirked so hard it hurt.

The girlfriend hummed and walked away.

Jun slumped back against the wall again, finally shirted but still mentally ruined.

Dylan wandered closer, brushing invisible lint off Jun’s collar like he wasn’t the reason Jun was two seconds from passing out.

“You’re really bad at this,” Dylan said cheerfully.

“I hate you,” Jun whispered.

“No you don’t.”

Jun sighed.

“You like this,” Dylan added.

Jun paused.

Then muttered, “Yeah. I do.”

Dylan looked at him, finally, fully, and said, quietly but clearly, “Me too.”

No kiss. Still not yet. But the air was so tight it might as well have snapped.

Dylan didn’t push further.

Just left a whisper at the back of Jun’s neck before walking to the door.

“I’ll see you at dinner,” he said.

Jun was still frozen in place when he left—marked, shaken, and painfully, fully alive.

Later that evening in the MARS Group House Living Room, the bubble tea cup was still sweating in Jun’s hand.

He hadn’t taken a sip.

He didn’t even know what flavor it was. Maybe taro. Maybe strawberry. Maybe shame-flavored, with extra tapioca regret. All he could focus on was the memory of Dylan’s mouth on his skin, how warm and smug his breath had felt, and that soft declaration: Me too.

Now Jun sat on the edge of the couch, trying to act normal, surrounded by the usual chaos of their shared idol house. Nano was singing off-key in the kitchen. Pepper was watching a mukbang on double-speed. Thame was on the floor snuggling with Po.

And her.

Jun’s fake girlfriend had just walked in from the guest hallway in her comfy hoodie and loose joggers, carrying her phone and looking like she belonged here. She smiled like nothing was off.

And maybe to everyone else, nothing was.

But Jun’s shirt felt tighter now. Not because of size.

Because of memory.

She walked toward him, smiling.

“There you are!” she chirped, sliding onto the couch beside him. “You disappeared earlier. Was practice that intense?”

Jun gave her a smile that was probably too stiff. “Yeah. Killer routine.”

Dylan—lounging in the armchair like he owned the concept of casual—glanced up from his phone.

He said nothing.

He didn’t need to say anything.

The mark under Jun’s ribs practically hummed under his shirt. A phantom pressure, as if Dylan’s mouth was still there.

The girlfriend leaned in. “You didn’t even drink your tea,” she pouted. “I picked your favorite. I thought it might help you cool down.”

Jun nodded and took a pretend sip. Cold sugar did nothing to fix the heat coiled in his chest.

Then she leaned in for her favorite thing: the arms-looped-around-his-neck, soft-smile, full-body hug.

He flinched.

Barely.

Just a twitch. A tiny shift of his shoulders. Most people wouldn’t have noticed it.

But he did.

He noticed it immediately.

And Dylan did too.

Jun could feel his gaze sharpen like a needle.

“You okay?” she asked, leaning back a little.

“Fine,” Jun said quickly. “Just...sore. You know. From dancing.”

Her smile returned. “Oh, right! You always get tense shoulders when you overtrain. Want me to massage—”

“No!” Jun said too fast.

Nano popped his head out of the kitchen. “You good, bro?”

“Fine,” Jun lied, again. “Just, uh, dehydrated.”

Dylan’s brow arched, impossibly elegant.

Jun didn’t look at him.

Fake Girlfriend rubbed Jun’s back anyway. “Aw, poor thing. You should’ve told me. I’ll go grab some pain patches from my bag.”

She stood and padded off, humming some commercial jingle.

Jun exhaled hard, staring at the tea like it had betrayed him.

Dylan spoke for the first time.

“Sensitive today?”

Jun shot him a sharp look.

Dylan’s tone was all surface-level polite, but his eyes said, You remember, don’t you?

“Just tired,” Jun muttered.

Dylan tapped his phone screen like he didn’t care. “You sure that’s all it is?”

Nano wandered into the living room, holding a half-eaten spring roll. “You guys fighting again?”

Jun and Dylan answered in perfect sync:

“No.”
“Yes.”

Nano blinked. “So...flirty-fighting or actual fighting?”

Jun opened his mouth.

Dylan beat him to it. “You ever seen a man flinch from a hug?”

Jun swore under his breath.

Nano, predictably, gasped. “What kind of hug? Like, scary-aunt hug or sensual-hug?”

Jun stood. “I’m going to my room.”

But Dylan wasn’t done.

“Jun,” he said softly. Not a question. A call.

Jun paused halfway down the hall.

“I meant it, earlier,” Dylan said.

Jun didn’t look back, but his hands clenched into fists.

He walked away.

Minutes later he shut the door to his room behind him and leaned against it like it could hold him upright.

The hickey still pulsed beneath his shirt. A ghost of Dylan’s mouth. The flinch—God, the flinch—still echoed in his muscles.

He was losing grip. Fast.

There was a knock, sudden and too light to be her.

He didn’t answer.

Dylan’s voice slipped under the door. “Still pretending you’re fine?”

Jun squeezed his eyes shut.

“Go away,” he said.

A pause.

Then Dylan’s voice, quiet, maddening: “You didn’t flinch because you’re sore.”

Jun didn’t respond.

“You flinched because you thought it was me.”

Another beat.

Then, softer—cruel in how kind it sounded:

“And you liked it when it was.”

Jun’s heart slammed against his ribs.

Footsteps retreated.

Silence.

Jun didn’t move for a long time.

Chapter Text

The group house was quiet.

Too quiet for a Friday night, considering the fake girlfriend was still staying over and had commandeered the guest room like it was her birthright. But Jun had retreated from the living room hours ago, feigning exhaustion while Dylan vanished wordlessly behind him—one shadow chasing another down the hallway.

The door to Dylan’s bedroom clicked shut.

Jun turned, expecting Dylan to just hover like usual, lean against the wall and smirk and toss some line that made him want to throw a pillow at his head—and maybe throw something else after, if he was feeling masochistic.

But Dylan locked the door.

No words. Just the soft slide of the bolt. Then those nails curling around Jun’s wrist, guiding him back with a slow, sure pressure until his back hit the wall. No smirk. Just that unreadable expression he wore when he wanted something and hated that he wanted it.

“Tell me to stop,” Dylan said. Voice low. Rough. Close.

Jun’s heart kicked behind his ribs, his sarcasm jamming in his throat. “You never even asked.”

“I did,” Dylan said, leaning in. “You just answer in looks.”

Their mouths crashed before he could decide whether that was arrogant or true—probably both. Dylan kissed like he’d been starving. Like Jun had air and he’d gone too long without it. No soft build-up, no caution. Just lips dragging and clashing, teeth catching, fingers curling hard into Jun’s hoodie and tugging until it bunched against his chest.

Jun gasped into the kiss, and Dylan took advantage, tongue sliding in deep, pulling a sound from Jun’s throat that made both of them freeze.

A beat.

Then Dylan made that smug sound again. Low. Dangerous.

“Volume control, Einstein.”

Jun grabbed him by the collar and yanked him back in. “Says the guy who groans like it’s an art form.”

Dylan half-laughed, half-moaned into his mouth, arms wrapping around Jun’s waist to grind their bodies together. They fit too well. Like something illegal. Like they’d been built to make each other miserable and feral in equal measure.

The bed creaked under their combined weight as Jun stumbled them backward. Clothes started coming off—not all the way, but just enough to make the temperature spike and rational thought bail entirely. Jun’s shirt hit the floor. Dylan’s hoodie got halfway off before Jun gave up and shoved it down his arms mid-kiss.

“God, you’re annoying,” Jun muttered, breathless, his hand slipping under Dylan’s waistband.

“I thought I was hot.”

“You’re both,” Jun snapped, voice cracking as Dylan rolled his hips, pinning him harder into the mattress.

That earned a slow smile, Dylan’s fingers skating under Jun’s waistband now, cool and taunting. “You’re shaking.”

“Because you’re cheating,” Jun hissed.

“Call it strategy.”

“Call it—mmf—oh my god—”

Dylan’s teeth found a spot just below Jun’s jaw, then lower, trailing kisses down his neck before biting just hard enough to leave a mark.

“You really want me to stop?” Dylan asked again, lips against the reddening bruise, smug.

Jun bucked up into him. “If you stop now, I’ll write a diss track and ruin your career.”

“Promises, promises.”

Clothes slipped further. Dylan’s hand slid into Jun’s boxers, heat sparking fast and hard between them. Their breathing got messier. Jun’s nails bit into Dylan’s shoulders. Dylan’s mouth crashed against Jun’s again, desperate, hungry, starved in ways that had nothing to do with the body and everything to do with them.

But the bedframe squeaked again, too sharp.

They froze.

Then came the faintest creak outside Jun’s door. And footsteps. Halting. Curious.

Jun clamped a hand over Dylan’s mouth.

Dylan blinked, stunned. Then his eyes glittered with mischief.

Jun shook his head in warning. He could practically hear her out there—Fake Girlfriend Extraordinaire™—probably padding barefoot to the bathroom or maybe just nosing around because she knew something felt off. Because the vibe had been off all day. Because Dylan had spent dinner looking like he wanted to snap a chopstick in half every time she touched Jun’s hand and called him “babe.”

Jun's hand slipped from Dylan's mouth to his shoulder, holding tight. Dylan didn’t move, but he did slowly lower his hips again, lips ghosting along Jun’s neck.

Jun’s breath hitched violently.

“You’re insane,” he whispered.

“You started it,” Dylan murmured, nipping his collarbone, then licking over it like he was sealing a signature. “You locked eyes with me across the table like you wanted to get pinned.”

Jun arched beneath him involuntarily. “I was glaring.”

“You were begging.”

“I hate you.”

“Liar,” Dylan whispered into his skin, voice molten.

Then the sound of a door closing—probably the guest room again. Silence.

Jun exhaled like he’d just dodged a meteor.

Dylan looked down at him. Pink lips, flushed cheeks, eyes lit like a wildfire barely restrained. “Well...”

“Well?”

“We are still bickering other times.”

Jun tugged him down by the collar and kissed him so hard they rolled. Dylan laughed into it, breathless. They didn’t go all the way—not quite. Not yet. But they teetered on the edge for a long, brutal while, hands exploring, bodies tangled in sheets, minds fraying at the edges.

They fell asleep like that. Bare-chested. Breathing hard. Too close.

Next morning fake Girlfriend looked way too smug over her cereal.

Jun, now clad in the most boring hoodie he could find to hide any leftover marks, sat at the kitchen table trying to seem unfazed.

Dylan slouched in a chair across from him, bleached hair a mess, neck red—but not in a visible way. Not unless someone got close. Which she did, when she passed behind him, fingers grazing his shoulder.

Jun twitched.

Then came the bomb.

“Did you guys hear that last night?” she whispered like it was state secrets. “Someone was totally hooking up in one of the rooms.”

Jun choked on his tea.

Dylan didn’t look up from his cereal. “Was it good?”

She giggled. “I couldn’t tell! It was all gasps and…thumps. But honestly, it was kinda hot. Very MARS mansion after dark vibes, you know?”

Jun’s face was lava. He tried not to meet Dylan’s eyes.

Tried and failed.

Dylan raised an eyebrow behind his spoon. You good, Jun?

Jun stared daggers. You’re the devil.

She plopped down next to Jun, completely oblivious. “I thought it might be P'Po and Thame, but I peeked and their door was open. So now I’m like…who’s the secret couple?”

Dylan smiled, infuriatingly calm. “Maybe you dreamed it.”

“I swear I heard something,” she insisted. “Like, definitely two people. Maybe three.”

Jun choked again.

Dylan shrugged. “If someone’s getting action, good for them.”

Jun stood abruptly. “I’m gonna—uh—go...launder some thoughts—I mean, clothes—bye.”

He power-walked out, burning.

Dylan took a slow bite of cereal, smiling like a cat who'd just broken into a birdcage and locked the door behind him.

“Laundry?” she repeated, blinking after Jun. “He’s been weird all morning.”

Dylan finally looked up. “Maybe he needs to cool off.”

He smiled wider when she nodded, none the wiser.

God, Jun was going to kill him. Or kiss him again.

Honestly, either sounded fun.

Chapter Text

The morning sun had the audacity to show up like it hadn’t been a silent witness to the mess from last night.

Jun glared at it through his sunglasses as he stood by the curb, waiting for Dylan. His hair was slightly tousled, lips still pink and maybe a little swollen if anyone looked too closely. But he’d strategically over-moisturized and under-reacted when his fake girlfriend had walked into the kitchen earlier asking, “Did you hear those noises last night? Someone was definitely getting wrecked.”

Jun had almost choked on his cereal. Dylan, of course, had stood behind her with the expression of a disinterested prince—lips curled like the idea of emotional vulnerability offended him personally.

Now, outside, the group van finally pulled up, and Dylan stepped out in black slacks, a white tucked-in shirt that was just this side of scandalous, and aviators he didn’t need. He was chewing gum. Of course he was.

“You’re late,” Jun said, voice flat.

“You’re early,” Dylan replied, voice flatter.

“You're lucky we have to share a ride. I was one second from leaving without you.”

Dylan arched an eyebrow as he slid into the van beside Jun. “Yeah? You’d miss me before we hit the first red light.”

“I’d miss the silence,” Jun muttered.

The driver pulled away from the curb, and the group house faded into the rearview. Inside the van, Pepper snored softly, Nano was half-asleep with a face mask on, and Thame was Po like his life depends on it.

Jun crossed one leg over the other and said quietly, “You messed up my neck.”

“You moaned like it was a religious experience,” Dylan replied, staring straight ahead. “You’re welcome.”

Jun pinched the bridge of his nose. “Don’t say things like that before we get to campus. I still have to pretend I’m emotionally available to someone else.”

“She is emotionally available. To your entire arm, mostly,” Dylan said with a smirk.

Jun shot him a glare. “You’re not jealous.”

Dylan popped his gum. “You wish.”

They arrived at campus a few minutes later, and as always, students eyed the MARS boys like they were rockstars instead of overworked, overbooked, over-emotional boys with good lighting. Jun adjusted his backpack, and Dylan shoved his hands into his pockets.

“Why are you walking next to me?” Jun asked, clutching his iced Americano like it was holy water.

“We live together,” Dylan replied, hands in pockets, sunglasses on like he was avoiding paparazzi. “Where else would I walk? Behind you like a stalker?”

“Tempting.”

“Not into being behind you,” Dylan said dryly. “Usually like seeing your face when you lose arguments.”

Jun sipped his coffee. “You mean like how you lost last night?”

“I was distracted by your hands on my—”

Jun whipped his head around. “Shut.”

“You brought it up.” Dylan looked far too proud of himself.

When they reached the university gates, they parted ways.

“Try not to flunk out of Performing Arts today,” Jun said, already turning toward his own department’s building.

Dylan called after him, “Try not to break into an Austen monologue in class. People are starting to notice.”

“I’ll enjoy the Dylan-free air for the next two hours,” Jun said with exaggerated relief.

Dylan bowed like a prince. “Try not to miss me too much, darling.”

Jun flipped him off. Dylan blew a kiss.

They both smirked to themselves.

Twenty minutes later, Jun was seated in his Communication Theory class when a professor he didn’t recognize walked in and said, “Good morning, everyone. I know this is unexpected, but today, we’re mixing things up with students from Performing Arts. Please welcome our joint class.”

Jun blinked.

“Wait, why is the Communication Theory class combined with our Performing Arts course?” Jun whispered to his friend at the back of the lecture hall. Students from both faculties were mixed together like awkward salad.

“They said it’s for some interdisciplinary thing,” his friend whispered back.

Jun scanned the room—and spotted Dylan striding in.

“No. No no no. Oh, you’ve got to be kidding me,” Jun whispered.

Dylan spotted him too. His eyes lit up with the slow joy of someone realizing fate had handed him a golden opportunity to be insufferable.

Dylan raised a hand in mock salute. “Sup, partner.”

He slid into the empty seat beside Jun with the confidence of a man who knew he could cause emotional damage just by existing.

“Miss me?” Dylan asked innocently.

“I would’ve rather gotten hit by a tuk-tuk.”

Someone, who was apparently in this class too, whispered excitedly from two rows behind, “IS THIS AN ENEMIES-TO-LOVERS ACADEMIC ARC???”

The professor clapped once. “Today you’ll be forming mixed groups. Each group will pull one chit from this bowl—each chit is a classic story from around the world. You’ll study its narrative structure, cultural impact, and reimagine it with a modern twist. Presentation due in two weeks.”

Jun stared at the bowl like it was a trap. Which, to be fair, it was.

“Come up and draw!” she said.

Dylan leaned over. “If we get Romeo and Juliet, I’m faking my death.”

“I’ll kill you for real.” Jun deadpanned, “I’m dropping out.”

The professor grinned. “Now, pick a partner from another faculty.”

Jun could feel the eyes. Everyone was pairing up. Naturally, the world hated him, because at the end, Dylan dropped into the seat beside him, dropping his bag with theatrical flair.

Dylan said lazily. “Bonding exercise.”

“I’d rather work with a mop,” Jun muttered.

“Your loss. I moisturize.”

The professor didn’t seem to hear—or care. She waved them forward. “You two, come pull a chit.”

Jun approached the bowl like it might bite him. Dylan smirked beside him, hands in his pockets, clearly enjoying Jun’s slow spiral.

“Go on,” Dylan said. “Pick your fate.”

Jun reached in, shuffled the papers, and pulled one out.

He read it.

He blinked.

“Oh no,” he said aloud.

Dylan plucked it from his hand and read it.

“Oh yes,” he corrected. “Pride and Prejudice. You know what this means?”

“That you’re Mr. Darcy and I hate everything?”

“That I’m tall, emotionally constipated, and sexy,” Dylan said, smug.

Jun gave him a look. “If you’re Darcy, I’m breaking your pride and giving you prejudice.”

They walked back to their seats, the class buzzing.

Someone whispered, “They got what? You guys better act it out or I’ll sue.”

Later, seated at a back table in the university library, Jun was glaring down at his laptop while Dylan read aloud from a modern adaptation blog.

“‘Darcy’s inability to communicate effectively is often interpreted as toxic masculinity,’” Dylan quoted, then looked up. “So relatable. I also refuse to explain myself when I like someone.”

Jun didn’t look up. “Because you like keeping everyone confused and emotionally constipated.”

“You like it,” Dylan said.

“Excuse me?”

“You like that I’m difficult,” Dylan said again, leaning back in his chair, arms crossed. “You like that it makes things… tenser.”

Jun looked up, heat rising to his cheeks. “I like when you shut up.”

Dylan tilted his head, smirking. “You like when I whisper your name against your throat—”

Jun kicked him under the table. Hard.

“Ow. That was uncalled for.”

“It was very called for,” Jun said, turning redder.

“Okay, so cultural context, romantic structure, and comparative symbolism,” Jun muttered, spreading notes across the table. “I’ll handle the Austen references.”

“I’ll cover the Thai literary parallels,” Dylan offered. “Proff will love it if we connect British lit with Thai themes.”

Jun blinked. “You actually know stuff.”

“Wow,” Dylan said, hand on chest. “Shocking revelation: Dylan has a brain.”

“I figured all the hotness cancelled it out.”

“You think I’m hot?” Dylan grinned.

Jun rolled his eyes. “Shut up. You knew that last night.”

“Still nice to hear,” Dylan murmured.

They stared at each other over the table a second too long.

Then Jun broke it. “We need to structure the argument. Darcy’s arc mirrors—”

“Yours,” Dylan said.

Jun narrowed his eyes. “Excuse me?”

“You’re arrogant, insufferable, emotionally evasive, and secretly soft.”

Jun raised a pen like a weapon. “Keep talking and I’ll stab you with Austen quotes.”

Dylan leaned in. “’You must allow me to tell you how ardently I admire and love you.’”

Jun blinked.

“…You memorized the proposal scene?”

“I do my research,” Dylan said, smug again.

Jun bit his lip—damn it, he hated how fast Dylan could fluster him.

“I hope the proposal in our presentation is less cringe,” Jun muttered.

“I’ll rewrite it,” Dylan said, voice dropping just slightly. “Tailored to the audience.”

Across the table, another student looked up, confused. Dylan just leaned forward and lowered his voice like they were back in their room, wrapped up in shadows and secrets.

“You think we’re going to get through two weeks of pretending to be Darcy and Elizabeth without—”

Jun cut him off. “We are going to get through this.”

“Without kissing in a rehearsal?”

Jun’s ears turned a darker red.

“I hate you.”

“You didn’t say that last night,” Dylan murmured.

Jun stood abruptly. “I need coffee.”

In the campus café, Dylan followed him like a curse.

Jun ordered two americanos, shoved one toward Dylan, and muttered, “For your stupid lips.”

Dylan took it. “Aw, you think my lips are stupid. That’s almost romantic.”

Jun rolled his eyes. “Shut up and read the damn book. We have to figure out how we’re gonna present this.”

Dylan pulled out a notebook and started sketching something.

Jun leaned in to look. “Are those stick figures?”

“Yep. Us. In Regency outfits. For the storyboard.”

“You have problems.”

“You love my problems.”

Back in the library, they outlined their presentation. Jun typed like a machine while Dylan made notes beside him, occasionally brushing their knees together just to watch Jun tense.

“You know,” Dylan said eventually, “if we were the Pride and Prejudice couple, we’d make history.”

“We’re already making fanfiction,” Jun muttered.

Dylan grinned. “So what you’re saying is... we are canon.”

Jun stared at him.

“Don’t make me throw this laptop.”

“You won’t. It’s your baby.”

Jun sighed dramatically. “I hate that we work well together.”

Dylan’s voice dropped, teasing. “You hate that you want to kiss me while quoting Austen.”

Jun didn’t reply—but he did turn the page of the book with more force than necessary.

Nano sent them both a text that just said:
"Update me on every eye contact or I’ll burst into rage."

Back at the group house, later that night Nano leaned into the kitchen. “How was uni?”

“Hell,” Jun said.

“Highlight of my week,” Dylan said at the same time.

Jun threw a spoon at him.

Dylan caught it one-handed. “This is why we’re Lizzy and Darcy.”

Nano frowned. “Wait… are you guys doing a play?”

“No, a presentation,” Jun replied, brushing past Dylan with what he hoped was a nonchalant shoulder bump. “Fate decided we suffer together.”

Nano narrowed his eyes. “You two didn’t even talk with each other last month.”

“Progress,” Dylan said, leaning on the counter. “Now we bicker while eye-flirting.”

Jun turned bright red.

Nano squinted harder. “What happened last night? I heard noises—”

Jun panicked. “Nano. Don’t.”

Dylan added helpfully, “Must’ve been ghosts.”

Nano gasped. “MARS is haunted.”

Jun sighed and grabbed his laptop. “I’m going to pretend I didn’t hear that.”

Dylan followed him into his room.

Jun glanced back. “You planning to be distracting again?”

Dylan shrugged. “Only if you beg.”

“Ugh. Prideful.”

“Prejudiced.”

Jun tried not to laugh.

Chapter Text

Jun shut the door behind Dylan and instantly regretted letting him in.

Not because he didn’t want him there.

Because he did.

That was the problem.

“You better behave,” Jun muttered, tossing his backpack onto the desk and cracking his laptop open. “We’re rehearsing.”

“Define behave,” Dylan said, already throwing himself lazily across Jun’s bed like it was his name on the lease.

Jun refused to look at him. Dylan was always dangerous when he got comfortable.

Especially when he was lounging on his sheets like he belonged there.

“Get up,” Jun said, flapping a hand. “You’re Mr. Darcy, not a housecat.”

Dylan stretched, shirt riding up just slightly over his stomach. “Darcy had a manor. Pretty sure he did most of his dramatic monologues lying on fancy furniture.”

“This is IKEA. Get your ass off.”

“Nope,” Dylan said, smug. “Comfort fuels my performance.”

Jun rolled his eyes, but turned back to his screen and pulled up their shared notes. “Let’s get through the key scenes tonight. We still have to record a video clip for that ‘modern reinterpretation’ part.”

Dylan sat up then, finally serious. Or as serious as Dylan got. “You want to do the proposal scene tonight?”

Jun hesitated. “Eventually. We should get the earlier stuff down first.”

Dylan smirked. “So you want to emotionally devastate me before making me confess love I don’t know how to process?”

Jun deadpanned, “It’s called character development.”

“You just want to call me arrogant and socially inept for forty-five minutes.”

Jun leaned over and shoved the printout of Scene One into Dylan’s lap. “Read. Before I turn this into Hamlet and stab you mid-soliloquy.”

Dylan took the pages, biting back a grin, and they began.

For the next twenty minutes, they ran through banter-heavy lines, Jun’s Lizzy brimming with pointed sarcasm and Dylan’s Darcy bristling with restrained tension.

Too restrained, honestly.

“You’re too... chill,” Jun said, frowning at him from the foot of the bed.

Dylan blinked. “Excuse me?”

“You’re supposed to be barely containing yourself. Like, every word should feel like it’s pulled out of your ribs.”

Dylan’s eyes narrowed. “And you’re supposed to act like every look from me is an insult.”

Jun crossed his arms. “Maybe if you looked more insulting.”

“Maybe if you looked more kissable—I mean, more judgmental,” Dylan corrected, too quickly.

They both froze.

Jun slowly raised a brow. “That a Freudian slip, Darcy?”

Dylan coughed into his hand. “Purely academic.”

Jun turned back to the laptop, ignoring the heat crawling up his neck. “Okay. Let’s try Scene Two.”

They moved to the part where Darcy and Lizzy debate social status and love—an already loaded scene, now doubly sharp with real-life tension.

Jun read with biting clarity: “‘You are the last man in the world whom I could ever be prevailed upon to marry.’”

Dylan looked at him. Too long. Too hard. “‘You have said quite enough, madam. I perfectly comprehend your feelings, and have now only to be ashamed of what my own have been.’”

Jun's breath caught.

That line. The way he said it. Not acted—meant.

There was something under it. Something brittle and real.

He tried to pull back into character, but Dylan stood abruptly, still holding the pages, and closed the gap between them in a few slow steps.

Jun looked up at him.

Dylan was tall. That wasn’t new. But right now, he felt overwhelming. His presence had gravity.

“You act like I’m the problem,” Dylan said, low, almost not in-character anymore. “Like I’m the one chasing something that isn’t there.”

Jun’s mouth parted, but no sound came out.

Dylan’s voice dipped further, quieter. “But you look at me like you want me to ruin everything.”

Jun's heart thudded against his ribs.

“That’s not in the script,” he whispered.

“No,” Dylan said, stepping closer still, “but it’s in your eyes.”

Jun stepped back instinctively, and his legs hit the edge of the bed.

Dylan didn't touch him. But he could. They both knew it.

“Do you want to rehearse the proposal scene or not?” Jun asked, trying to sound unfazed.

Dylan blinked once. “You sure you can handle it?”

“I’ve read actual Austen. I can handle you.”

Dylan tilted his head. “Then let’s do it. Start from the confession.”

Jun pulled his own copy out, flipping to the page, and began the line stiffly: “‘In vain I have struggled. It will not do. My feelings will not be repressed.’”

Dylan closed the page and met his gaze.

That should’ve been a red flag. Dylan not reading anymore meant he was improvising—or worse, feeling it.

Jun tried to continue. “‘You must allow me to tell you how ardently I admire and love—’”

Dylan cut in, not with lines but with quiet intensity: “Do you?”

Jun blinked. “What?”

“Do you believe me?” Dylan asked. “In this moment, when I say I admire and love you. Does it feel like I’m acting?”

Jun’s throat bobbed.

This wasn’t the scene anymore.

This was Dylan. Dylan, standing so close Jun could feel the warmth of his breath, asking questions with his whole body.

He was holding something back. Barely.

Jun looked at his mouth. That stupid, talented, insufferable mouth.

Then Dylan said it again, a little quieter: “In vain I have struggled.”

His fingers brushed Jun’s.

That was it.

It was like a match against gasoline.

Jun grabbed the front of Dylan’s shirt and pulled.

The kiss was a collision—messy, angled, desperate.

It wasn’t elegant, or Austenian, or rehearsed. It was two people trying to silence everything unsaid.

Dylan stumbled forward, hands gripping Jun’s waist, mouth hot and searching.

Jun kissed back harder, walking them backward until Dylan’s legs hit the bed. They broke for breath, but barely.

“This—” Jun gasped, “—is not part of the script.”

Dylan’s grin was feral. “Then we improvise.”

They tumbled onto the bed, mouths finding each other again, more urgent now.

Jun rolled them over, hovering above him, hands braced on either side of Dylan’s head.

Dylan looked up at him with blown pupils and flushed cheeks.

“You’re blushing,” Jun murmured.

“So are you.”

Jun dipped lower. “Still think I’m judgmental?”

“I think you’re addicted to the tension,” Dylan said, voice rough. “Same as me.”

Jun didn’t deny it. He just kissed him again, slower this time, tracing the edge of Dylan’s jaw with careful fingers.

Then Dylan flipped them over again, pinning Jun gently.

“You know,” Dylan said, smirking against his skin, “Darcy never got this far on the first confession.”

“Darcy didn’t have me,” Jun whispered.

Dylan chuckled. “Lucky bastard.”

They lay there for a while—no rush, no performance, just breathing in each other’s skin.

Jun’s fingers idly traced the hem of Dylan’s shirt.

Dylan caught his wrist. “You keep doing that and I won’t remember any of my lines tomorrow.”

“Then I win,” Jun said, half-laughing.

Dylan looked at him, really looked.

No teasing. No sarcasm.

“I’m not pretending,” he said quietly.

Jun’s smile faltered.

He knew what Dylan meant. It scared him. It thrilled him. It undid something in his chest.

“…Me either,” he admitted.

The silence that followed wasn’t awkward. It was full—like air held between joined hands.

Chapter Text

Dylan kissed him.

Not softly. Not sweetly. He kissed Jun like he’d been starving for weeks and just found the only source of oxygen on the planet. It was all heat and hunger, hands fisted in the collar of Jun’s shirt, breath stolen on contact. Jun stumbled backward, legs hitting the bed behind him with a muffled thump, but Dylan didn’t let up—just pushed forward, following him down like gravity had chosen him personally.

Jun gasped against Dylan’s mouth, the sound sharp and surprised, but he didn’t pull away. He surged into it, kissed back like he was trying to win something—maybe dominance, maybe revenge, maybe just the right to take whatever Dylan was hiding. His fingers curled in the front of Dylan’s shirt, bunching it into his fists so tight his knuckles turned white.

They collided like a storm, all lips and teeth and the raw scrape of desperation. Dylan’s hands tangled in Jun’s hair, tugging just hard enough to draw a groan. Jun made a furious noise and shoved him, twisting and pushing until Dylan hit the bed instead, breath punched from his chest. Jun climbed over him, straddling Dylan’s hips in one fluid, graceless motion, like he didn’t care how it looked as long as he got closer.

“Oh,” Dylan said, eyes flicking up, the ghost of a smirk twisting his lips even as his breath caught. “Power move.”

“Shut up,” Jun muttered—and then grabbed Dylan’s face with both hands and dragged his mouth down to his again, rough and demanding.

He kissed down Dylan’s jaw, lips hot and claiming, tongue dragging along his skin like he wanted to mark territory. Dylan’s hands flew to Jun’s thighs, fingers digging in as Jun bit the underside of his jaw, just shy of painful.

“You’re gonna bruise me,” Dylan panted, hips arching involuntarily.

“Good.” Jun licked a stripe up his neck, voice rough. “Maybe you’ll finally shut up for once.”

Dylan’s laugh cracked into a gasp when Jun sank his teeth into the crook of his neck—hard enough to make him twitch, not enough to break skin. Dylan’s hands shot up to Jun’s waist, twisting their bodies in a swift motion. He flipped them, fast and seamless, so Jun landed on his back with a low grunt of surprise.

Dylan stared down at him, chest heaving, eyes dark and sharp with something dangerous. “My turn.”

This time the kiss wasn’t rushed. It was slow, deliberate, like a line being drawn in the sand. Dylan’s mouth pressed to Jun’s like a velvet glove concealing a knife—soft at first, coaxing, then cruel with the drag of his teeth on Jun’s bottom lip. He rolled his hips down, dragging against Jun with maddening friction. Jun’s head tipped back, breath catching in his throat, spine arching as if he could fuse them together through sheer force of want.

Jun’s hands slid under Dylan’s shirt, palms greedy, tracing muscle and heat with unfiltered reverence. “Take it off,” he rasped, voice shredded by tension.

Dylan leaned in close enough for their noses to brush. “Ask nicer.”

Jun yanked at the shirt with a growl. “Now.”

It came off in one swift pull, and Dylan let it drop to the floor behind him. Jun didn’t hide the way his eyes roamed—lingering on the lines of Dylan’s chest, the curve of his collarbone, the light trail of hair disappearing into his waistband.

“Bossy,” Dylan murmured, amused and breathless.

“Hypocrite,” Jun shot back, dragging his knuckles across Dylan’s ribs just to feel the way he twitched.

Dylan’s fingers hooked under the hem of Jun’s tank top and peeled it up agonizingly slow, his knuckles brushing skin on purpose. “This payback?”

Jun’s smirk was all teeth. “Maybe.”

When the tank top was gone, Dylan just stared. His hands came to rest lightly on Jun’s waist, fingertips feathering against his sides.

“You’re unreal,” Dylan muttered, voice hoarse, almost reverent.

Jun licked his lips, eyes gleaming. “Then stop staring and do something about it.”

And Dylan did.

The next kiss came fast and hot, all teeth and tongue and the bruising press of mouth on mouth. Dylan kissed like he was falling, like Jun was the only thing tethering him to earth. His hands roamed everywhere—over Jun’s chest, his back, down his sides—gripping, exploring, claiming. Jun grabbed the back of Dylan’s neck and hauled him down, their bodies grinding together with no finesse and no apologies.

It still wasn’t enough.

Jun flipped them again—this time clumsy, desperate. Dylan let him, let himself be manhandled flat against the mattress as Jun kissed down his throat, over the hollow of his collarbone, the curve of his shoulder. His mouth was everywhere—sucking marks into pale skin, biting, soothing with his tongue. Dylan’s hands gripped Jun’s hips so tightly he’d leave fingerprints.

“You’re going to be the death of me,” Jun breathed, right against Dylan’s lips.

“Promise?” Dylan gasped, a little broken, a little awed.

Jun dragged his nails down Dylan’s sides, slow and sharp. Dylan arched up with a strangled noise, heat spiraling through him like lightning.

“You like that?” Jun whispered, nipping just below Dylan’s ear.

“I like you,” Dylan blurted—ragged, raw, unguarded.

It hit the air like a firework, and everything stilled.

Jun froze. Just for a moment. His breath hitched; his eyes locked onto Dylan’s like he was trying to read a language only they knew.

Dylan’s throat bobbed. “Too much?”

Jun didn’t speak. He kissed him.

Hard.

It wasn’t an answer. It was a detour. But it was also a promise—silent, scorching, undeniable. Jun kissed him like he didn’t have time for words. Like words were too small for what was burning between them.

The rhythm shifted, slowed—but the heat only got worse. Their bodies moved together in waves, a push and pull of friction and breath and shuddering restraint. Dylan’s hands traced slow, lazy patterns on Jun’s back, while Jun licked into his mouth with drugging thoroughness, like he had all night and no plans to stop.

Jun kissed down Dylan’s throat again, taking his time this time—biting, sucking, tonguing over every mark he’d made. Dylan’s head tipped back, eyes fluttering shut, fingers threaded tight in Jun’s hair.

When Jun ground down again, Dylan gasped. “Fuck—Jun—”

“Say that again,” Jun whispered, right against his lips.

“What, your name?” Dylan’s voice cracked. “Don’t wear it out.”

Jun bit his lip for that. Hard. Dylan swore under his breath and pulled him back into another kiss, dizzy and devastating, their mouths locking again like magnets with unfinished business.

Eventually, they collapsed sideways, tangled and panting, skin flushed and slick with heat. Dylan’s leg hooked over Jun’s, their foreheads pressed close. Every breath was shared. Every inch of space between them burned.

Jun was the first to speak, voice raw. “We’re still… rehearsing, right?”

Dylan let out a ragged laugh. “Method acting.”

Jun grinned, bruised and gorgeous. “Think we nailed the romantic tension.”

Dylan brushed his nose against Jun’s. “Wait until the proposal scene.”

Jun’s voice was a murmur now, wrecked and reverent. “You’ll be lucky if I don’t slap you again.”

Dylan smirked. “You can slap me after the next kiss.”

Jun didn’t hesitate.

He kissed him again. And again. And again.

Until they forgot whose lines they were supposed to be reading.

Chapter Text

The morning sunlight broke across Jun’s room like an accusation. Warm, golden, and entirely too honest.

Jun woke up first.

He knew because Dylan’s strawberry-pink hair was practically tickling his nose.

And also because his brain had instantly lit up like a crime scene spotlight screaming: YOU MADE OUT WITH DYLAN.

His first thought was that Dylan’s shampoo smelled stupidly good. Like fresh berries and expensive regret. A little sweet, a little heady. Addicting.

His face full of strawberry pink. 

He opened one eye, blearily registering the mess of silky strands splayed over his pillow. Dylan’s hair had fallen across his cheek like confetti, soft and warm. And it smelled unfairly good. Stupidly good. Like something expensive and addictive. Something distinctly Dylan.

Jun stared at the top of Dylan’s head, eyes narrowed in suspicion. Jun blinked once.

Then twice.

Then gave up and buried his nose in it.

His brain tried to protest—don’t do this, don’t imprint on his shampoo, for the love of sanity, DO NOT— but his body overruled the command. He inhaled again. Just once more. A reward for not combusting last night.

Just a reward.

God, no. He couldn’t get addicted to Dylan’s hair.

But then Dylan mumbled something in his sleep and shifted slightly, burrowing closer, pressing his face against Jun’s throat like this was just how they woke up now. As if this was their bed, their morning, their life.

Jun froze.

His hands were still around Dylan’s waist. Their legs were tangled. Their shirts were nowhere to be found. And Dylan’s bare skin was warm where it pressed against his stomach.

Oh. Oh, this was bad.

No, correction: this was insane.

Jun’s breath caught when Dylan shifted again, arm draping heavier around his waist, chest rising and falling in rhythm with his own.

He could feel the heat of him in every place they touched. Too much. And yet, not enough.

He couldn’t move. He didn’t want to move.

But his phone had other plans.

It buzzed loudly on the bed beside them, a traitorous traitor with no sense of timing.

Jun panicked.

Jun froze like a criminal caught red-handed.

He snapped his eyes shut, instantly playing dead.

He snapped his eyes shut immediately, pretending to still be asleep. Maybe if he stayed completely still, Dylan wouldn’t wake up. Maybe the universe would take mercy on him just this once.

He heard a groggy breath.

Dylan stirred. His hand twitched on Jun’s waist, pulling slightly, then stilled again.

The phone buzzed violently on the nightstand beside them. A shrill chime cut through the quiet.

Jun kept his breathing slow, regulated. Dead man protocol: engaged.

Then Dylan’s body arced up slightly, reaching over him to cancel the call. His hair brushed against Jun’s cheek again—soft, luxurious, evil—and then… silence.

Jun didn’t move.

Didn’t breathe.

Dylan didn’t get up.

He didn’t leave.

Instead, he sighed again. A beat later, Dylan collapsed back down with a huff and mumbled, “Still asleep, huh.”

And then, to Jun’s shock, he curled back into him. Arm heavy across Jun’s stomach. Face nudging beneath Jun’s chin like they did this every day.

Jun very much wanted to die.

Or time-travel.

Or both.

Especially when Dylan tucked himself back in, arm curling around Jun’s waist again, this time tighter. As if he’d decided this was actually the best pillow he’d ever had.

Jun was going to die.

Of dopamine poisoning. From cuddling.

He clenched his jaw and tried not to feel how much he didn’t hate this.

But instead, he lay still, heart pounding so loud it could probably qualify as a fire hazard, and tried not to react when Dylan’s thumb unconsciously brushed his side.

They stayed that way for several long, tense, perfect minutes. Just heat and breath and all the things they hadn’t said out loud.

Neither of them moved again for several minutes.

Eventually, Dylan’s breathing evened out.

Jun didn’t dare open his eyes. He might not survive it.

And then—

Knock knock knock.

A polite, unmistakable tap-tap-tap on the door.

Jun’s entire soul left his body.

“Junie?” came a familiar voice, chipper and warm. “Are you awake? I’m here!”

Jun’s heart plummeted into his stomach.

He turned to stone.

So did Dylan.

For exactly one second.

Then they both exploded into movement at the same time.

Jun’s eyes flew open. His limbs spasmed like he’d been hit with a jolt of electricity. Dylan flinched next to him.

They locked eyes.

No more pretending.

“I thought you were asleep,” Jun hissed.

“I thought you were asleep!” Dylan whisper-yelled back, already scrambling upright.

“She’s here, now?!”

Jun was already rolling out of bed, tripping over a hoodie. “She wasn’t supposed to come until after—dammit.”

Dylan’s face went pale as a sheet. “I’m not supposed to be here!”

“Yeah!” Jun gestured wildly, eyes darting around. “Closet. Go.”

“What—why always the closet?!”

“You wanna explain your shirtless ass in my bed to my very public, very not real girlfriend?!”

Dylan made a face but didn’t argue. He grabbed his shirt off the floor, half-buttoning it as he stumbled toward the closet. Jun shoved the door open and practically tossed him inside.

“She’s going to ask why I’m—”

“Shut up!”

Jun yanked the door shut just as another knock came.

He turned toward the door to his room and froze.

Shirtless.

And marked.

Oh no.

His body.

Specifically: his neck. His collarbone. His ribs.

There were marks. Visible marks. Love bites like a constellation of shame down the length of his chest.

He groaned and spun back to the closet, yanked it open again.

Like, full-body evidence of last night’s sins. Hickeys like landmines on his collarbone. Bitemarks tucked into his ribs. There was definitely one on his hip.

Dylan was standing there smirking like he owned the place.

Jun grabbed a shirt off the hanger, glaring.

Dylan tilted his head. “Won’t you show off those pretty marks?”

Jun slammed him back against the closet wall with a hand to his chest, leaned in close, and kissed him.

Hard.

Just to shut him up.

He pressed his mouth to Dylan’s with a frustrated growl, let it linger a second too long, then shoved him back into the pile of jackets.

A silencing, half-livid, half-addicted kiss that swallowed Dylan’s chuckle right off his lips. Then he pulled back just enough to breathe against his mouth, “Later.”

He shoved the shirt on, closed the closet again without another word, and spun toward the door just in time to plaster on a fake morning smile.

When he opened it, she stood there, glowing and chipper and holding two coffees like this was a rom-com.

“Junie,” she beamed. “You didn’t answer my text!”

“Phone was charging,” he lied smoothly, rubbing at his neck, hoping she wouldn’t notice the leftover kiss-swollen flush on his mouth. “You’re early.”

His fake girlfriend stood there in a pink hoodie, all smiles and morning energy.

“Morning, babe!” she chirped. “You didn’t answer your phone.”

“Ah, sorry,” Jun said, feigning a yawn. “Was knocked out cold.”

She leaned in to hug him. He stiffened just slightly—mostly from guilt, partly from the way her nose brushed a hickey he’d missed.

He bit back a flinch.

She pulled back. “You look tired. Did you stay up rehearsing?”

Jun nodded quickly. “Yeah. The usual.”

“Not good, because we’ve got a full day. I told your prof I’d come to the Pride and Prejudice presentation!”

“Sounds good,” Jun said, already herding her toward the hallway. “Give me like ten minutes to get ready. I just woke up.”

“Right.” She sipped her coffee. “I’ll wait downstairs.”

Jun waited until her footsteps retreated down the hallway, counted three full seconds, then exhaled like he’d been holding in a bomb.

He crept back to the closet and opened it.

Dylan leaned against the side wall, arms crossed, looking way too pleased with himself.

“Nice save, Mr. Darcy.”

“Get out.”

Dylan stepped out with a dramatic sigh. “You know, for someone so good at lying in public, you suck at hiding how wrecked you look.”

Jun shoved him. “Shut up.”

Dylan leaned in, brushing Jun’s hair off his forehead, fingers lingering near the kiss-bruised spot beneath his jaw. “I’ll take the closet if it means you’ll kiss me like that after.”

“Not funny.”

“It’s a little funny.”

“You’re the worst.”

“You kissed me like I was the only thing keeping your lungs working.”

Jun opened his mouth. Closed it. Turned away to hide the heat climbing back into his cheeks.

“…What now?” Dylan asked.

Jun glanced toward the door. “Now we go to university. Smile for cameras. Rehearse fake lines with my fake girlfriend.”

Dylan’s voice went softer. “And pretend last night didn’t happen?”

Jun turned to face him. “No. Not pretend.”

Dylan blinked. “No?”

Jun leaned in, close enough for their noses to brush. “We’re just… bookmarking it.”

Dylan’s mouth twitched. “Bookmarking?”

Jun smirked. “For later.”

Dylan reached out, fingers brushing Jun’s side through the thin fabric of his shirt. “Better not lose the page.”

Jun whispered, “Not a chance.”

Then, with one last charged look, he slipped out of the room.

Later that day, when Jun stepped onto the university auditorium stage with Dylan beside him—Lizzy and Darcy standing in the glow of student lights—his voice didn’t shake once during the confession scene.

But Dylan’s did.

And Jun smiled.

Because for all their pretending, there was nothing fake about the way Dylan looked at him across that stage.

Or the secret that burned between them like a live wire.

One they both knew was very much still open.

Still bookmarked.

Still waiting to be written.

Chapter Text

By the time Jun arrived at the university, every nerve in his body was stretched tighter than a guitar string. He hadn’t even made it halfway through his iced americano before his hands were already sweating.

The auditorium was smaller than the ones they usually performed in with MARS—intimate, low-ceilinged, and poorly ventilated. Student-run lights buzzed faintly from overhead. The air smelled like sawdust, stress, and coffee left too long in the greenroom.

He should’ve been grateful. Low stakes. Just a uni showcase for a theatre class project. No big stage. No screaming fans. No press.

Except his fake girlfriend was seated dead-center in the front row, legs crossed and latte in hand like a goddamn Vogue spread.

And Dylan? Dylan was backstage, leaned casually against the prop balcony like he hadn’t spent the morning in Jun’s bed, shirtless, smug, and dangerously warm.

“Jun,” hissed the director—a third-year theatre major with a passion for Austen and a clipboard full of chaos. “Focus. You’re on in five. Where’s Dylan?”

“Here,” Dylan said lazily, materializing from the side curtain like a summoned demon.

Jun didn’t jump.

Not noticeably.

Dylan’s outfit was straight-up rude. A crisp white shirt, open just low enough to show collarbones still pink from last night’s mistakes. Waistcoat. Slim black slacks. Hair artfully tousled. Eyes lined in soft brown, making his gaze look deeper, warmer, devastating.

He looked like someone who’d ruin your life in a library and then ghost you with a handwritten letter.

“Mr. Darcy,” Dylan said smoothly, bowing slightly. “Ready for battle?”

Jun snorted. “I’m Lizzy. I win by default.”

“Keep telling yourself that.”

Jun rolled his eyes but didn’t argue. If anything, the verbal sparring helped. It grounded him. Pulled him back into their rhythm.

Their cues were tight. The cast was small—mostly theatre kids who didn’t recognize the full scope of “idol royalty” now gracing their stage. A few glances. Some giggles. But no screaming. No cellphones.

It felt weird. Like time had slowed down just enough for Jun to actually see things.

The faded velvet of the curtains. The uneven floorboards. The way Dylan’s eyes darted toward him when he thought no one was looking.

Jun’s fake girlfriend waved at him from the front row, all bright eyes and perfect teeth. She’d ditched the hoodie for a cropped pink blazer and wide-leg trousers—cute, camera-ready, supportive.

Jun smiled at her.

Then turned away.

The opening act was a blur. Some lines delivered with the kind of enthusiasm only undercaffeinated students could summon. The audience chuckled politely. There were no props aside from a plastic tea set, a few fake flowers, and the world’s wobbliest set of stairs that doubled as a “balcony” and “garden wall” depending on blocking.

Jun was barely listening.

Because Dylan hadn’t taken his eyes off him since the start of Act II.

And worse—Jun hadn’t wanted him to.

Their scene came halfway through the second act. A reworked confession scene. Classic “I misjudged you, you misjudged me, we’re both idiots, let’s kiss but not really because Austen.”

In the script, Lizzy and Darcy circle each other like wary lions. Pride, prejudice, longing. A thousand unsaid things in every breath.

On stage, Jun and Dylan made it tangible.

The moment they stepped into the spotlight together, the room changed.

Jun stood center stage, hands clenched. Dylan stepped forward, slow, eyes fixed on him like a lifeline.

“You must know,” Dylan said, voice low but steady, “I did it all for you.”

Jun inhaled sharply. Right on cue.

The audience quieted.

It was like a pressure system shifting—air sucked out, gravity pressing in.

Jun stepped closer. His character was supposed to be defiant, indignant, moved but still cautious.

Instead, he looked Dylan straight in the eye and said, “You think I don’t see it? The way you watch me when you think I won’t notice?”

Dylan blinked. Just once. The smallest slip.

Jun pressed forward.

“You think I don’t hear it—in your voice, in your silence, in your goddamn stupid letters?”

There were no actual letters in this adaptation.

Jun didn’t care.

The director blinked, but no one said cut.

Dylan recovered smoothly. “Then you understand.”

“I understand nothing,” Jun whispered, voice trembling, but his eyes never left Dylan’s.

He could feel the audience leaning in.

“You came into my life like a storm,” Jun said, unscripted now, “and all I could do was stand still and pretend it didn’t change everything.”

Dylan stepped closer. So close now their shoes touched.

His voice dropped low enough that only Jun could really hear it. “Stop pretending.”

Jun’s breath hitched.

He didn’t move. Couldn’t.

“Stop pretending,” Dylan said again, softer this time. “You never hated me.”

Jun stared.

That part was in the script.

But it had never sounded like that before. Like a dare. Like a confession.

“I did,” Jun said, because Lizzy would’ve. But his tone—his heart—was traitorous.

He took one final step forward. Only inches between them now.

Dylan’s eyes searched his. “And now?”

Jun said nothing.

The moment hung in the air like a held breath.

And then Dylan leaned in. Just a tilt of his head. Just enough to send a shiver down Jun’s spine.

Their foreheads almost touched.

No kiss. There wasn’t one in the scene.

But it felt like one.

The audience held still.

Even Jun’s fake girlfriend looked stunned, her coffee cup paused mid-sip.

Then—blackout.

Scene over.

Backstage, everything was quiet.

No screaming fans. No loud applause. Just polite claps and some quiet murmurs from the small crowd.

It wasn’t a grand stage. But it felt monumental.

Jun exhaled slowly, walking off into the wings. The adrenaline was crashing now, leaving his limbs shaky and his mouth dry.

Dylan followed behind him, calm as ever.

Until they were alone behind a curtain and Jun shoved him lightly.

“You ad-libbed.”

“So did you.”

“You—” Jun caught himself. Took a breath. “You leaned in.”

“No kiss,” Dylan said simply. “Still following the rules.”

“But you looked like you were gonna.”

“I was.”

Jun blinked.

Dylan smirked. “I was very committed to the role.”

Jun tried to glare. It came out more like a blush. “You’re a menace.”

Dylan’s voice dipped. “You liked it.”

Jun didn’t answer.

He didn’t have to.

After the show, the cast huddled for a debrief and awkward selfies.

Jun’s fake girlfriend approached, beaming. “You were amazing!”

“Thanks,” Jun said, tone a little too even.

“You really looked like you were in love with him.”

Jun stiffened.

She was teasing. Probably.

But her smile faltered slightly.

“I mean,” she added quickly, “you’re just a good actor.”

“Yeah,” Jun said, smiling. “That’s what they keep telling me.”

Dylan, still in his Darcy costume, walked past with a water bottle and a grin. “Flirting already, Lizzy?”

Jun flipped him off behind his back.

His fake girlfriend blinked.

“Wait—was that part of the play?”

Jun said nothing.

Just took a long sip of his lukewarm coffee and prayed the day would end.

Later that evening, after goodbyes were said and costumes packed away, Jun slipped into the empty practice room on campus—the same one they’d used weeks ago for rehearsing choreography.

He didn’t expect anyone else to be there.

He wasn’t surprised when Dylan was already sitting on the floor, still half in costume, head resting back against the mirrored wall.

“Thought you’d show up,” Dylan said without looking.

Jun stepped inside, letting the door click shut behind him.

They sat in silence for a minute.

Then Dylan asked, “Did I overdo it?”

Jun shook his head. “No.”

“You sure?”

Jun nodded.

Another beat passed.

Then Jun whispered, “You scared me.”

Dylan turned to him.

Jun added, “Not on stage. Just… this morning. After.”

Dylan was quiet.

Jun swallowed. “It’s getting harder to lie. Around her. Around everyone.”

“I know.”

“I almost kissed you on stage.”

Dylan’s mouth twitched. “I almost let you.”

Jun looked up. “I don’t think I can keep this up.”

“The fake dating thing?”

“All of it.”

Dylan leaned in slightly. “What do you want?”

Jun didn’t answer right away.

Then, softly, “I want to stop bookmarking.”

Dylan reached out, brushing Jun’s hand.

Jun laced their fingers.

“I don’t want to lose the page,” he whispered.

“You won’t,” Dylan said. “Even if we close the book for now.”

Jun looked up, heart aching.

Then Dylan leaned forward and pressed a kiss—soft, lingering—to the inside of Jun’s wrist.

Not public.

Not loud.

Just real.

Chapter Text

The curtain had barely closed on the university stage before the low buzz of congratulations and chatter filled the auditorium like a swarm of bees—loud, eager, and a little dizzying.

Jun was still catching his breath backstage, one hand gripping the corner of a set piece, the other wiping sweat off the back of his neck. Dylan stood a few feet away, towel slung around his shoulders, casually accepting compliments with that lazy smile of his—the one that made Jun want to roll his eyes and maybe also kiss him until he ran out of air.

Which was fine. Normal. Whatever.

Until he showed up.

Some guy from Jun’s literature faculty. Tall, broad-shouldered, vaguely artsy with silver rings on his fingers and a smirk that screamed: “I know I’m hot, and worse, I know you think so too.”

He sauntered up to Dylan, a single brochure from the play clutched in one hand like it meant something. “Hey,” the guy said, voice low and easy, “I just wanted to say—you were amazing up there. Your Darcy? God-tier.”

Jun paused mid-sip of his water bottle.

Dylan blinked. “Thanks,” he said, grin twitching up. “I’m not usually a period drama guy.”

“You pulled it off. Like, seriously pulled it off.” The guy’s voice dropped just slightly. “You’ve got a presence. Really magnetic.”

Jun’s grip on his water bottle tightened.

Dylan ducked his head with a laugh, humble but flattered. “You think so?”

“Oh, I know so,” the guy said, stepping just a little closer. “Honestly, if you’re ever looking for something more local to act in… I’ve got some projects. Student films. Original scripts. I could send them your way.”

Jun narrowed his eyes.

Dylan tilted his head, smiling. “That sounds cool.”

Jun’s soul left his body.

Because Dylan—Dylan—was smiling.

And it wasn’t the lazy, indifferent grin he gave everyone else. It was the real one. The one that reached his eyes. The one Jun liked to think was mostly reserved for him.

But now it was being handed out like a party favor to a guy who probably used poetry to flirt and had an indie short film with 47 filters.

Jun didn’t move. He didn’t say anything. But internally, something coiled like a wire inside his chest, pulled taut with heat.

Eventually, the guy handed Dylan the program with a number scribbled on the back. “In case you change your mind,” he said, voice lingering.

Jun swallowed the urge to break a chair.

He watched the interaction like it was a scene in a film he couldn’t turn off—Dylan grinning, nodding, tucking the number into his pocket like it was no big deal.

Except it was a big deal.

To Jun, it was a very big deal.

He didn’t say anything, though. Not right away.

He turned away, clenching his fists. The rational part of his brain reminded him that Dylan was free to talk to anyone. But the possessive part, the one that remembered the feel of Dylan's lips and the warmth of his body pressed against Jun's, bristled at the sight.

Later that evening, Jun returned to the group house carrying a box from the local patisserie. The rich aroma of chocolate wafted through the air as he entered the common room, where their friends were lounging.

"Chocolate mousse, anyone?" Jun announced, placing the box on the table.

Dylan's eyes lit up. "You got mousse?"

“Hell yes,” Nano shouted from the couch.

But Jun’s eyes didn’t stray far from Dylan.

Dylan blinked up from his phone, already moving toward the counter, visibly perking at the sight of the familiar brand. “Wait—this place? You went all the way there?”

Jun just shrugged. “Felt like it.”

Dylan gave him a side-eyed smile. “You never just feel like it.”

Jun didn’t answer. Just leaned against the counter and watched.

Dylan eagerly took a cup. Their fingers brushed, and Jun felt a spark—subtle, but undeniable.

Watched as Dylan peeled back the lid, scooped a small bite with a plastic spoon, and moaned around it like he’d just tasted the essence of life itself.

Jun’s jaw clenched.

“Damn,” Dylan muttered around the spoon. “I forgot how good this is.”

Jun leaned in slightly. “Yeah?”

“Mhm.”

The sound Dylan made next was obscene. A low hum in his throat as he licked the edge of the spoon clean, unaware of the effect it was having just two feet away.

Jun’s stare turned feral.

He moved without thinking.

As the others dug in, Jun leaned closer to Dylan. "Mind helping me with something in my room?"

Dylan looked up, a spoonful of mousse halfway to his mouth. "Sure."

Once inside Jun's room, Jun closed the door behind them. Dylan turned, only to find Jun stepping into his space, their bodies inches apart.

"Jun?" Dylan's voice was a whisper.

Without a word, Jun leaned in, his lips capturing a smudge of chocolate at the corner of Dylan's mouth. He pulled back slightly, eyes locked with Dylan's.

"Just wanted to taste what I got us," Jun murmured.

No warning. No preamble.

Just a sharp, deliberate kiss that curled over Dylan’s mouth with intent—warm, slow, and tasting of chocolate.

Jun pressed him against the wall, one hand braced beside Dylan’s head, the other slipping around his waist as he deepened the kiss.

Dylan froze.

Then melted.

Dylan stared at him.

Wide-eyed. Flushed.

Dazed.

Then he did something stupid.

He rubbed his nose.

And accidentally smeared a streak of mousse across it.

Jun blinked.

A beat.

Then smirked, slow and dangerous. “You’ve got something there.”

He leaned forward again and kissed it clean off the tip of Dylan’s nose.

Dylan went very still.

His ears flushed red.

Jun didn’t stop there.

He reached for Dylan’s hand—the one still gripping the mousse cup—and turned it over slightly.

There were smears of chocolate on two fingers.

Jun raised his brows. “Messy.”

Dylan swallowed. “Jun…”

Jun didn’t respond.

He brought Dylan’s hand up to his mouth and—one by one—wrapped his lips around each chocolate-coated finger.

Sucked them clean.

Licked slow. Indulgent. Deliberate.

Dylan shuddered.

His knees buckled just slightly where he stood.

Jun smiled against his knuckles, voice rough with quiet satisfaction. “Chocolate dipped strawberries,” he murmured. “That’s what you taste like.”

Dylan’s breath hitched as Jun’s mouth dragged over the pad of his last finger, tongue flicking slow like he was savoring something more sinful than dessert. He didn’t let go immediately either—just kept Dylan’s finger in his mouth a beat too long, gaze locked with his like a silent dare.

When Jun finally released it with a wet pop, Dylan looked half wrecked. Chest rising, mouth parted, spoon forgotten somewhere on the floor.

“Jun,” he rasped.

But Jun was already slipping the mousse cup from his other hand.

He dipped two fingers in—coating them thick with chocolate—then met Dylan’s eyes.

“Take this off,” Jun said, voice low.

Dylan blinked.

Jun’s eyes dropped to his shirt.

“Now.”

Dylan didn’t move.

So Jun stepped forward, crowding him back against the wall again, eyes molten and dangerous. “You smiled at him,” he said, quiet and close. “You laughed with him.”

Realization dawned in Dylan’s expression, all at once.

And maybe—maybe—a flicker of amusement, too.

“You’re jealous,” Dylan said.

Jun’s response was to slide a cold streak of mousse across Dylan’s collarbone.

Dylan gasped.

“Why would yo—!”

The mousse was cold. Sinfully cold. A rich contrast to the burning heat licking up Dylan’s spine. But Dylan could not finish his question before Jun answered. He leaned in and pressed his mouth to the line of chocolate.

Jun’s tongue was hot.

Dylan nearly dropped to the floor.

“You’re insane,” he whispered, voice cracking as Jun licked a slow trail toward his neck.

“I don’t like sharing,” Jun muttered against his skin. “Especially not you.”

Before Dylan could answer, Jun pulled the shirt over his head in one clean motion, tossing it aside like it had offended him personally.

And then—

Jun dipped his fingers into the mousse again.

Dylan’s hands gripped the edge of the dresser behind him like it was the only thing tethering him to earth.

“You wouldn’t,” he whispered.

Jun raised an eyebrow. “Watch me.”

This time, he smeared the chocolate directly over Dylan’s chest. A slow, deliberate swirl across his sternum, then another—bolder—line beneath one nipple.

Dylan shuddered.

The cold mousse against his bare skin was brutal. Unfair. A shock that sent fire rolling straight through his stomach.

Jun didn’t wait.

He bent down and licked it.

Licked him.

One slow, heated pass of his tongue over the mousse on Dylan’s chest, ending with a suck that left Dylan gasping.

His back arched off the dresser instinctively, knees trembling.

“Holy—Jun—”

Jun didn’t stop there.

His tongue returned, slower this time, curling around the edge of Dylan’s nipple. He sucked gently, then again—harder—and Dylan let out a strangled, choked sound that might’ve been his soul trying to escape.

“You’re seriously—” Dylan began, voice wrecked.

Jun licked the other nipple now, circling it before sucking, tongue flattening against it. The mousse smeared across Dylan’s chest only made it messier, stickier, hotter.

He murmured something Dylan couldn’t make out—something that sounded like mine—before dragging his teeth lightly across the spot, just to see Dylan twitch.

And he did.

Jun looked up, eyes smoldering. “Still thinking about that guy?”

Dylan cursed. “I never was.”

Jun smiled like a man with a mission.

He dipped his fingers again—this time using more—and dragged lines of mousse down Dylan’s stomach, stopping just above his waistband. Chocolate smeared messily over smooth skin, gleaming dark against the light.

Dylan looked down and let out the tiniest, most wrecked noise Jun had ever heard from him.

“You’re a menace,” he whispered.

Jun hummed. “And you’re dessert.”

And then he knelt.

Dylan’s hands flew to his hair instinctively, but Jun grabbed his wrists and pinned them back against the dresser with one firm hand.

“No touching,” he said. “This is your punishment.”

“For what?” Dylan panted, eyes wild.

Jun leaned in, dragging his tongue down Dylan’s stomach in one long stroke, licking up the chocolate like it was the last sweet thing on earth.

“For making me jealous,” he murmured.

Dylan groaned—soft, broken—his entire body twitching under the heat of Jun’s mouth.

Jun was thorough.

He licked up every streak of mousse, leaving wet trails in his wake. When he reached the lower line just above Dylan’s waistband, he paused, tongue poised, breath hot.

Then he blew gently over the wet skin.

Dylan gasped again, his legs nearly buckling.

“You’re evil,” he groaned.

Jun smiled. “You like it.”

He didn’t wait for an answer. Instead, he smeared another streak of mousse across Dylan’s ribs and followed it with a hot, slow kiss, his mouth dragging heat across chocolate-streaked skin. Then another streak down his side, another warm, open-mouthed lick that left Dylan helplessly sagging into the dresser, his breath coming in short bursts.

When Jun finally stood again, his hand gripped Dylan’s jaw, thumb brushing the corner of his mouth.

“You should see yourself,” he whispered. “Completely wrecked. Over chocolate.”

“Over you,” Dylan said, voice hoarse.

Jun froze for half a second.

Then something snapped.

He surged forward, lips crashing into Dylan’s with a heat that was all-consuming. There was nothing soft about it—nothing tentative. It was a kiss born of fire and jealousy and tension drawn too tight. Tongues tangling, hands grasping, breath mingling as Jun pressed Dylan back hard against the dresser and kissed him like he wanted to ruin him.

Dylan moaned into his mouth, one hand finally sliding into Jun’s hair, pulling him closer, hungrier.

Jun reached for the mousse cup again with a free hand, dipped two fingers, and this time—without warning—slipped them into Dylan’s mouth.

Dylan’s eyes widened.

Then slowly, slowly, his lips closed around them.

Jun cursed under his breath.

Dylan sucked the chocolate off Jun’s fingers, licking slow, eyes locked with his in a challenge.

The room felt like it might combust.

When Jun pulled his fingers free, he leaned in again, dragging his lips over Dylan’s throat.

“Strawberries dipped in chocolate,” he whispered again, voice low, wrecked. “Except better.”

Then—slowly, deliciously—Jun sank to his knees again.

Chapter Text

Dylan gasped again—and that was all Jun needed to hear. That soft, helpless sound, torn from Dylan’s throat, shot straight through Jun like lightning. He didn’t move for a second. Just hovered there, mouth barely grazing skin, savoring the effect he had.

But then, Dylan opened his mouth.

“Jun—please—”

Something inside Jun snapped.

He surged upward, mouth reclaiming Dylan’s in a kiss that was messier, deeper, hotter than before. Dylan moaned into it, arms moving instinctively to pull him closer—but Jun caught his wrists again, this time pushing them high over Dylan’s head and pinning them to the wall.

“Did I say you could touch me?” Jun’s voice was low, raw. “I don’t think I did.”

Dylan’s breath hitched. His eyes—normally lazy, half-lidded with smugness—were wide now. Bare. Dazed.

“You’re…” Dylan swallowed, struggling for words. “You’re never like this.”

Jun leaned in, nose brushing his. “Maybe I should be.”

Dylan’s fingers twitched in his grip.

Jun kissed him again, slower this time, but with just as much heat—his mouth coaxing Dylan’s open, licking into him like he was trying to claim every part from the inside out. When he finally pulled away, Dylan was panting, wrecked.

“Say it,” Jun said.

Dylan blinked. “Say what?”

Jun’s thumb brushed over his lower lip. “Say you’re mine.”

Dylan let out a shaky breath, gaze fluttering. “I’m yours.”

But Jun wasn’t satisfied.

“Louder.”

Dylan’s chest heaved. “I’m yours, Jun.”

Jun smiled, dark and victorious. He released Dylan’s hands slowly, then traced a path down his bare torso again with both palms, slower this time—like he was admiring what he’d unwrapped.

But Dylan surprised him.

The second his hands were free, Dylan pushed Jun back.

Jun’s eyes widened as he stumbled a step—and Dylan followed, all flushed and breathing hard, but now with a new spark in his gaze. One that made Jun's stomach flip.

“You’re not the only one who gets jealous,” Dylan said, voice low. “You think I didn’t see that girl hanging off you earlier? That fake girlfriend act? All touchy and sticky like she had some claim on you?”

Jun blinked, caught off guard. “She was just—”

“Annoying,” Dylan interrupted, stepping closer until their chests brushed. “She clung to you all after the play, and you let her. You smiled at her.”

Jun opened his mouth to argue, but Dylan cut him off again.

“And now you pull me in here and pin me to the wall like I’m the one who needs to be reminded?” Dylan's hand found Jun's hip, firm. “You’re the one who needs to remember who you belong to.”

Dylan smirked—and shoved Jun back until his knees hit the bed.

Jun dropped down, bracing himself.

Dylan followed.

Climbed on top.

And Jun swore his brain short-circuited.

Because Dylan’s mouth was on his throat now, kissing a line beneath his jaw, tongue flicking just under his ear in a way that made Jun physically jolt.

“You don’t get to complaint,” Dylan, voice like velvet over steel, “not when you’ve been so damn sticky with your fake girlfriend all week.”

Jun froze.

His eyes widened as Dylan took off Jun’s top in one swift motion, as if it were some Greek clothing, the ones held together with just a single pin.

Dylan let go of his hand, only to reach up and hook his fingers into the edge of Jun’s waistband. “Every time she held onto your arm,” Dylan said softly, “every time she called you babe or tucked herself against your side like she was entitled to it—I wanted to lose my mind.”

Jun opened his mouth to say something—apologize, maybe—but Dylan cut him off with a lick.

“Even if it was fake,” he murmured against Jun’s stomach, “you let her. You smiled. You played along.”

Jun groaned, low and broken. “It wasn’t like that.”

Dylan kissed just above the button of his jeans, then flicked his tongue against the line of his jeans. “It felt like that to me.”

His hands trailed up Jun’s sides—fingertips ghosting over ribs, hips, and back down again, just enough to make Jun twitch, helpless against the press of sensation. Dylan’s palms were hot, grounding, but his mouth was pure sin, dragging slow trails across Jun’s abdomen with heat and purpose.

“I didn’t like seeing her touch you,” Dylan admitted softly. “Just like you didn’t like watching me smile at ring-boy earlier.”

Jun flinched. “Dylan…”

Dylan looked up at him then, dark eyes smoldering. “You don’t get to call me jealous like it’s a joke when you’re the one parading around with people who can’t keep their hands off you.”

Jun made a sound like he was choking on air. “I wasn’t—she—fuck, Dylan, she’s not real. I only agreed because the producer begged me, and I didn’t even—”

Dylan pressed a kiss just above the button of Jun’s jeans. “Don’t care.”

His voice was lower now. Rougher.

“You’re mine.”

Then, with agonizing slowness, Dylan traced the tip of his tongue along the waistband, dragging it just beneath the line of Jun’s jeans. Jun bucked forward with a gasp.

Dylan looked up at him with a smirk so infuriatingly smug Jun nearly forgot how to breathe.

“You’ve been teasing me for weeks,” Jun said, “Touching me in public. Smiling like you don’t know exactly what you’re doing.”

“But now?” Dylan whispered, nose brushing Jun’s, breath warm. “Now you’re gonna learn what it feels like to want.”

Jun opened his mouth—but Dylan’s hand came up, covering it gently, thumb brushing his bottom lip.

“No begging yet,” Dylan said with a soft smile. “Not until I say.”

Then he straightened up.

Jun blinked, dazed. “Wait, what—?”

Dylan crossed the room, pulled open the top drawer of his desk, and came back with something small in his hand: a silk ribbon, deep navy and slightly frayed at the edges.

Jun stared. “What is that?”

Dylan raised an eyebrow. “A prop from rehearsal. Guess it’s getting repurposed.”

Before Jun could ask what that meant, Dylan reached up and tied it gently—but firmly—around Jun’s wrists. Bound them together in front of him like a gift.

Jun made a sound that should’ve been a protest, but came out more like a whimper.

“Comfortable?” Dylan asked, all faux-sweetness.

“You’re the worst,” Jun hissed.

“You love it.”

Dylan leaned in, lips brushing his ear. “And I love when you squirm.”

Then he pushed Jun gently back onto the bed.

Jun sat with his hands bound, chest bare, hair a little wild, pupils blown wide. His legs fell open slightly, involuntarily, as Dylan crawled between them.

“Dylan—”

“No,” Dylan said, mouth ghosting over the inside of Jun’s thigh. “No talking unless it’s ‘yes, Dylan’ or ‘please, Dylan.’”

Jun groaned, head tipping back.

Dylan’s hands curled around Jun’s knees, pushing them open wider. He pressed kisses to the inside of each thigh, slow and teasing, his thumbs rubbing idle, maddening circles into the skin. With every pass of his mouth, he got closer to the waistband. But he never went past it. Never gave Jun what he wanted.

Jun writhed, hips lifting slightly—trying to coax more, something, anything—but Dylan just held him steady with a single palm on his stomach.

“Look at you,” Dylan murmured. “All wound up.”

“I swear to god—”

Dylan kissed the line of his waistband again. “That doesn’t sound like begging.”

Jun’s breath caught. “Please.”

Dylan hummed. “Not specific enough.”

Jun’s head dropped back onto the mattress, hair fanned out in disarray.

“Please, Dylan.”

That earned him a kiss. Dylan dragged his lips down Jun’s stomach, then licked a slow line up his torso, mouth brushing over the needy skin, deliberately messy.

Jun gasped. “God, you’re—”

Chapter Text

Dylan kissed him again to shut him up. This one was deep, slow, so hot it left Jun breathless. Their bodies pressed together now, Dylan straddling his lap, hips pressing down just enough to make Jun arch.

Bound hands clutched uselessly at the sheets. Jun moaned into his mouth, frustration and desire tangled into one burning knot.

“Still thinking about your fake girlfriend?” Dylan whispered, grinding down.

Jun nearly sobbed. “Fuck no.”

“Good.”

Dylan rocked his hips again—slow, controlled, maddening. “Because I don’t like sharing, and I sure as hell don’t want to compete.”

“You don’t have to,” Jun groaned. “You win. Always.”

Dylan smiled. “Say it again.”

“You win,” Jun whispered. “It’s you. Only you.”

Dylan kissed him like he was sealing it with blood.

Then his hands slid down Jun’s sides again, teasing and slow. His fingers brushed the waistband—and finally, finally—he undid the button.

Jun’s breath caught like a dam breaking.

But instead of tugging them down, Dylan just slipped his hand inside, barely touching, not enough, just skimming the heat there before pulling away.

Jun cursed, voice broken. “Dylan—please—”

Dylan pressed a kiss to his chest. “Louder.”

“Please.”

Dylan grinned. “Good boy.”

And then—finally—he undid Jun’s jeans and dragged them down with deliberate slowness, mouth following every inch of exposed skin. He bit at Jun’s hipbone, then licked the spot like an apology.

By the time Jun was undressed, he looked ruined. Flushed, breathless, wrists still bound, lips swollen from kissing.

Dylan sat back on his heels and just looked at him. “You know,” he said slowly, “I think I like you better like this.”

Jun gave him a look that was half glare, half pleading. “Tied up and tortured?”

“Begging.”

Dylan leaned forward, lips brushing his ear again. “You’re always so smug. So confident. Always touching me like you’re in charge.”

He kissed down Jun’s jaw, mouth dragging lazy over his neck. “But right now?”

He nipped his collarbone. “You’re not calling the shots.”

Jun’s breath hitched. “What do you want from me?”

Dylan pulled back just enough to meet his eyes. “I want to ruin you a little.”

Jun cursed again, louder this time.

“Good,” Dylan whispered. “Let everyone hear.”

And then he dipped down again, lips trailing lower and lower, until Jun’s voice cracked on a desperate, choked plea—

“Dylan, please.”

Dylan looked up one last time. Smiled.

“You’ve been driving me crazy,” Dylan murmured, hot against his skin. “Flirting with me all week, dragging me behind curtains, licking mousse off my chest like you weren’t two seconds from combusting—”

“I was,” Jun gasped.

Dylan’s teeth grazed his collarbone. “And I let you do it.”

Jun’s breath caught. “Let me?”

“Because I liked it,” Dylan whispered. “But now it’s my turn.”

He pushed Jun down onto his back, straddling him, knees on either side of Jun’s hips. Then he reached for the mousse—still miraculously upright on the nightstand—and dipped two fingers in, slow and obscene.

Jun watched, spellbound, as Dylan held them up. “Open your mouth.”

Jun hesitated, eyes flicking between Dylan’s face and his chocolate-coated fingers.

Dylan raised a brow. “I said, open.”

Jun parted his lips.

Dylan slid his fingers in—slow, deliberate. Jun’s lips closed around them instinctively, tongue curling to taste.

Dylan’s eyes darkened. “Good.”

Jun flushed.

When Dylan pulled back, Jun let out a breath he hadn’t realized he was holding. But he didn’t have time to recover—because Dylan licked a line up Jun’s sternum, then flicked his tongue over a nipple—once, twice, then sucked hard.

Jun whimpered.

“Sensitive?” Dylan murmured.

Jun nodded wordlessly, hips arching off the bed.

Dylan smirked. “Good.”

He painted more lines of kisses over Jun’s skin—lines across his ribs, a dot just beneath his navel—and followed each with his mouth, licking, kissing, sucking.

Jun was losing it.

By the time Dylan kissed the last spot, Jun was panting, hair mussed, eyes glazed over.

“I hate you,” he rasped.

Dylan leaned down, mouth brushing his ear. “No you don’t.”

He reached down and dragged his palm along Jun’s side, then up again, thumb teasing just under the edge of Jun’s waistband.

Jun’s breath hitched.

“Tell me what you want,” Dylan whispered.

Jun shivered. “You.”

“Yeah?” Dylan’s mouth brushed his throat again. “Then beg.”

Jun groaned.

“You’re evil.”

“Beg,” Dylan repeated, this time against his pulse. “Or I stop.”

Jun’s head fell back against the pillows.

“Please,” he muttered.

Dylan kissed down his chest again. “Louder.”

Jun swallowed. “Please. Dylan.”

Dylan hummed. “Please what?”

Jun was going to combust. His brain was static, limbs trembling.

“Please touch me. Kiss me. Just—God—do something.”

Dylan grinned against his skin. “That’s better.”

He dipped his head again, mouth trailing lower—kissing along Jun’s stomach, down the mousse-streaked skin, until he reached the waistband.

Jun tensed.

Dylan looked up, eyes glittering. “You want me here?”

Jun let out a sound that might’ve been a whimper.

Dylan pressed a kiss just above his navel. “Say yes.”

“Yes,” Jun gasped. “God, yes.”

Dylan chuckled. “You’re so bossy when you’re jealous. But look at you now…”

He kissed lower.

Jun’s entire body arched.

“…a total mess.”

Jun’s hands found Dylan’s shoulders—gripping, anchoring.

Then gave him exactly what he wanted.

And for the next twenty minutes, the only sounds in the room were gasps, moans, the rustle of sheets—and Jun, breathless and desperate, saying please like it was Dylan’s name and his only prayer.

When it was over, Jun lay sprawled across the bed, chest heaving, wrists finally free, hair wild like he'd been through a windstorm and liked it.

Dylan leaned over him, brushing damp hair from his forehead.

“So,” Dylan murmured, licking a smudge of chocolate from Jun’s shoulder. “Still think I’m the jealous one?”

Jun could barely lift his head. “You’re insane.”

Dylan smiled. “You’re welcome.”

Jun pulled him down by the collar and kissed him.

Dylan leaned up again, bracing himself over Jun, gaze unreadable for a moment. And then, softer:

“I don’t want anyone else,” he said. “Not the guy backstage. Not anyone.”

Jun stared at him.

“Just you.”

Something in Jun’s chest cracked open.

“Me too,” he whispered. “Just you.”

Dylan kissed him then, slower this time. Deep and sweet and consuming. The kind of kiss that made everything else fade.

And when they broke apart, foreheads pressed together, Dylan whispered, “So maybe let’s stop pretending.”

Jun blinked. “Pretending?”

“That we’re not already together.”

Jun’s breath caught.

Because yeah.

Maybe they were.

Not just because of the mousse, or the jealousy, or the kisses that made the air crackle—but because no one else had ever made Jun feel like this. Not dizzy. Not lost.

But found.

“I’d like that,” he said softly.

Dylan smiled.

Then promptly collapsed onto Jun’s chest.

They lay there for a long moment—sticky, shirtless, vaguely chocolate-smeared and completely tangled up in each other.

Jun sighed.

“God,” he muttered. “I’m gonna have to wash the sheets again.”

Dylan snorted against his collarbone. “Worth it.”

Jun laughed.

And pulled him closer.

Chapter Text

The group house was quiet, unnaturally so. Jun emerged from his room looking vaguely ruined—hair sticking up at angles like it had tried to fight a tornado and lost, wearing a hoodie that was definitely not his. The sleeves swallowed his hands. The hem almost covered the suspicious bite mark blooming on his hip.

He blinked at the kitchen light.

“Why is it so bright?”

Pepper, sitting cross-legged on the counter eating cereal from a mixing bowl, looked up with a smirk. “It’s eleven a.m., vampire.”

Jun groaned and made a beeline for the coffee machine.

The peace lasted approximately twenty seconds.

The group house buzzed with lazy weekend energy—until the front door slammed open like the dramatic punctuation to a soap opera cliffhanger.

“Why do I feel like that’s Manager Pae?” Nano muttered from the kitchen, halfway through assembling a triple-decker sandwich.

“Because it is,” Pepper said, already halfway up the stairs, towel around his neck, clearly fleeing.

Jun groaned, flopping onto the couch, still sore in places he didn’t want to examine too closely. He didn’t even look up when Dylan wandered in wearing sweatpants, his hair delightfully wrecked from last night’s enthusiastic activities, suspiciously fresh-faced and smug, with Jun’s scent still lingering faintly on his collar.

“Boys!” came the unmistakable bark of their long-suffering manager. “Living room. Now.”

“Can’t we vote on it?” Jun called out without moving.

“No.”

A groan chorused from multiple directions, but like obedient schoolboys facing the wrath of a headmistress, the members of MARS dragged themselves in—Jun sprawled dramatically across the arm of the couch, Dylan beside him, annoyingly upright and radiant for someone who’d spent half the night reducing Jun to a puddle of mousse-smeared whimpers.

Manager Pae stood in front of them with a clipboard, eyes already twitching.

“Great. You’re all here. I’ll make this quick. Dylan, Nano—congrats, you’re being lent out as mentors for the SM Thailand junior camp for the next week and a half.”

Dylan blinked. “What?”

Nano nearly dropped his sandwich. “Excuse me?”

Jun sat up, eyebrows climbing. “Wait, wait. Like… mentor mentors? For real?”

“Yup.” Pae flipped the clipboard with a smirk. “They wanted senior idols to guide the rookies through their final evaluation stages before debut. And guess which two polished, squeaky-clean role models got picked?”

Everyone turned to look at Dylan.

Jun tilted his head. “Polished and squeaky-clean? Did they mix up his name with mine?”

Dylan elbowed him in the ribs without looking.

Nano groaned. “I didn’t even agree yet!”

Pae waved a hand. “Doesn’t matter. You leave tomorrow morning.”

Jun blinked. “Tomorrow?”

“Pack tonight. Van leaves at six. Province’s about three hours north. You’ll have separate quarters, meals prepped, a full schedule of dance workshops, vocal training, and one-on-ones with the baby idols.”

Nano let out the quietest, most heartfelt “Noooo” Jun had ever heard.

Dylan just looked stunned.

Jun’s brain, meanwhile, was rebooting slowly, like a very tired laptop after a power outage. Tomorrow? Gone? For ten days?

He blinked over at Dylan, who was now chewing his lip thoughtfully.

The worst part? He looked excited.

Later that afternoon, Jun cornered Dylan in his room, which now resembled the aftermath of a tactical wardrobe strike. Clothes everywhere. Toiletries lined up on the desk. And Dylan, standing in front of his open suitcase with a stack of folded shirts that screamed “adorably competent camp leader.”

Jun flopped onto the bed like a cat determined to ruin all folding efforts by proximity.

Dylan was trying to pack. Emphasis on trying. His duffel lay half-zipped on the bed, a mix of black shirts, ripped jeans, chargers, and protein bars scattered around it.

Jun was sprawled sideways across the mattress, dramatically star-fished in exactly the spot Dylan needed to reach.

“You’re not helping,” Dylan said, nudging his knee.

“I am helping,” Jun insisted.

“You’re lying on my clothes.”

“I’m making sure they’re wrinkle-free.”

“They’re under you.”

Jun rolled onto his stomach and rested his chin on his arms. “Exactly.”

Dylan stared down at him, unimpressed. “You’re the worst assistant I’ve ever had.”

Jun gave him a slow, lazy smile. “You loved my assistance last night.”

Dylan turned pink. “That was different.”

Jun smirked. “Was it?”

A while later, “You’re really going,” he said, voice casual, eyes anything but.

Dylan looked over his shoulder with an amused quirk of a brow. “I thought that was clear when Pae shouted it at us.”

“I thought we could rebel,” Jun said. “Strike. Chain ourselves to the dance mirrors in protest.”

“Tempting,” Dylan murmured, going back to folding.

Jun rolled to his side. “You need help?”

“Absolutely not.”

“Cool,” Jun said, already sitting up. “Helping anyway.”

Dylan sighed as Jun picked up a shirt, admired it, then tried to stuff it into the suitcase in the most chaotic way possible.

“Jun.”

“I’m optimizing your packing system. It’s modern. Revolutionary. Looks like chaos, but really—”

“Looks like you’re trying to sabotage me.”

“Same thing,” Jun said cheerfully. “You’ll miss me more if your socks are mismatched.”

Dylan gave him a side-eye. “That’s psychotic.”

Jun smirked and flopped backward again, kicking one bare foot up to rest on Dylan’s knee. “Come on. Don’t you want to see me suffer?”

Dylan swatted the foot away. “No. But I do want to pack without you trying to sneak in extra-large tops and monk attires.”

“I think you’d look too hot in anything else.”

“I’m going to be mentoring teenagers.”

Jun’s grin widened. “Exactly.”

Dylan threw a rolled-up pair of socks at his face.

“Okay,” Jun said, muffled. “Deserved.”

Dylan turned around with a quiet laugh, the kind that vibrated low in his throat and made Jun’s stomach flip even though he refused to show it.

For the next few minutes, Jun watched him pack. The smooth efficiency of his movements, the slight furrow between his brows when he concentrated. The soft curl of his mouth when he muttered under his breath about Nano probably forgetting half his stuff.

Jun sighed dramatically. “Fine. I’ll help. But only because I’m selfless and amazing.”

Dylan stepped aside warily as Jun sprang up with the energy of a feral cat and immediately began wrongly folding his clothes.

“Okay, first of all,” Dylan said. “That is not how folding works.”

“I’m inventing new methods,” Jun replied. “Revolutionary. Inspired by chaos theory.”

“You just balled my hoodie up like a dead hamster.”

“Feng shui,” Jun said, tossing it into the bag.

Dylan snatched it back. “Jun.”

“What?” Jun blinked innocently. “You said I could help.”

“You’re not helping. You’re making it worse on purpose.”

Jun gasped, clutching his chest. “You wound me.”

“I’ll wound you more—”

“Oh my god, you’re threatening violence now?” Jun flopped back onto the bed. “Because I folded your jeans creatively?”

Dylan laughed despite himself. “You’re a menace.”

Jun kicked at his leg. “You love it.”

Unfortunately, yes.

For Jun, ten days?

Without Dylan teasing him in the kitchen, or calling him out in rehearsals, or sliding next to him on the couch like gravity didn’t apply when it came to personal space?

It felt… too quiet already.

Jun cleared his throat. “You want me to make a list of what you might forget?”

“I already made one,” Dylan said smugly, holding up a color-coded checklist. “Because I am not a chaos goblin.”

Jun scowled. “Rude. Helpful chaos goblin, thank you.”

“Debatable.”

Jun stood up dramatically. “Fine. I’ll go help Nano. Maybe he’ll appreciate my loving attention and peer-reviewed packing expertise.”

“Peer-reviewed by who?”

“Me. I am the peer.”

Jun flounced to the door, then paused and looked back.

Dylan had gone still again, hands on his suitcase, watching him like he wanted to say something but didn’t.

Jun leaned against the doorframe.

“…You sure you’ll survive without me annoying you for ten days?”

Dylan tilted his head. “You planning to stop?”

Jun pretended to think. “Mm. No.”

Dylan laughed. “Then I guess I’ll miss the noise.”

Jun’s stomach flipped again.

He gave a dramatic sigh and walked back over, flinging himself across the bed again. “I’m staying. You need me.”

“I need peace and a zip-locked toiletry bag.”

Jun pointed. “Middle pocket. I already packed it.”

Dylan blinked.

Jun shrugged. “You’re not the only one who plans ahead, Captain Color Code.”

“…Thanks.”

Jun kicked his legs restlessly. “Also, I moved your favorite socks into the top flap because if you pack them with the shoes again I’ll disown you.”

“You’re not my mom.”

“I’m your chaos goblin.”

Dylan laughed again, soft and low, and it hit Jun square in the chest.

Silence settled between them for a beat.

Then Dylan said, “You’re gonna be annoying the whole night, aren’t you?”

Jun grinned. “Oh, absolutely. You’re going to be clinging to Nano by Day Three, begging for a break.”

Dylan sat beside him on the bed, fingers brushing his ankle lightly. “You could just say you’ll miss me.”

Jun stared at him. “You’ll miss me.”

Dylan raised a brow. “Didn’t say I wouldn’t.”

Jun narrowed his eyes. “You just want me to say it first.”

“I already won last night,” Dylan said with a smirk. “You admitted I always win.”

“That was under duress.”

“You were begging.”

Jun flushed. “Shut up.”

“Make me.”

They stared at each other for a second too long, both leaning just slightly forward—and then, as if the air snapped between them, Jun reached out, fingers tugging lightly on the hem of Dylan’s shirt.

Dylan leaned in.

The kiss wasn’t as heated as last night’s—but it was sweeter. Slower. Full of things neither of them said out loud.

When they pulled back, Jun rested his forehead against Dylan’s and exhaled.

“No miss yous,” he said. “Not yet.”

Dylan nodded. “Agreed.”

Jun sighed. “But I’m still stealing your hoodie.”

“That’s Nano’s.”

“Universe wants me to suffer.”

They sat there for a few more minutes, Dylan’s hand curled around Jun’s wrist, thumb brushing absentminded circles.

Finally, Jun stood. “Alright. Go finish packing before I light your suitcase on fire out of jealousy.”

Dylan raised a brow. “You jealous of the rookies?”

“I’m jealous of the ten days they get your undivided attention.”

Dylan smirked. “So possessive.”

Jun winked. “You like it.”

Dylan didn’t deny it.

As Jun stepped into the hallway, Nano passed him with a pair of swim trunks on his head and a look of utter despair.

“Why are you—”

“I’m spiraling,” Nano muttered. “Don’t ask.”

Jun just patted his shoulder. “Don’t worry. I packed Dylan’s socks wrong. He’ll suffer with you.”

Nano looked betrayed. “You monster.”

Jun beamed.

When he returned to his own room later, Dylan’s hoodie was already on his bed.

And tucked into the front pocket was a small note.

“Don’t burn the place down while I’m gone. –D.”

Jun stared at it for a long moment.

Then pulled the hoodie on, climbed into bed, and muttered into the fabric:

“Maybe I will miss you a little.”

Just a little.

But only for ten days.

Chapter Text

The van ride to the SM Thailand Junior Camp had been long, winding, and mostly quiet.

Mostly.

Nano, for one, had already complained six times.

“Why the hell did they choose us for this?” he muttered for the fourth time, forehead smushed against the van window. “I’m not built for kids, Dylan. I don’t even know how to talk to people born after 2007.”

“You don’t know how to talk to people, period,” Dylan said mildly, scrolling through his phone without looking up.

Nano kicked the back of his seat. “Rude.”

But Dylan didn’t reply—just smirked slightly and kept scrolling.

Not that he’d admit it out loud, but he was kind of excited. It was new. It was unfamiliar. It was also weirdly flattering to be asked to mentor the rookies, especially since it hadn’t even been two years since their own debut. He could still remember being one of those terrified wide-eyed kids, wondering if he’d survive vocal training or accidentally get kicked out during monthly evaluations.

Now he was on the other side.

Weird.

Cool.

Also—kind of intimidating.

The camp itself was tucked in a green, quiet province, the air clearer than in the city. The gates swung open to reveal a sleek modern facility lined with trees, a few dorms on one side, rehearsal buildings on the other, and a courtyard right in the center where a few kids were already practicing choreo under the morning sun.

Nano groaned. “They’re already working? Oh, this is hell.”

Dylan cracked a smile. “Don’t let them smell your fear.”

The van rolled to a stop in front of a sleek glass building nestled between green hills, the sign out front proudly announcing: SM Thailand Junior Training Camp. Palm trees lined the path, and somewhere off to the side, Dylan could hear the distant thud of bass from the main training hall. It wasn’t their usual turf. Not the sleek chaos of show tapings or the glamorous grind of tour prep. This place smelled like floor polish and teen dreams.

Nano yawned and stretched so hard his shoulder cracked. “We’re not paid enough for this.”

Dylan smirked as he stepped out of the van. “We’re not paid at all for this. It’s goodwill.”

“That’s what I said.”

The manager, who had driven up with them, ignored Nano’s dramatics and clapped both of them on the back. “You two’ll be fine. The juniors have been excited for weeks. Idol mentors from MARS? They’ve been losing their tiny minds.”

The campus looked like something out of a youth drama—sleek buildings lined with mirror windows, shaded walkways with neat rows of benches, and a massive dance studio at the heart of it all. A group of teens jogged by in matching track jackets, laughing and half-panting. Everything smelled like freshly mowed grass and teenage ambition.

“You’re excited,” Nano said, smirking as he nudged him with an elbow.

“I’m not.”

“You so are.”

Dylan didn’t reply, just kept watching as a staff member in a SM Thailand windbreaker waved them toward the lobby.

Their manager met them at the entrance, all bright smiles and a clipboard, giving them the usual rundown—rooms, schedule, keycards, don’t traumatize the trainees, try to be encouraging, etc. Dylan nodded politely through it. Nano tried to fake listening and failed halfway through, getting distracted by a cat darting through the bushes.

Nano groaned. “I didn’t sign up to be a babysitter. If one of these kids cries, I’m putting in a request to go back.”

“You’re not good with kids?” Dylan asked mildly.

“I’m not good with anything under twenty.”

“You’re twenty-one.”

“Exactly. They’re basically fetuses to me.”

Dylan rolled his eyes as the van stopped. “Try not to traumatize them.”

“No promises.”

They were ushered out by the staffer—a woman named Ploy, cheerful in the way that made Nano deeply suspicious.

“You two must be exhausted! But don’t worry, we’ve set you up with your own room in the mentors’ wing. You’ll have a little time to settle before orientation with the trainees.”

She led them through the modern corridors, full of wall-mounted monitors playing highlight reels from the company's biggest groups. Nano smirked as their own footage from MARS’s debut MV played silently overhead.

“God, I look so good,” he muttered.

“Debatable,” Dylan said without looking at him.

Their room turned out to be… decent. Two beds, clean sheets, a shared closet, and a mini balcony overlooking the outdoor gym.

Nano let out a long-suffering groan and followed Dylan inside, dragging his suitcase like it had personally offended him.

Their assigned dorm room was simple but comfortable—two beds, a shared desk, minimal decor but clean. A window overlooked the outdoor training field, where a group of lanky boys were jogging laps in matching black tees. From here, they looked tiny. Dylan leaned on the window frame, watching.

Nano flopped on one of the beds. “I’ll take this one. Better window light for selfies.”

“I don’t think that’s why we’re here,” Dylan said, dropping his bag neatly near the other bed.

“I’ll pretend you didn’t say that.” Nano whipped out his phone and immediately video called Pepper.

Nano flopped onto the bed nearest the door and immediately whipped out his phone.

“Gotta show them our prison cell,” he muttered, opening a video call.

He turned the camera toward the plain walls and sterile beds. “Behold: glamor.”

Pepper snorted. “Looks like a hostel.”

Before Nano could answer, Thame shoved his face into the frame from behind Pepper, grinning. “Oof. Nano, you got the bed near the window? You’re gonna get haunted.”

“Thanks, Phi Thame,” Nano said dryly. “That’s helpful.”

Jun appeared too, shirtless and annoyingly glowing even through a blurry camera. “Where’s Dylan?”

Dylan glanced over but didn’t move. “I’m not performing for you.”

“He’s shy now?” Jun said to the others. “You break one boy and he turns mysterious.”

Nano flipped the camera to Dylan’s back, lounging against the window, arms folded. “Look at him. Our group’s designated heartbreaker.”

“Don’t make me come back and break you too,” Dylan said without turning.

Jun grinned like he’d enjoy that.

Thame rolled his eyes. “Be nice to the kids. You two are officially mentors now.”

“Mentors,” Nano repeated like it physically hurt him. “I’m gonna be teaching kids how to be idols. This is the darkest timeline.”

Pepper raised a brow. “You’re not that much older.”

“Old enough to feel ancient around a bunch of eighteen-year-olds,” Nano grumbled. “Bet they still drink strawberry milk.”

Jun tilted his head. “Didn’t you do that last week?”

“Details,” Nano muttered.

Thame leaned in. “You look like you’re about to slap a child.”

Nano grinned. “Oh, I will. First one who calls me hyung in that whiny voice is getting drop-kicked.”

“Don’t traumatize the kids,” Pepper scolded. “You’re their seniors now. Role models.”

Jun let out a bark of laughter. “Nano? Role model? Please.”

“Okay rude,” Nano said. “I can be inspiring. I have charisma. I was born to lead.”

“You were born to be a pain,” Thame muttered.

Nano flipped the camera to show off the beds. “At least the room’s cute. Look at this. Two beds. No chocolates on the pillows though. Minus one star.”

“You’re not at a resort,” Pepper said.

“I should be.”

Dylan leaned toward the camera, hair slightly mussed, looking unfairly good even with travel fatigue clinging to his lashes. “We’ll check in later. Gotta go meet the kids.”

“Oh, Godspeed,” Jun said with mock solemnity.

“Try not to break them,” Thame added, and then the call ended.

Nano groaned and tossed the phone aside. “If even one of them asks me to do aegyo, I’m quitting the industry.”

They’d barely had time to unpack their clothes and argue about drawer space before a camp coordinator knocked politely and gestured for them to follow.

“Orientation and introductions,” she said brightly. “The trainees are excited to meet you.”

Dylan stood, stretching. “Come on. Let’s go traumatize some youth.”

Nano glanced sideways at Dylan. “You ready for a room full of worship?”

Dylan didn’t answer, but the slight twitch at the corner of his lips gave him away.

He was ready. Maybe more than he wanted to admit.

The training hall was wide and mirrored, with speakers stacked in corners and the smell of effort hanging thick in the air—sweat, fabric softener, determination. Twelve boys stood in neat rows, all wearing SM-issued practice clothes. They straightened up the moment Dylan and Nano entered, eyes huge, spines straightening like someone had cranked a dial.

Nano blinked. “Okay. That’s intense.”

Dylan stepped forward with a casual ease that belied the glances he was already getting. One of the coordinators clapped her hands.

“Everyone, this is P’Dylan and P’Nano, from MARS. They’ll be with us for the next ten days as part of the senior mentor program.”

The kids clapped politely, some too nervous to look up. One of them actually dropped his water bottle.

Chapter Text

A polished, sunlit space with mirrors lining one side and floor-to-ceiling windows along the other. The twelve trainees were already waiting inside, all dressed in standard-issue black training gear, sneakers squeaking against the floors as they lined up.

They couldn’t have been more than sixteen or eighteen, each one standing straight like they were facing a firing squad. One looked like he hadn’t hit puberty yet. Another looked like he might faint from sheer awe.

Dylan stepped forward, offering a polite wai. “Hey. I’m Dylan.”

Nano offered a lazy salute. “Nano. We’re not scary. You can breathe.”

The kids laughed, nervous and awkward, and then the round of introductions began.

One by one, they stepped forward, giving their names, ages, and a short bow. Most were between fifteen and eighteen, with different regional accents, some shyer than others, a few already looking dangerously polished.

Introductions started. Each trainee stepped forward, announced their name, age, and a quick summary of their specialties.

There was Atom, all limbs and teeth, who danced like a spark plug and stammered when he spoke. Jai, quiet but with eyes that tracked every movement like he was memorizing it. Kavee, who was already good-looking in a way that suggested he knew it, but was too young to be cocky about it.

And then came the eleventh boy.

He stepped forward, bowed a little too fast, and blurted, “My name is Rin. I’m eighteen. I’m from Khon Kaen. I—uh—I focus on vocals. And dance. A bit. Um—”

He was flushed pink halfway through, his hands twisting in front of him.

Dylan nodded politely, eyes calm. “Nice to meet you, Rin.”

Rin looked like he might faint.

Nano elbowed Dylan subtly.

“What?” Dylan whispered.

“You broke him already.”

Rin went to stand at the end of the line again, face tomato-red, sneaking glances every few seconds like he couldn’t believe Dylan was real.

Nano leaned closer to Dylan. “He looks like he printed your posters and kissed them goodnight.”

“Stop,” Dylan muttered.

“I’m serious. That’s not admiration, that’s a boy in the first stages of boy crush hell.”

Dylan kept his face unreadable, but he caught Rin’s eye once and gave a small, polite smile.

The kid almost combusted.

The last trainee introduced himself—Moo, sweet-faced and jittery—and then the coordinator led the group through basic warmups. Dylan and Nano stood back, watching their posture, their timing, taking mental notes.

Rin looked like he might pass out.

Especially when Dylan had nodded and given him a gentle smile. “Nice to meet you, Rin.”

Rin made a tiny squeaking sound and immediately turned beet red.

Nano’s eyes glittered.

“Oh, this is gonna be fun,” he whispered to himself.

For the rest of the orientation, Rin couldn’t look Dylan in the eye for more than a second. Any time Dylan spoke—even just to the group—Rin’s ears turned pink.

Nano leaned toward Dylan while the kids were distracted with stretches.

“You’ve got a fanboy,” he whispered. “Look at him. He’s practically vibrating.”

Dylan didn’t even look over. “He’s a kid.”

“Yeah. A kid who thinks you invented gravity.”

“Don’t start.”

“I’m not judging. It’s cute,” Nano said, eyes twinkling. “Little puppy love never hurt anyone. Besides—he’s harmless.”

Dylan shot him a warning look. “Nano.”

Nano grinned.

Rin kept messing up. Tripping slightly over turns, coming in half a beat late on rhythm claps. His embarrassment was obvious, but so was the way he kept peeking toward Dylan, biting his lip.

Nano leaned in again. “How do you always attract the shy ones?”

“I didn’t do anything.”

“You looked like yourself. That’s enough.”

They stayed another hour, observing group drills, occasionally giving tips. Dylan corrected a shoulder angle here, a step count there. Nano helped one kid fix his breathing pattern. Rin didn’t come near them unless he had to, but he hovered—always watching.

On their way back to the dorm, Nano sighed dramatically. “He’s gonna fall asleep whispering your name into his pillow.”

“Shut up.”

“Should I start planning the wedding? Maybe a vow exchange between you and your tiny fanboy?”

“He’s a child.”

“He’s eighteen.”

“Exactly.”

Nano smirked.

Later, during the one-on-one assessment portion, the trainees were separated into groups to show their vocal and dance progress. Dylan and Nano rotated between them, giving quiet feedback, offering corrections. Dylan, always more of the stoic observer, jotted notes and gave small nods or short suggestions. Nano was more hands-on, sometimes demonstrating moves himself or cracking jokes to loosen the nerves.

But the moment Rin stepped up for his turn—Nano practically vibrated with glee.

Rin sang a verse of a ballad, soft and emotional, his eyes never leaving Dylan for more than a second.

“Nice tone,” Dylan said. “Your breath control still needs work, but you’re on the right path.”

Rin beamed like Dylan had handed him an award.

Nano clapped slowly. “Aw. That was cute. Our little Rin might just be a heartbreaker.”

Rin flushed so hard his ears turned crimson. “I-I didn’t— I wasn’t—”

Nano cut him off with a wink. “Relax. You’re doing great. Just don’t faint the next time Dylan looks at you.”

Dylan sighed.

Nano whispered to Dylan outside earshot. “Fine. You’re no fun. But I’m still gonna tease him.”

“Don’t bully him.”

“I won’t bully,” Nano said. “I’ll mentor. Lovingly. With chaos.”

Rin turned to Dylan, clearly trying to say something—anything—but all that came out was a strangled squeak.

Dylan gave him another soft smile, one that said I’m not making fun of you, it’s okay.

Rin visibly melted.

Nano shook his head in awe. “This is gonna be the highlight of my week.”

“You’re evil,” Dylan muttered.

“Incorrect. I’m helpful. You think you’re cool and mysterious. But to these kids? You’re literally an idol. You walk in, and half of them forget how to breathe. Especially that one.”

Dylan flicked his eyes toward Rin, who was now trying to casually look their way while hiding behind another trainee.

He sighed. “It’s harmless.”

Nano grinned. “Unless he writes you a love letter by Day Three.”

Dylan elbowed him.

Nano dodged with a laugh.

They wrapped the first day with a light vocal warm-up and assigned choreography tasks for the following morning. The kids bowed deeply, thanking them one by one before dispersing to their rooms.

Dylan was already halfway through the hall when Nano fell into step beside him, grinning.

“So,” Nano said.

“No.”

“C’mon, just admit it. A tiny part of you thinks it’s sweet.”

“I think he’s eighteen.”

“Exactly. It’s adorable. Like a baby duck following you around.”

Dylan shook his head but didn’t argue.

Because yeah. It kind of was.

Dylan groaned and pushed open the dorm door. “I’m not babysitting you too.”

Nano smirked. “Too late.”

They flopped onto their beds, twin groans of exhaustion echoing into the ceiling.

“You ever feel like we’re the grown-ups now?” Nano asked.

“Don’t say that.”

“No, seriously. These kids look at us like we have all the answers. Like we’re… legends.”

“You like it.”

“I like being admired,” Nano said smugly. “But not when I have to wake up at seven to supervise vocal drills.”

Dylan didn’t respond. He was thinking of Rin again—how wide his eyes had gotten, the nervous flush in his cheeks. Not attraction, not for Dylan, not really. Just idolization, pure and clumsy. Dylan had felt it too once, looking up at the stars on TV and wondering how it felt to be one.

He turned on his side, arm draped over his face. “Let’s not mess this up.”

Nano paused. “You mean Rin?”

“No,” Dylan muttered. “All of it. The whole week. The whole… mentor thing.”

Nano was quiet for a moment. “Yeah,” he said finally. “Alright. We’ll be responsible.”

A beat passed.

Then Nano snickered. “But I’m still teasing the kid.”

Dylan groaned into the pillow. “I’m requesting a new roommate.”

Nano stretched and rolled onto his back, grinning at the ceiling. “Too late. You’re stuck with me. For ten whole days.”

Outside, the training grounds lit up under floodlights. Inside, in a plain dorm room shared by two reluctant mentors and twelve soon-to-be idol hopefuls, things were just beginning.

And somewhere down the hall, Rin was probably screaming into a pillow.

Chapter Text

The second full day at SM Thailand Junior Camp began with a too-early knock on Dylan and Nano’s door. Nano groaned from under his blanket, only one eye peeking out at the wall clock that read 6:45 a.m.

“Is this the military?” he mumbled.

Dylan, already dressed in loose black sweats and a simple tee, leaned over from his bed and tapped Nano’s forehead. “Let’s go. We have to warm up before the kids arrive.”

Nano grumbled something in Thai that Dylan chose not to translate.

By the time they entered the rehearsal hall, the twelve junior trainees were already standing in formation, stretching silently as their instructor moved between them correcting posture. Rin, toward the back row, perked up the moment he saw Dylan.

Nano noticed it immediately.

He elbowed Dylan. “Your fanboy’s here,” he whispered.

Dylan gave him a side glance. “He’s a kid.”

“Yeah, but that kid looks like he’s about to cry tears of joy.”

Indeed, Rin’s ears had turned pink at just the sight of Dylan walking in. He bowed so deeply it looked like he was greeting royalty.

Dylan ignored Nano’s continued smirk and walked to the center of the room.

“Alright,” he said, voice firm. “We’re going to warm up with ‘Charm’ today. Let’s see your stamina.”

A murmur rippled through the younger trainees. “Charm” wasn’t easy. It was one of MARS’s most intense choreographies—and Dylan’s debut centerpiece.

“Don’t worry,” Nano added with a wink, “We’ll take it slow. Unless you want Dylan to go full drill sergeant.”

The room laughed nervously, but Rin nodded seriously.

“He’d look hot,” Rin said under his breath, not loud enough for Dylan to hear.

But Nano, with his ever-sensitive radar for crush energy, caught it. He filed it away for later.

The first session commenced with warm-ups. Dylan demonstrated a series of dance moves, his movements fluid and precise. The trainees watched in awe, attempting to mimic his steps.

Rin, in particular, tried to mirror Dylan's every move, often glancing at him for approval.

"You're doing well, Rin," Dylan commented, offering a rare smile.

Rin's face turned crimson, and he nearly stumbled over his own feet.

Nano, observing the interaction, couldn't resist teasing.

"Careful, Rin. At this rate, you'll dance your way into P'Dylan's heart."

The room erupted in laughter, and Rin buried his face in his hands.

During a short break, the trainees gathered around Dylan and Nano, asking questions about their experiences.

"P'Dylan, how do you maintain such stage presence?" one trainee inquired.

"Practice," Dylan replied succinctly.

"And a killer wardrobe," Nano added, earning chuckles.

A while later Nano seated beside Dylan whispered, "Day two, and we've already got a lovestruck trainee."

Dylan sat, reviewing notes.

"He's just enthusiastic."

"Enthusiastic is one thing. Rin looks at you like you're the sun."

Dylan chuckled softly.

"He's young. He'll grow out of it."

"Or into it." Nano grinned.

"Relax. I'm not going to steal your thunder."

Dylan rolled his eyes, but the amusement was evident.

“Hold—pose!”

The group froze at the final beat of the routine. Everyone was panting, sweat dripping, and more than a few were wobbling from exhaustion. But Rin stood like a statue, arms tense, jaw clenched, despite the sweat soaking his fringe.

Dylan watched him quietly. After a beat, he stepped forward and adjusted Rin’s elbow, who looked like he had positioned it wrong on purpose.

“Good control,” he said softly, not praising loudly like he might with other kids. “But don’t forget to breathe into your movement. Right now, it’s all force, no flow.”

Rin nodded so fast he almost headbutted Dylan’s shoulder.

“I—I’ll work on it. Thank you, P’Dylan.”

Dylan gave him a short nod before turning to the rest of the group. “Break. Thirty minutes.”

As soon as Dylan stepped away, Rin collapsed to the floor in a pile of limbs and sweat. His friend nudged him.

“Dude. You held your breath through the whole last verse,” the boy said, laughing.

Rin covered his face with a towel and groaned. “I didn’t want to mess up. He was watching.”

Across the room, Nano was watching Rin with far too much amusement.

“I’m giving that performance a solid 8.5 in ‘crush agony,’” Nano said, sipping his iced coffee. “He’s going to combust by week’s end.”

Dylan didn’t reply. He was focused on the mirror, doing light stretches. But Nano wasn’t fooled. He caught the tiny smirk twitching at the edge of Dylan’s mouth.

“You like it,” Nano accused.

“It's childish,” Dylan replied simply. “He’s eighteen.”

“And you’re twenty-two, I know,” Nano drawled. “Still—he looks at you like you invented dance.”

“He looks at you the same way,” Dylan said, grabbing a towel.

At that, Nano actually laughed.

“Oh, no he doesn’t. Rin gets shy around me too. But with you, it’s like he’s rehearsing a confession monologue from a BL drama.”

Dylan gave him a flat look. “Not helping.”

Over the next few hours, the trainees' skills improved under Dylan and Nano's guidance. Rin's admiration for Dylan remained unwavering, often seeking his attention and approval.

Nano continued his playful teasing, both towards Rin and Dylan.

"Dylan, Rin's got that dreamy look again."

"Focus on your own trainees, Nano."

"But this is way more entertaining."

Despite the teasing, Dylan handled Rin's infatuation with grace, always maintaining professionalism.

Rin approached Dylan, holding a small gift.

"P'Dylan, thank you for everything."

Dylan accepted the gift, a handmade bracelet, and nodded.

"Keep working hard, Rin."

Rin beamed, his eyes shining.

Nano, watching from a distance, smirked.

"Young love. So pure."

"He's a kid, Nano."

"A kid with a massive crush."

Dylan shook his head, a smile tugging at his lips.

The late afternoon sun slanted through the windows of the SM Thailand training center, painting streaks of gold over the polished floors. The echo of sneakers and laughter filled the practice room as the last set of trainees stumbled through their final freestyle run.

Dylan stood near the mirror wall, arms crossed, eyes following the beat like a hawk. Nano sat nearby on the floor, stretching lazily, sipping from a water bottle, watching both the juniors and Dylan with mild amusement.

“Alright,” Dylan called, clapping once. “Good energy. But Rin—your shoulders are tight again.”

Rin, standing on the right of the group, flushed instantly. “Y-Yes, Phi.” His voice cracked slightly, which made Nano choke on his water.

Dylan walked over, placing a light hand on Rin’s back. “You’re locking up here.” He tapped just between Rin’s shoulder blades. “Try loosening your arms when you hit the spin, alright?”

Rin nodded frantically, his cheeks visibly red even under the studio lights. “Yes, Phi. I’ll practice more.”

“Good. Again from the top.”

As the music resumed, Nano leaned closer to Dylan with a smirk. “He’s blushing so hard he might combust.”

Dylan didn’t look away from the mirror. “He’s just nervous. Second day.”

“Mmm. Nervous around you.”

“Don’t.”

Nano grinned wider. “You were always this popular with cute boys?”

Dylan rolled his eyes and moved to adjust another trainee’s stance, leaving Nano snickering behind him like a devil with receipts.

During the next short break, the trainees dispersed, some collapsing dramatically on the floor, others heading to grab water. Rin lingered near the mirror, sneaking glances at Dylan, who now sat with a towel over his neck, eyes scanning his notes.

Nano clocked it instantly.

He strolled up to Rin casually, eyes twinkling. “You alright? You were solid that round.”

Rin nodded. “Thank you, Phi Nano.”

“Hey, question.” Nano leaned in like they were sharing a secret. “You gonna confess to Dylan or what?”

Rin made a noise between a gasp and a squeak. “W-What? No! I—I just admire him! He’s really… talented.”

“Uh-huh. Sure. That’s why you turned redder than a traffic cone when he touched your back, right?”

Rin buried his face in his hands. “Please don’t tell him.”

“Too late,” Nano said with mock sympathy. “I’m contractually obligated to bully him with this.”

“Nooooo—!”

Later that evening Dylan and Nano were back in their room—two twin beds, a small desk, and a full-length mirror. Nano flopped face-first onto his mattress while Dylan remained seated at the desk, still jotting notes.

“You’re taking this mentorship way too seriously,” Nano mumbled into his pillow.

Dylan didn’t look up. “That’s the point.”

“You’re acting like you didn’t just ruin an eighteen-year-old’s life with one compliment.”

Dylan smirked faintly but stayed silent.

Nano twisted to look at him, grinning. “Seriously. Rin’s got it bad. You smiled at him once, and I think he decided to marry you.”

“Don’t be dramatic.”

“I’m not. He was staring at your hands during water break.”

This made Dylan pause.

Nano gasped. “You noticed too, didn’t you?!”

“I noticed because you elbowed me and whispered ‘your little fanboy is looking again’ in the middle of warm-ups.”

“I was trying to be helpful,” Nano said proudly. “Anyway, we need to tell the others. Want to traumatize Jun a little?”

Dylan’s brow arched. “Why would Jun be traumatized?”

“Oh, no reason,” Nano said innocently as he pulled out his phone. “Group call time.”

A second later, Thame’s face filled the screen, propped up on his pillow. “Yo. How’s bootcamp?”

“Exhausting,” Nano said. “Dylan made them sweat blood.”

“Good,” Thame replied with a smirk. “That’s our Dylan.”

“Wait, hold on.” Another face popped into the frame—Jun, towel around his neck, freshly showered. “You guys started without me?”

Pepper followed, sitting behind them and waving. “Hi! We just finished vocal practice.”

Nano grinned. “Perfect. I’ve got a story.”

Dylan shot him a warning glance. Nano ignored it.

“So there’s this junior trainee—eighteen, very blushy, very cute—who has the biggest crush on our Dylan.”

“Oh?” Pepper leaned forward, eyebrows raised.

Jun blinked, towel still draped over his shoulders. “…A kid?”

“Yep,” Nano said cheerfully. “Name’s Rin. Couldn’t stop staring. Turned red when Dylan touched his back. Literal heart eyes.”

Thame laughed. “And Dylan?”

“Stoic as ever. You know Phi Ice Cube.”

“I’m not—” Dylan began, but Nano steamrolled.

“I tried to be a good wingman. Told Rin I’d support his dreams. But he nearly passed out when I teased him.”

“Wait, are you shipping this?” Jun asked, voice unusually tight.

Nano smiled sweetly. “What I dunno maybee? I’m just saying he’s cute. If Dylan were into the younger shy-boy type, he’d have options.”

Jun leaned closer to the camera. “Dylan’s not.”

Nano raised an eyebrow. “You sure?”

Jun didn’t answer immediately. His gaze flicked to Dyaln, who was now leaning back against the wall, phone in hand but eyes on the screen.

“Well,” Jun muttered after a pause, “He has a type. And it’s not eighteen.”

“Oho,” Thame teased. “Sounds like someone’s feeling protective.”

“Of our brand image,” Jun said quickly.

Dylan gave the smallest smile. “You jealous?”

Jun scoffed. “Of a kid? Please.”

Nano, grinning, ended the teasing with a loud, “Anyway! Dylan’s fanboy is stuck to him like glue. Can’t wait to see what happens tomorrow.”

“Keep us updated,” Thame laughed. “This is better than TV.”

“Maybe he’ll ask Dylan for a one-on-one training session,” Pepper added with a wink.

Jun said nothing but rolled his eyes with too much force for someone totally unaffected.

Dylan didn’t comment, but as the group call continued—with Nano playfully mimicking Rin’s blushes and Pepper joking about printing “Phi Dylan’s #1 Fan” T-shirts—he allowed himself a tiny smile.

Quiet and unreadable, but amused.

Maybe a little flattered, too.

Chapter Text

The third day at SM Thailand Junior Camp started with the buzz of the practice room lights flickering to life and the scent of linoleum and instant coffee in the air. Outside, the Bangkok sky hadn’t fully shaken off its morning haze. Inside, Dylan stood by the mirrored wall of the studio, clipboard in one hand, water bottle in the other. He had tied his hair up today—a loose half-bun that somehow made his face look even sharper—and wore a sleeveless black training top that hugged his arms a little too well for Rin’s already overloaded senses.

Rin had arrived early. Again.

The other juniors shuffled in gradually, yawning and stretching. Rin, however, stood ramrod straight, clutching his dance shoes like sacred relics, stealing glances at Dylan’s reflection whenever he thought it was safe.

Nano strolled in moments later, sunglasses on, sipping iced green tea like he hadn’t crawled out of bed fifteen minutes ago.

“Morning, my little idols,” he said, waving lazily.

A few of the trainees bowed. One of them muttered something about Nano looking like a Thai lakorn villain. Nano beamed.

Dylan was all business. “We’re starting with formation drills, then transition into the first chorus of ‘Crush Depth.’ You’ve seen the performance. The footwork’s tight. If you miss it, it shows.”

He clapped twice. “Into pairs. Now.”

The energy shifted instantly. Trainees scrambled to find partners.

Rin hesitated a beat too long and ended up solo, again.

Nano noticed it right away.

“Kid’s got tunnel vision,” he muttered, walking up beside Dylan. “If you gave him the choice to dance with his bias or breathe, he’d ask how long he can hold his breath.”

“Stop,” Dylan said, but without heat.

They divided the group and Rin was placed in a trio with two of the stronger trainees, both of whom teased him about his posture in a good-natured way.

But Rin’s eyes kept drifting back.

To Dylan.

Specifically, to the subtle way his muscles moved under that sleeveless shirt. To the way his hand would gesture so precisely when correcting a trainee’s angles. To the rare smile—tight-lipped but warm—he offered when someone nailed the combo.

It wasn’t fair.

He was too composed. Too cool. Too—

“Rin,” Dylan called, voice cutting through the music like a blade. “You’re behind. Stay in tempo.”

“S-Sorry, Phi!” Rin squeaked.

Nano looked over, clearly enjoying himself. “You okay there, champ? Need CPR?”

“No!” Rin flailed so hard his wrist mic nearly fell off. “I’m good! I’m—great!”

Nano gave him a thumbs-up. “That’s the spirit.”

The session continued with drills, feedback, and choreography. Dylan made his rounds like clockwork, encouraging where needed, correcting with precision. When he reached Rin again, he crouched to adjust the angle of his foot.

“Turn it out slightly. You’re locking your ankle and losing balance.”

Rin nodded like a bobblehead.

Then Dylan did it again.

He smiled.

“Your energy’s solid though. Keep that intensity.”

Rin’s face flamed red. “T-Thank you, P’Dylan!”

Dylan didn’t respond. He was already moving on, clipboard in hand, adjusting another trainee’s spin.

Nano, stretching on the floor nearby, leaned toward Rin. “Was it everything you dreamed of?”

“Shut up,” Rin whispered into his towel, absolutely melting.

“Okay, again from the top,” Dylan said, voice calm but stern. “Don’t cheat the turn—Rin, your core’s not engaged.”

Rin jolted like someone had just zapped him. “S-sorry, Phi!”

Nano suppressed a grin as he leaned against the mirrored wall, arms folded as he watched the chaos unfold. It was day three at the SM Thailand junior idol camp, and the room was already sweating with the energy of twelve teenagers trying to impress a T-pop star. Or, in Rin’s case, seduce one with heart-eyes and catastrophic coordination.

Dylan sighed—not out of frustration but patience. His voice softened, and he crossed the dance floor to Rin, who immediately stood straighter, blinking rapidly like his lashes might do the work his spine refused to.

“Breathe,” Dylan murmured, positioning himself behind the seventeen-year-old. “You’re locking your hips and then trying to twist. It’s not supposed to look like you’re trying to win a Taekwondo match.”

Nano chuckled. “No high kicks unless you’re getting paid.”

The trainees laughed nervously, except for Rin, who was too distracted by the weight of Dylan’s hands lightly adjusting his stance—one on his upper back, one hovering near his side. It wasn’t even a full touch. But Rin could practically feel the magnetic field.

Dylan glanced up in the mirror to check the room’s layout. “Rin, tuck your pelvis in a little.”

Rin flinched as Dylan’s knuckles grazed his lower back.

“Not like—ugh, never mind.” Dylan bit the inside of his cheek. “Nano, explain it. I don’t want to get sued.”

Nano snorted, pushing off the wall. “Okay kids, time for health class with Uncle Nano. So when Dylan says ‘tuck your pelvis,’ he’s not asking you to—”

A buzzing sound cut Nano off.

“Sorry, that’s me,” he said, pulling out his phone. “It’s the group chat—Pepper sent a photo of Thame pretending to do yoga but he’s just laying on P'Po. Want to see?”

Dylan waved it off. “You deal with that. I’m working.”

Rin blinked rapidly. “You all live together?”

Nano raised his brows at the boy. “You say that like it’s not the PDA-st dorm in Southeast Asia. Yes.”

Dylan shook his head and turned back to Rin, holding out his hand. “Okay. Again. I’ll go through it with you slowly.”

And that was how Rin found himself in front of the mirrors again, shoulder to shoulder with Dylan, who was guiding the routine beat by beat. Nano, meanwhile, chuckled at something in the chat and hit video call without much thought.

Nano chuckled “Alright. Let’s give the old men a taste of youth.”

He opened the group video chat and propped his phone up against a water bottle at the edge of the mat.

“Smile, you’re on live drama cam,” he said.

The screen rang once, twice—

And then, there was Thame, nose practically in the camera. “What the—Nano, why are you calling me during yoga?”

“Because I need emotional support,” Nano replied dramatically. “Also—Dylan is breaking hearts again.”

Dylan, squatting nearby with his notes, didn’t look up. “Don’t start.”

Jun entered the frame last—shirtless, towel over his neck, hair damp from a shower.

And that was the moment things got complicated.

The screen lit up with movement, and Jun’s face popped into frame first—bare shoulders, tousled hair, damp from what looked like a post-shower stroll.

“Oh, hi~” Jun sing-songed.

Nano smirked. “Look who’s pretending this wasn’t deliberate.”

“I just got out of the shower,” Jun said innocently, adjusting the angle to frame his full torso, bare to the waist. “Didn’t know you’d call.”

Dylan, mid-step with Rin, glanced toward the sound. “Who’re you—”

And then he saw the screen. His breath caught.

Dylan looked up, instinctively, at the sound of Jun’s voice.

And froze.

Jun was lounging across the couch, glistening slightly from his shower, his collarbones prominent, towel dangling just low enough to be illegal in three provinces. His hair was pushed back in wet waves, and his mouth curved into the laziest, most satisfied smirk.

“Yo,” Jun said.

Jun. Shirtless. Smirking lazily like a Greek god just happened to wander into a T-pop group chat. The towel rested low on his clavicle, drawing the eye. His skin glistened slightly from the residual steam, like he hadn’t quite dried off properly. Or like he wanted to be caught not quite decent.

Dylan’s lips parted—just a second too long. His gaze flicked from Jun’s chest to his eyes.

And then he bit his bottom lip.

Just a quick, instinctive tug.

And then he blinked, turned his head away, jaw tight.

Chapter Text

“Focus,” Dylan muttered under his breath, more to himself than Rin. He cleared his throat and dropped his hand from Rin’s shoulder, stepping back to a safer, more professional distance.

Jun’s smirk sharpened like he’d seen it all.

Nano definitely had.

But Rin—Rin only felt his stomach flip. Because from his angle, he’d had a front row seat to that exact moment: Dylan, standing close behind him, eyes on the screen, then that bitten lip, that distracted inhale like he’d just been punched with pheromones.

What just happened? Rin blinked. Why did he look so… cool? Distracted? Devastating?

“Phi?” he asked softly, confused.

Dylan didn’t answer.

Jun’s voice came lazy and amused through the call. “Wow, training the kids hard, huh?”

“They’re not kids, they’re junior trainees,” Dylan said coolly, face neutral again. “And you're not wearing a shirt.”

“Observation skills on point,” Jun drawled, resting his chin on his hand in the frame. “Just thought I’d drop in. Missed seeing you.”

Nano looked like he was holding in a laugh. “Dylan’s blushing.”

“I’m not,” Dylan said instantly, but his ears were red. He turned back to Rin like Jun didn’t exist. “Okay. Again from the chorus.”

But Rin’s thoughts were spiraling. That little moment—the lip bite, the distraction—what had triggered it?

Jun was attractive, sure. But Rin didn’t get it. Why did Dylan look like someone had just yanked the air out of his lungs?

Jun leaned a little closer to the camera. “Who’s the one in front of Dylan?”

“Rin,” Nano supplied before Dylan could answer. “Eighteen, dances like a newborn deer, but he tries hard.”

Jun’s eyes narrowed ever so slightly. “Close proximity dance instruction, huh.”

“He’s a kid,” Dylan replied flatly, adjusting Rin’s arm into position but no longer touching him. “I’m fixing his form. You should try it sometime.”

“I’m very flexible, especially when subjected to blue ribbons and chocolate mousse,” Jun said casually. It was subtle. But it wasn’t accidental.

Rin watched the screen. Then watched Dylan. Then blinked again. Something weird was happening.

Dylan looked up again. Saw Jun. Bit his tongue inside his cheek this time, and quickly redirected: “Rin, let’s switch spots. I’ll demo. You mirror me.”

Rin stumbled into position.

Nano laughed. “Wow. Cold shoulder and distraction tactics. Jun, you’re really getting to him.”

“I always do,” Jun said breezily.

“I can hang up,” Dylan said warningly, but there was the barest twitch in his mouth, like he was biting back something not quite a smile.

“You won’t,” Jun replied smugly. “You like seeing me.”

“I see enough of you every day,” Dylan deadpanned, then turned to Rin. “Keep your knees bent through the transition. Don’t pop up like you’re afraid of the floor.”

Rin nodded frantically, trying not to mess up while Dylan demonstrated beside him. His mind, however, was spinning off-course.

Jun’s voice crackled again. “You’re good with kids.”

“I’m good with dance,” Dylan corrected.

“So do you have a personal grudge with the floor only when we practice together?” Jun asked smirking.

Nano snorted and turned the phone so the rest of the room could see. “Everyone say hi to Uncle Jun.”

The trainees chorused greetings, clearly amused. Jun waved with the careless charm of someone used to being the center of attention.

Rin didn’t say anything.

He was too busy watching Dylan.

Because Dylan, despite all the banter, never looked back at the screen. Not again.

But Rin remembered.

The exact angle of Dylan’s jaw when he bit his lip.

The flicker in his eyes.

And how hot he’d looked in that unguarded second—like the cool, unreachable P’Dylan had cracked.

But Rin didn’t know what it meant. Not really. Just that something in his chest felt like it had turned liquid.

And Jun—oh, Jun—he saw it all.

The hesitation. The slip. The lip bite. The blink-and-you-miss-it moment where Dylan’s ears flushed a barely perceptible pink.

Jun’s smirk widened.

“Hot in there?” he asked casually.

“The aircon suddenly stopped,” Dylan answer looking murderously at the still perfectly working aircon. He adjusted his clipboard and barked, “Positions, last chorus. From the bridge. Five, six, seven—”

The music kicked in.

But Nano was grinning like a demon.

Thame whispered, “Did he seriously bite his lip?”

Po, nearly choking on a milk shake, nodded. “Oh yeah.”

Pepper, whispering into a mic offscreen, added, “We need a rewind button on real life.”

Back in the studio, Nano slid closer to Dylan. “So.”

“So what,” Dylan said, not looking up.

“Jun.”

Dylan’s jaw flexed. “He’s always shirtless.”

“That was strategic shirtlessness and you know it.”

Dylan said nothing.

Nano leaned closer. “You bit your lip, D.”

“I had a dry spot.”

Nano choked on a laugh. “Oh my god, you’re blushing.”

“I’m not.”

“You are.”

Dylan turned to correct another trainee’s pose. “Focus on the kids.”

Nano smirked. “You are so in trouble.”

Rin’s group missed the last beat of the choreography because Rin turned his head—just for a second—to look at Dylan again.

And that second was all it took.

“Rin!” Dylan called. “Eyes front. If you’re tired, sit.”

“No! I’m not tired! I’m—I’ll focus!”

Dylan sighed and softened his tone. “Then do it properly. You were doing well earlier.”

Rin’s heart skipped a beat.

Even scolded, Dylan was still...so gentle.

The rest of the afternoon passed with bursts of intensity, sweat, and scattered giggles. Rin gave 200%, trembling with effort but determined to impress. Nano continued to oscillate between mock encouragement and actual coaching. Dylan remained focused—his default mode—but his sharpness seemed tinged with a new quiet edge.

Later, when the day finally wound down, the kids dragged themselves out of the studio like wet laundry. Rin hung back, pretending to tie his shoes slower than necessary.

Dylan didn’t comment. He just handed Rin a cold water bottle.

“Good job today. You improved.”

Rin lit up. “Thank you, Phi. I—I’ll practice more tonight!”

Dylan gave him a small nod. “Don’t overdo it.”

“I won’t! I—um—good night!”

Dylan watched him run off.

Nano strolled up, arms crossed. “He’s gone full giddy puppy.”

Dylan didn’t reply.

“Meanwhile, you,” Nano said, turning with a grin, “got flustered by a shirtless Jun in a grainy video call.”

Dylan looked him dead in the eye. “I was not.”

Nano hooted. “OHH just admit it!”

“I’m going to bed.”

Nano followed, still laughing.

“Wait till I tell Jun you almost dropped your mystery boy vibes.”

“I didn’t.”

“Your hand twitched.”

“Good night, Nano.”

“I’m sending him a bouquet..”

But even in the quiet, even lying on the narrow camp mattress, he saw Jun in his mind’s eye again—smirking, shirtless, teasing.

And for one second before he fell asleep, Dylan let the smile break through.

Just a little.

Chapter Text

Day 4 passed like the calm before a monsoon. The sun pressed down hot and mean over the campus, but inside the practice studio, everything ran weirdly smooth. Too smooth.

Rin still arrived early—earlier than early. Dylan suspected the kid might be sleeping outside the door like a lost puppy. Nano rolled in exactly three minutes before start time, eyes half-lidded, iced americano in hand, and wasted no time teasing Rin before he'd even changed into dance shoes.

“So,” Nano drawled, pulling up beside Dylan during warm-ups, “our tiny admirer still thinks you hung the stars.”

Dylan exhaled through his nose. “He’s just a kid.”

“Mm. So’s Bambi, but he still caused a forest fire.”

Dylan didn’t dignify that with a response. He focused on formations. Corrections. Breath support drills. Rin followed every command with starry-eyed obedience, hanging on every syllable that dropped from Dylan’s lips like they were gospel. Nano kept pace, interjecting playful snark just enough to keep the mood light.

It could’ve been worse. It had been worse. But today? Today was eerily calm.

Too calm.

Dylan didn’t trust it.

“Rin, you keep staring at him like you’re trying to astral project,” Nano said, slapping the dance studio floor dramatically as he lay on his back, towel over his face. “Just ask him to marry you already.”

“I’m not staring,” Rin squeaked, eyes wide and guilty. He was very much staring. Dylan was across the room with his arms up in a hoodie, laughing at something with a few older trainees. The moment he threw his head back, Rin’s jaw slackened like it had forgotten how to be part of his body.

Nano tilted his head and propped himself on one elbow. “Bet you haven’t even noticed your mouth is open.”

Rin clamped it shut immediately, turning bright red.

“Oh my god,” Nano said, clutching his heart. “You’re killing me. He’s gonna adopt you at this rate.”

“I don’t— I don’t like—” Rin trailed off, caught mid-stutter as Dylan crossed the floor to check on one of the sound monitors. The hem of his hoodie lifted slightly as he crouched. Rin’s eyes nearly fell out of his head.

Nano cackled. “You’re not even trying to be subtle. Are all 18-year-olds like this now?”

Rin dropped his face into his knees and groaned. “I gave him a bracelet, okay? That’s all. It’s not that serious.”

Nano's eyebrows shot up. “Wait. You gave him a bracelet?”

“W-when he helped me with vocal warm-ups the other day. I made it from camp beads—just something small—”

“Oh, you’re gone gone,” Nano said, grin widening. “Let me see it.”

Rin looked like he regretted being born but obediently showed him a photo on his phone—an uneven yet earnest string of white, blue, and red beads, knotted at the ends.

Nano squinted. “Wait. That looks familiar…”

Across the studio, Dylan adjusted his sleeves, pushing them up.

Nano’s eyes zeroed in.

There it was. The bracelet. On Dylan’s left wrist.

Nano gasped like he’d discovered a scandal. “He wore it?”

“Don’t tell anyone!” Rin nearly shrieked, grabbing Nano’s arm in terror. “Please, P’Nano, I’ll die.”

Nano looked absolutely delighted.

“Oh, I won’t tell,” he said with a devilish smile. “But I might show.”

That night, just after ten, the dorm was still and dim, save for the light from Nano’s desk lamp and the faint buzz of the fan overhead. Dylan sat cross-legged on his bed, scribbling notes in the corner of a notebook that was half choreography sketches, half water-stained to-do lists.

“Group call?” Nano asked, already opening the MARS chat. “Thame sent a meme earlier and Po threatened to block him again.”

“Sure,” Dylan muttered without looking up.

Within seconds, the video rang—and Jun answered first.

Shirtless. Again.

But this time, not fresh-from-the-shower steamy. This time, it was deliberate.

Jun was in his own bed, lying sideways with his chin propped on one hand, hair tousled, wearing only loose gray sweatpants and a smug glint in his eye. “Evening,” he said, voice smooth as silk.

Nano cackled instantly. “Bro. Are you incapable of wearing shirts during video calls?”

“I run hot,” Jun replied easily. “Especially when I miss someone.”

Dylan glanced up. Met Jun’s gaze through the screen. “Get a fan.”

“I’d rather get a reaction,” Jun said, grinning.

Before Dylan could retort, Thame popped in, mouth full of something, probably cake. “Wait—is he shirtless again?”

Pepper joined with a sigh. “He’s always shirtless. Like a cat in heat.”

“Finee I’ll wear something,” Jun deadpanned and on call put on the hoddie Dylan had left him.

Dylan rolled his eyes, but Nano leaned over conspiratorially, pointing to Dylan’s wrist.

“New bracelet?” he asked aloud, for everyone to hear.

Jun squinted. “Wait. Yeah. That’s new. What is that?”

Dylan casually lowered his hand, too late. “It’s nothing.”

Nano pounced. “It’s not nothing.”

Jun’s brows lifted, smile tightening. “Did you go shopping without me?”

Dylan said nothing.

Nano didn’t. “Rin gave it to him.”

There was a pause. A dangerous one.

Jun’s face didn’t change much—but his tone dropped half a degree. “That so?”

“It’s a bracelet,” Dylan said flatly. “That’s all.”

“Yeah,” Nano added helpfully, “a friendship bracelet. Super intense color pattern. Took him three hours. I timed it.”

Dylan smacked him in the arm.

“Ow,” Nano complained. “It’s true!”

Jun’s lips pressed into a line. “Must’ve made quite the impression.”

Dylan didn’t rise to it. He glanced down at the bracelet—a bright weave of red and navy, snug against his wrist. Rin had handed it to him shyly on the second day, face so red he looked sunburnt. It had felt too cruel to say no.

Now, it just felt… complicated.

Jun tilted his head, the lazy smile back. “Wear it all the time?”

Nano elbowed Dylan. “He hasn’t taken it off since.”

Jun’s eyes narrowed just a bit.

“Anyway,” Dylan snapped, changing the subject, “how’s Po?”

Thame immediately groaned. “Don’t bring him up. He caught me humming Baby Don’t Cry in the kitchen and won’t let it go.”

Pepper muttered, “You were holding a spatula like a mic.”

As the call spiraled into friendly chaos, Dylan leaned back, letting the others bicker. But his eyes kept flicking to Jun, who lounged against a pile of pillows, that unreadable expression returning every time the bracelet came into view.

The tension hung there unspoken—until the screen flickered, and Jun finally muttered, “I gotta go.”

And just like that, he was gone.

The fifth day arrived with the illusion of normalcy. Morning drills. Water breaks. Controlled chaos.

Nano kept throwing glances at Dylan, who looked a little more tense than usual. Rin, on the other hand, seemed euphoric—bouncing in his spot, practically levitating with joy. He’d been working on something for two days now and wouldn’t shut up about it.

Near the end of rehearsal, as Dylan ran final notes, Rin lingered.

“P’Dylan?” he asked softly, holding out a folded piece of paper and a USB stick.

“What’s this?”

“My lyrics,” Rin said, eyes wide. “It’s for the songwriting module next week. I wrote something inspired by our training. I—I want your feedback.”

Dylan blinked. “Okay.”

Rin bit his lip, then ducked his head. “Also…there’s a letter.”

Dylan stilled.

Rin shoved the paper into his hands and scurried off like a rabbit under hawk-eye.

Nano, watching from the corner, slowly turned his head. “A letter?”

“Don’t,” Dylan warned, stuffing it into his pocket.

“I’m just saying,” Nano sing-songed, “this is how thai-dramas start.”

That Night in the dorm room Nano was halfway through a ramen cup when the MARS group call started again. Thame had his hair in curlers, Po was wrapped in a blanket like a sushi roll, and Pepper was peeling fruit with surgical precision.

“Okay,” Pepper said. “Spill. What did Rin give you?”

“Lyrics,” Dylan said, flipping through the pages Rin had handed him. “And—”

He didn’t finish.

Because as he opened one of the folded pages, a second slip fluttered out.

Pink. Heart-sticker-sealed.

The room went silent.

Nano’s chopsticks froze mid-noodle.

Po leaned in. “Was that a love letter?”

Dylan stared at the envelope.

Thame shouted, “OPEN IT.”

“No,” Dylan said, stuffing it into the folder.

Pepper raised both brows. “Oh, it’s real.”

“Let’s hear it!” Nano cackled. “Read it out loud! Come on. For the culture.”

Dylan shook his head. “Nope.”

Po gasped. “HE’S BLUSHING!”

“I’m not.”

Jun joined the call late—but just in time. He glanced around the screen. “What did I miss?”

Everyone screamed in unison: “LOVE LETTER!”

Jun blinked. “From who?”

Nano smirked. “Your replacement.”

Jun’s face turned stone.

Dylan sighed. “It’s nothing. Rin just wrote something.”

“Read it,” Jun said coolly.

“No,” Dylan repeated, this time more firmly.

Pepper: “It’s addressed to you.”

Thame: “He wrote your name in glitter pen!”

Po, whispering dramatically: “Was there perfume??”

Dylan turned his phone’s camera off.

The screen went black on his end. Nano’s did not.

“Dude,” Nano said with a mouth full of noodles. “He’s totally red. He’s flustered. This is so romantic.”

“Read. The. Letter,” Jun said again.

“Why do you care?” Dylan snapped before he could stop himself.

The screen quieted.

Jun sat back in his frame. His tone was deceptively light. “Just curious. Can’t a guy wonder what his favorite dance mentor means to a hormone-riddled teenager?”

Nano stage-whispered, “He’s jealous.”

“I am not,” Jun said.

“You are,” Dylan said, something dangerous in his tone.

There was a long pause.

Then Jun smiled, lazy and smug again. “Well. At least someone around here appreciates you. I just thought you liked a little more mystery than fanboy confessions on floral stationery.”

Nano looked between them. “This is getting hot.”

Dylan stared into the camera. “I didn’t read it.”

“Yet,” Jun corrected.

“Won’t,” Dylan replied.

“Why not?”

Dylan paused. Then muttered, “Because I don’t want to.”

The chat exploded.

Thame was yelling, “OH MY GODDD HE’S TURNING HIM DOWN!”

Pepper added, “He’s being considerate!”

Po squealed, “Protective heart-melting behavior!”

Nano just howled with laughter.

Jun, though—Jun was quiet. Eyes trained on Dylan’s face, even through a screen. His voice, when he spoke again, was soft.

“Then why’re you still wearing the bracelet?”

Dylan didn’t answer right away.

Finally, he said, “Because it’s not about him.”

Jun raised a brow. “No?”

Dylan leaned forward, tone cool. “Sometimes, I wear things because they remind me who I need to be.”

Jun’s smirk dropped for just a second.

Nano slowly lowered his cup.

“Okay,” Thame muttered. “I take it back. This is a drama.”

“Best episode so far,” Po whispered.

And Jun? He just smiled again—smaller this time, no teeth—and said, “Message received.”

The call ended shortly after.

And the letter remained unread. Hidden beneath Dylan’s notes. But the bracelet stayed on.

And Jun didn’t sleep easy that night.

Neither did Dylan.

And Rin?
He dreamed of a stage where Dylan held his lyrics—and nothing else.
Poor kid had no idea he’d just become the third point in a triangle that had already been drawn.

Chapter Text

That night, the dorm buzzed with leftover chaos from the group video call. Rin had vanished into his blanket fort, mortified beyond belief, while the other trainees couldn’t stop teasing him about the love letter. Nano, predictably, had taken full advantage of the moment—looping the same dramatic gasp clip he recorded during the call, adding sound effects and text overlays like “Love Triangle Unlocked?!?” and “Jun’s Face When He Saw the Letter 😳”.

But even that chaos was swiftly overshadowed.

At 11:42 PM, just as Nano was climbing into bed, his phone buzzed. A message popped into their group chat from Thame:

🚨 Jun’s fake PR girlfriend just got ENGAGED. It’s all over the news.

The girl’s family just held an official press conference about it. Not even denying it anymore.

That night, the internet went to war.

Just past 1:00 a.m., social media blew up with news that shattered millions of fan-made photo edits and couple playlists.

“BREAKING: Couple Jun of MARS & Actress Bambi call it quits—Bambi now engaged to non-celebrity fiancé picked by her parents.”

It’s everywhere. #JunHeartbreak is trending No. 1 in Thailand and Korea.

Nano sat right back up. “Dylan,” he whispered.

Dylan, who’d just gotten into bed, looked at him warily. “What now?”

Nano tilted the screen so Dylan could read it.

#RIPJunBi
#JunHeartbroken
#SupportJunMARS

The Next Morning coincidentally their schedule for the day had shifted. Dylan and Nano weren’t required to report to the training floor until later that morning. The younger trainees were already in warm-ups when they both strolled into the small lounge area attached to the staff side of the dorms.

There was a video. Of course there was. A livestreamed press conference with a crisp white backdrop and a bouquet that looked way too cheerful for what was about to go down.

The large wall-mounted screen was already on, and an SM staff member had left the company news stream playing.

Jun and his fake PR girlfriend, sitting side by side at a press conference in Bangkok. The girl had her hands neatly folded on her lap. Jun wore a muted grey blazer, his hair down and styled carefully messy. The set had warm lighting, just enough to highlight the melancholia on Jun’s face.

“We want to thank everyone who supported our relationship over the past year,” the girl said first, with a sad but rehearsed smile. “But after much discussion and reflection, we’ve decided to part ways.”

Jun nodded solemnly, eyes cast downward.

“This was a mutual decision,” he said. “And one we believe is the best for both our personal growth and careers.”

Then came the clincher: Jun sighed softly, lips parting like he was swallowing down the weight of it. “I will always wish her happiness. And I hope everyone will support her in this next chapter of her life.”

Nano was munching on a rice bar while standing behind Dylan, who was standing in front of the screen, arms crossed.

The camera panned in close—Jun’s eyes looked glassy, like he might cry but was just holding it back.

Dylan let out a small scoff under his breath.

Then, almost too quietly for Nano to hear, he murmured, “What a good actor.”

Nano immediately leaned forward over Dylan’s shoulder. “What was that?” he grinned. “You okay, mister stoic?”

“I’m fine,” Dylan said flatly, gaze still locked on the screen. He didn’t blink.

Nano smirked. “Looks like somebody’s finally free.”

“Yeah,” Dylan said, tone unreadable. “Finally.”

The press conference ended with a polite bow from both Jun and the girl. The moment the feed cut, Dylan turned around and walked away without another word, heading to their shared prep room.

Nano stared after him with a raised brow.
He pulled out his phone and texted the group:

Dylan just watched Jun’s breakup press conference in complete silence, then whispered to himself “what a good actor.”
Thame: 😳
Pepper: ooooooooooooooh
Nano: oh we’re SO BACK 😈
Thame: do u want me to fly to the camp rn. I want front row seats
Po: it’s giving “I would’ve been a better boyfriend” energy 😭😭
Nano: IT IS
Pepper: someone livestream Dylan when Jun shows up next

Nano and Dylan were scheduled to join the training sessions a little later than usual. Something about a pre-scheduled online PR obligation, which Nano completed half-asleep and Dylan breezed through with minimal words.

By the time they made it to the cafeteria for lunch, it was well past 1 p.m., and most of the trainees were already gathered at the long tables. The room buzzed with chatter—low, excited, curious. All around, snippets of the same topic were overheard.

"I feel so bad for P'Jun. He looked so heartbroken."

"That actress... she didn’t have to announce the engagement so soon."

"Did you see how he bowed his head? My heart shattered."

Dylan walked in beside Nano, tray in hand, and could already feel the atmosphere shift. Several younger trainees looked his way with wide, star-struck eyes. Not for him—no. For the topic surrounding him.

Nano grinned as he sat down with a loud plop. "They’ve been talking about Jun all day. Poor guy’s a walking K-drama now."

Twelve young trainees—all bright-eyed, buzzing with gossip, and some still wiping sweat off their brows—were seated in loose clusters. The moment Dylan and Nano stepped in, the tone of the room shifted.

Quiet glances. Hushed whispers. Even a glance or two.

The pair got their trays and took a spot near the middle of the room. As they settled in, Dylan noticed the stares hadn’t stopped.

“Did you see how sad he looked?” one trainee whispered behind them.

“I feel so bad for P’Jun. Getting left like that… must be awful.”

“Poor guy, always smiling, and then this?”

Nano leaned in, grinning. “He’s about to get canonized as the Nation’s Heartbroken Prince.”

Dylan hummed. His eyes were tired, but his face remained impassive.

A moment later, a familiar face approached—Rin.

Blushing as usual, clutching his hands behind his back, Rin took hesitant steps toward Dylan. His eyes darted left and right, clearly scanning to see who was watching.

“P’Dylan… um…” Rin glanced down shyly. “About the lyrics I gave you… and… the note…”

Dylan looked up, lips parting to answer—

But the doors swung open with a bang.

Jun.

The room practically inhaled in unison.

If someone had added a slow-mo filter and sparkles, it wouldn’t have looked out of place.

Jun strode in with all the aura of a heartbroken leading man on the rebound. Hair perfectly tousled, sunglasses pushed up onto his head, sleeves rolled just enough to show a forearm vein. Even his walk was tailored—deliberate but casual, like he wasn’t expecting every eye to land on him.

Gasps echoed.

Someone actually whispered, “It’s him…”

Jun walked in, a hoodie pulled over his head, sunglasses perched on his nose, and an expression like he hadn’t slept in days. It was almost too convincing. Or maybe it wasn’t acting at all—Dylan couldn’t tell anymore.

He entered like someone who wasn’t used to being looked at—hood up, sunglasses on, hands in the pockets. His face was unreadable. His pace steady.

But his path? Direct.

Straight to Dylan.

The room fell completely silent as Jun walked past every trainee, ignoring their stunned expressions. He didn’t greet anyone. Didn’t pause. Just walked up to Dylan’s side, tilted his head slightly—

He simply made a beeline toward Dylan like he belonged there—like there was no other option.

He reached the table, ignored everyone else, and plopped down heavily beside Dylan like he owned the spot.

Then, without a word, Jun reached for Dylan’s waist and hugged him.

Almost every head turned. One trainee audibly gasped. Another whispered, "Is that...P’Jun?!"

Full-on, two-arm wraparound. Head resting just under Dylan’s shoulder. His body leaned close, familiar, heavy with unspoken context.

The silence turned into muffled whispers. Everyone watched.

Dylan stiffened, completely caught off guard. “Jun—what are you—?”

Jun spoke lowly, loud enough for nearby ears to catch. “Can’t I ask for support from my dear friend… after the worst night of my life?”

He even added a small sigh. Perfectly timed.

Rin froze where he stood.

Dylan looked around, aware of all the gazes. His ears burned.

He leaned into Jun’s hair and hissed quietly, “What the hell are you doing?”

Jun tilted his face up, smug behind those damn sunglasses and he whispered so only Dylan would hear. “It stopped smelling like you.”

Rin was still standing there, his presence forgotten in the war of quiet tension.

Jun snuggled closer.

Dylan whispered again, “So you’re doing this on purpose?”

“Doing what?” Jun replied, voice sugar-sweet. “I’m just a man in need of emotional comfort.”

Dylan tried not to roll his eyes. “In front of twelve trainees and half the cafeteria?”

Jun shrugged. “I’d do it in front of the entire country if you’d let me.”

Dylan turned crimson.

Jun didn’t let go.

Jun turned his head slightly—just enough for Rin to see him nuzzling closer to Dylan’s side. Enough to make eye contact with Rin over Dylan’s shoulder. He smiled.

And that was it.

Rin stepped back. His smile faltered. Not hurt—just confused, overwhelmed. He nodded awkwardly and mumbled, “I’ll, um… maybe later.”

He returned to his seat.

Nano, chewing a mouthful of fried rice, simply raised both eyebrows. “Well. That just happened.”

Dylan cleared his throat. “Jun. Let go.”

“Hmm?”

“People are staring.”

“I’m sad,” Jun said innocently.

“Use Nano as a pillow,” Dylan hissed.

Jun pouted. “But he’s bony.”

“Hey!” Nano said, mouth full.

Dylan let out a sharp exhale, halfway between exasperation and something dangerously close to fondness.

Jun sat back a little, though his hand stayed on Dylan’s lower back, thumb lazily rubbing circles there like he had no idea what he was doing. He knew exactly what he was doing.

Dylan sighed, surrendering with a helpless huff. "If you’re gonna cling, at least eat something. I’m not your pillow."

Jun finally smiled, small and smug. He didn’t move.

All around them, the cafeteria buzzed with whispers. No one dared say anything out loud, but the looks exchanged were loud enough.

Meanwhile, Rin quietly picked at his lunch, eyes occasionally flickering toward Dylan’s side of the room.

And Jun, perfectly content with his spot, closed his eyes like he hadn’t just turned the entire training camp lunch hour into his own silent drama.

Chapter Text

By the time lunch ended, the cafeteria was abuzz. Whispers chased Jun and Dylan as they stood to clear their trays. Jun—still glued to Dylan’s side like a clingy ex-boyfriend (or boyfriend, depending on who you asked)—didn’t seem to notice or care that nearly every trainee was now thoroughly invested in the MARS domestic saga unraveling live before their rice bowls.

Rin tried not to look.

But of course he did. His eyes kept flicking toward Dylan and Jun, searching for clues. Maybe Jun just needed comfort. Maybe Dylan was just being polite. Maybe… maybe Rin still had a chance.

Jun didn’t leave Dylan’s side the entire afternoon.

Even as training resumed, Jun lingered behind like a forgotten accessory Dylan couldn’t quite shake. During staff check-ins, Jun “accidentally” wandered into the training studio where Dylan and Nano were observing vocal evaluations and simply… stayed. He slouched in a corner with a can of soda, dark circles under his eyes (absolutely makeup), and offered periodic sighs like an abandoned housewife.

“Did you see him hug P’Dylan?”

“They looked so close! Do you think they’re like…?”

“No way, right? I mean… are they?”

Rin barely heard the trainers calling counts. He was too busy replaying the image in his head—Jun, sliding into Dylan’s side like he belonged there. Dylan, frozen but not pushing him away. Jun’s thumb rubbing lazy circles over Dylan’s back like it was the most natural thing in the world.

Rin had only meant to approach Dylan once. Just once. Just to talk, maybe to ask what he thought of the lyrics. Maybe to explain the letter, even if it was embarrassing.

But Jun.

Rin wasn’t even upset. Just… unsure.

Jun was older. Beautiful. Effortlessly confident in a way that made him look like he belonged in dramas, not real life. And the way he leaned into Dylan—like he’d done it a hundred times. Like he wasn’t asking for closeness; he was claiming it.

Still. Rin wasn’t the type to give up easily.

He’d written those lyrics for a reason.

Every time Nano glanced at him, Jun gave a tiny wave and an exaggerated blink—utterly tragic.

“Are you kidding me,” Nano muttered under his breath. “This man had coffee with his PR manager thirty minutes ago. Why is he acting like he got dumped via voicemail?”

Jun just sighed again.

Dylan didn’t comment. He simply watched the evaluations with the same blank-faced focus as usual. Except once—when Jun shuffled a little closer and leaned against the mirrored wall with a barely-there smile. Dylan’s ears turned pink, which Nano noted and filed away like a gossip goblin.

“Do you need to be glued to my side?” he muttered after a while.

“I’m fragile,” Jun replied solemnly. “You saw the press conference. I’m emotionally compromised.”

“You’re emotionally annoying.”

Jun blinked innocently. “Wow. Kicking a man while he’s down?”

“I’m not kicking anything. You’re the one throwing yourself at me like an overgrown koala.”

Jun tilted his head. “I’ve never seen a koala this attractive.”

Dylan made a choking sound and focused hard on the trainees again.

Meanwhile, across the studio, Rin watched. Not constantly—but often enough that Nano caught him. The younger boy’s brows were furrowed like he was doing math he didn’t want to solve.

Nano ambled over casually, clipboard in hand. “You okay?” he asked, nudging Rin’s arm.

Rin startled. “Eh? Oh! Yes. I’m… I’m okay, P’Nano.”

Rin was trying. Really trying.

He threw himself into dance drills with more energy than usual, seeking every moment he could to catch Dylan’s eye—whether it was when he stuck a tricky turn or held a sustained note just a second longer than needed. At one point during a break, he quietly approached Nano to ask, “P’Nano… do you think P’Dylan liked the lyrics?”

Nano blinked. “Lyrics? Ohhh—those lyrics?”

Rin’s face flushed crimson.

“Yeah,” Nano said thoughtfully. “They were… sweet. Very sweet. Real baby’s first crush energy.”

“Oh,” Rin mumbled, tugging at his sleeves. “That’s not— I just thought maybe…”

But Nano had already turned back to the studio window, casually remarking, “You’ll need more than a cute lyric to distract him from that.”

He gestured toward the glass.

Inside, Jun was sprawled dramatically across two chairs behind Dylan like a tragic novel protagonist, while Dylan sat ramrod straight, chewing on the inside of his cheek like it was the only way to stay alive.

And Jun? Jun was tracing lazy circles on Dylan’s sleeve with a capped pen.

Rin said nothing more.

Later that night, the trainees gathered again in the dorm lounge. The TV was on, half the kids clustered around an old re-airing of a variety show Jun had guested on last year.

Jun entered the room mid-episode—hoodie again, hands in pockets. A hush fell over the crowd. No one dared acknowledge the press conference, but their eyes screamed sympathy.

He headed straight for Dylan, who was sitting on the couch next to Nano, scrolling silently on his phone.

Jun sat down with a sigh. Not beside Dylan.

On Dylan.

Or more precisely—half-on, half-beside, one leg draped over Dylan’s lap like he forgot what chairs were.

“Jun,” Dylan said, not looking up.

“I’m cold,” Jun said, voice soft.

“Use a blanket.”

“This is my emotional blanket.”

Nano snorted.

Rin, from where he sat cross-legged near the edge of the room, watched like a curious deer peeking through the trees.

Jun flopped even more weight against Dylan, resting his head on Dylan’s shoulder. Then, for good measure, he wrapped one arm around Dylan’s bicep and exhaled like it hurt to breathe.

Dylan didn’t move. But his neck flushed pink again.

“Don’t you think it’s too soon to flirt?” he whispered under his breath.

“I’m not flirting,” Jun murmured, too close. “I’m grieving. Let me grieve… on your body.”

Nano wheezed.

Rin shifted awkwardly. His eyes flickered between them, mouth parted like he wanted to say something but couldn’t. He looked down instead, rubbing the back of his hand nervously.

And then Jun, with the softest, most obviously premeditated melancholy, said out loud for the room to hear: “It’s just hard, you know? Giving everything to someone… and realizing they never saw you at all.”

Rin visibly flinched. Nano choked on his water.

Jun tilted his face up at Dylan, half-smiling. “But some people… always see you.”

Dylan stared at the wall. “You are insufferable.”

“And yet, here I am,” Jun beamed.

Later that night, the trainees returned to their rooms. Lights dimmed. The staff called for quiet hours.

Nano sat cross-legged on his bed, tapping out some evil meme edit in the dark. Jun had disappeared somewhere, which should’ve worried Dylan, but didn’t. Because he knew Jun. And if Jun wasn’t making noise, he was planning noise.

Dylan had barely changed into his sleep shirt when someone knocked on the dorm door. Three short taps. Two fast.

Jun’s code.

Dylan opened it. “What.”

Jun stepped inside like it was his room. He was already holding a pillow.

“No.”

“Yes,” Jun said, breezing past.

“You have your own room at a hotel.”

“I have trauma,” Jun replied, flopping onto Dylan’s bed dramatically.

Nano didn’t even look up. “Good luck, Dylan. I’m turning up my music.”

Chapter Text

Jun kicked his shoes off and burrowed under Dylan’s blanket. “I’m cold.”

“You’re acting.”

“Acting like someone who’s been publicly humiliated and replaced by a rich investment banker, yes.”

“You were never dating her,” Dylan snapped.

Jun gasped, mock-offended. “So cold. After everything we had?”

Dylan sighed. “Why are you really here?”

Jun looked up, head propped on Dylan’s pillow. “They’re all whispering about me again. Crying in the practice rooms. Mourning my fictional heartbreak. It’s exhausting.”

“Then maybe don’t feed it.”

“I could,” Jun said thoughtfully, “but then I wouldn’t get to do… this.”

And he sat up on his knees and hugged Dylan from behind, arms slinking around his waist and chin on his shoulder.

Dylan stiffened. “You’re not sad.”

“Maybe I am. Maybe I’m just in need of physical comfort.”

“You’re showing off.”

Jun smiled into Dylan’s neck. “You noticed?”

“You want Rin to see.”

Jun didn’t answer.

Dylan turned his head. “He’s eighteen, Jun.”

“I know,” Jun said simply. “That’s why I’m making sure he backs off.”

Dylan gave him a look. “He’s just a kid.”

“A kid with a crush and a letter,” Jun murmured. “And the kind of courage I don’t like watching you reward.”

Dylan blinked.

“Jun…”

Jun finally loosened his arms, but didn’t move away. “You didn’t read his letter out loud.”

“Of course not.”

“You defended me.”

“I didn’t need to. You were faking.”

“Still,” Jun said softly, “thank you.”

Dylan exhaled slowly. “You’re impossible.”

Jun grinned and tugged Dylan down into bed.

Nano turned slightly with his eyes closed, from his bed “Are y’all making out yet or can I turn off the music?”

“SHUT UP,” Dylan and Jun chorused.

By the next morning, Jun had fully committed to his role as the Brokenhearted Idol. He showed up to the studio in all black—black joggers, black hoodie, black cap pulled low—and a mask that somehow made his eyes look even more pitiful.

Nano arrived with Dylan, deadpan as ever.

“I swear, if he starts singing sad OSTs in the shower, I’m calling the label.”

Jun was already inside the studio lounge, cradling a cup of tea with both hands like it was his only tether to this mortal realm.

Nano muttered, “He’s weaponizing emotional support. Ruthless.”

Dylan pressed the cold bottle to his face and muttered, “I hate that it works.”

Dylan walked in and instantly locked eyes with him. Jun lifted his tea slowly in greeting, expression solemn.

“I’m mourning,” he said.

“It’s been 36 hours,” Dylan replied.

“Grief knows no schedule.”

“You were laughing five minutes ago.”

“That was hysteria.”

Rin was nearby, sipping his protein drink nervously, sneaking glances every few seconds.

He waited for his moment.

Just after warm-ups ended, Rin approached again—this time with slightly more confidence, though his hands still trembled.

“P’Dylan,” he said, voice soft. “Um… do you want to hear the new melody I made? It’s based on… those lyrics. The ones I gave you.”

Jun’s head immediately turned.

Dylan blinked, but kept his voice even. “That’s thoughtful, Rin. But maybe later, okay? We’re starting the vocal sessions now.”

Rin nodded quickly. “Oh—yes. Sorry. I didn’t mean to bother you.”

He stepped back.

Jun, watching the interaction with quiet triumph, waited until Rin was out of earshot before leaning into Dylan and whispering, “He’s very sweet.”

“Don’t.”

“Hmm?”

“You’re gloating.”

Jun grinned. “I’m clinging.”

“You don’t need comfort. You need a leash.”

Jun’s grin widened. “You offering?”

Dylan looked away, ears red.

Nano, from across the room, sent a single text to the MARS group chat:

Jun just said Dylan should leash him and Dylan didn’t deny it 😵‍💫

After a morning of individual vocal lessons, Dylan stood by the studio hallway, watching through the glass as Rin finished recording a ballad.

The kid had talent. Earnest, emotional, and more than a little raw. But still so young.

As the track ended, Rin exited, face bright with a hopeful smile. “P’Dylan! Did you hear it?”

“I did,” Dylan said with a gentle nod. “You’ve got a good tone, Rin. A little more breath control, and it’ll shine even more.”

Rin lit up. “Thank you! I was thinking… maybe you could help me with the bridge harmony sometime?”

Before Dylan could answer, Jun popped his head out of a side door, brows furrowed in fake concern.

“Dylan. I think I left my charger in your room.”

“You did not,” Dylan said flatly.

Jun blinked. “But I’m emotionally fragile.”

“You have three chargers.”

“I’m broken,” Jun said, stepping beside him and slipping an arm behind his waist. “I might forget how to charge things entirely.”

Rin’s smile faltered.

Dylan sighed, looked at Rin, and offered a quiet, kind smile. “Let’s talk later, okay?”

Rin nodded slowly. “Okay, P’Dylan…”

As he left, Jun leaned in.

Dylan turned his head, gaze unreadable. “You’re lucky I haven’t strangled you yet.”

Jun smiled, eyes soft. “You’d miss me too much.”

Dylan didn’t answer.

But he didn’t step away either.

And Jun, ever the showman, rested his head on Dylan’s shoulder once more—public affection, disguised as platonic support, wrapped in grief he never really felt.

Later that night, Rin had been pacing outside the lounge door for twenty minutes.

He finally stepped in around 9:30 p.m., heart hammering. Dylan was sitting on the couch, towel slung around his neck, hair still wet from a post-practice shower.

He was alone. Jun had finally gone back to his hotel. And Nano was off to watch a movie in the common room with the other kids.

Rin gathered every ounce of courage he had.

“P’Dylan,” he said quietly, sitting down beside him. “I… um. I wanted to talk.”

Dylan turned, gentle. “Okay.”

Rin took a breath. “I know you saw the note. The lyrics. I… I know I’m probably too young to understand everything. But I really meant what I wrote.”

Dylan’s expression didn’t shift. But his eyes softened.

Rin swallowed. “I just wanted to say it out loud. That I like you. I really like you.”

He looked up, eyes hopeful. Shaky.

Dylan didn’t speak right away. When he finally did, it was with a calm, low voice.

“Rin,” he said. “I think you’re a really kind kid. Talented. Brave.”

Rin’s smile trembled.

“But… you’re still growing. There’s so much ahead of you. Right now, what you feel—it’s real. I believe that. But it’s not something I can return.”

Rin blinked. “Because I’m a kid?”

“Because you’re still you. Still becoming you,” Dylan said gently. “And maybe someday you’ll look back and realize you wanted different things.”

Rin bit his lip, then nodded.

Dylan added, “Also… I already like someone.”

Rin’s head shot up.

Dylan paused. Then he smiled faintly. “I just don’t like admitting it.”

Dylan looked away, ears a little pink.

Rin gave a shy laugh. “Oh is that so.”

There was no heartbreak in his voice. Just a kind of reluctant understanding. Maybe even relief.

“I still like you though,” Rin mumbled. “But I’ll stop trying.”

Dylan looked back at him. “Just make sure you care for yourself first.”

Rin nodded. “Okay.”

The two sat in silence for a beat.

Then Rin stood, offered a sheepish bow, and said, “Good night, P’Dylan.”

“Good night, Rin.”

He left.

Not broken. Just… changed.

Dylan leaned back on the couch, rubbing his face with both hands.

A second later, a notification pinged on his phone.

[Jun 🐺]

sooooo… can i come back now 😇
or are u still being noble and emotionally mature and rejecting innocent boys in dorm rooms

Dylan typed back, lips twitching.

[You]

you were listening?

[Jun 🐺]

i was nearby 😌
…also how come i don’t get that version of you when i confess things?

Dylan stared at the screen.

He typed.

Deleted.

Typed again.

[You]

because when your timings are bad.

The reply came instantly.

[Jun 🐺]

So you mean you’re too wreaked to speak then?
now open the door, i still havn’t got my charger

Dylan sighed.

Got up.

And opened the door.

Chapter Text

The knock was soft.

Dylan didn’t even look up. He already knew.

“Door’s open,” he called, voice low.

Jun let himself in with all the drama of a man who had no business being so smug. Hair tousled, hoodie hanging loose over shorts that barely qualified as clothing, and a phone charger twirled dramatically between his fingers like some talisman of innocence.

“I’m only here for the charger,” he said breezily. “You may continue brooding.”

Dylan glanced up from the couch, still in his hoodie and sweats from earlier, a towel around his neck, hair damp from his second shower of the night. He didn’t rise. Just looked.

One long look that stripped Jun’s show clean off his face.

Jun faltered for half a second—half a heartbeat—and then smirked again.

“I see you remembered your charger this time.”

Jun held it up. “Just in case you changed your mind about being emotionally supportive.”

Dylan raised an eyebrow. “You mean emotionally blackmailed.”

“Semantics.” Jun slipped past him and into the dorm room without waiting for an invitation, flopping face-first onto Dylan’s bed with a dramatic sigh. “I deserve to rest. Breakup is exhausting.”

Dylan shut the door behind him. “You didn’t breakup.”

Jun peeked up. “You mean I still have a chance?”

“I mean you weren’t even in a real relationship with her.”

Jun rolled onto his back with a grin. “Oh, I was trying. Just in character. I didn’t realize you preferred sincerity over style.”

“You don’t know the meaning of sincerity.”

“I know I mean it when I touch you.”

Jun sat up, eyes glinting with something dangerous and light, and slowly reached for Dylan’s wrist. Dylan didn’t move—just watched him, wary.

“I know,” Jun said softly, “that you didn’t push me away earlier.”

Dylan stared at him. “You were being ridiculous.”

“And you let me,” Jun murmured, fingers now tracing Dylan’s palm with unhurried ease. “You let me do a lot of things.”

“Because you’re annoying.”

“Because you like me.”

Dylan’s breath hitched, almost imperceptibly. Jun smiled.

“Are you going to deny it?” he whispered, leaning forward until they were almost nose to nose.

Dylan’s throat bobbed with a swallow.

Then he said, “I think you’ve had enough attention for one day.”

Jun’s smirk widened. “That’s not a no.”

He leaned in even closer, lips grazing Dylan’s jaw—not quite a kiss, but close enough to burn. Dylan gripped the edge of his desk, knuckles white.

“Jun,” he warned, voice hoarse.

Jun didn’t stop. “I watched you turn that boy down like he was made of glass. So careful. So soft.”

“I had to be.”

Jun pulled back just enough to look him in the eye. “And with me?”

“You’re not fragile,” Dylan said, almost bitterly. “You’re sharp. You cut.”

“Then bleed a little,” Jun whispered, mouth brushing Dylan’s again—but not fully. “I’ll be gentle.”

Dylan made a sound halfway between a groan and a curse and pushed him back, but not hard. More like he needed air. Jun let him, but not before slipping his fingers into Dylan’s hair and tugging—just once, gently.

“You drive me insane,” Dylan muttered.

“Like how?” he asked, sauntering in.

Dylan’s eyes didn’t move. “You heard everything.”

Jun shrugged. “I was outside. Not my fault the doors here are thin.”

Dylan wasn’t smiling.

“Jun.”

Jun blinked.

Dylan’s voice was quiet, but it carried the weight of everything they’d danced around. “Why do we do this?”

Jun tilted his head. “Do what?”

Dylan didn’t flinch. “You already know.”

Jun stared at him for a beat. Then the grin slowly faded from his lips.

He sank onto the couch beside him, silent.

For a moment, neither of them said anything.

Then Jun broke it—softly, without drama this time. “You already like me. I see it. Everyone sees it. Why won’t you just let it happen?”

Dylan didn’t look at him.

“I don’t—”

Jun cut in, voice low. “You do. But you’re scared.”

Dylan turned, brow furrowed. “I’m not scared of liking you. I’m scared of what you’ll turn it into.”

Jun blinked. “What do you think I’ll turn it into?”

“Something unserious. Something performative.” Dylan exhaled. “A joke.”

Jun didn’t respond for a long time.

Then he leaned in slowly, so slowly Dylan didn’t realize how close he was until Jun’s voice came, barely a breath from his lips.

“I never joke when I want something this badly.”

Dylan’s breath hitched.

Jun’s eyes flicked to his mouth, hovered.

“You want to kiss me,” Dylan whispered.

Jun smiled faintly. “No. I want you to want to kiss me.”

The air tightened.

They didn’t move.

Didn’t speak.

The distance between them was a breath. A decision. A single surrender.

And then—Jun sat back with a slow sigh, like letting go of the moment was the hardest thing he’d done all week.

He slouched into the couch dramatically. “But anyway, good talk. Very emotionally fulfilling.”

Dylan let out a sound—half a laugh, half disbelief—as the spell broke.

But not completely.

Because Jun didn’t stay put.

He reached out, fingers brushing Dylan’s forearm under the sleeve of his hoodie. “You were noble today,” he murmured. “Very mature.”

“I’m always mature,” Dylan said warily.

Jun’s fingers moved higher, slow and lazy. “Mmm. Not when I do this.”

He pressed his palm to Dylan’s shoulder and started a casual massage, thumbs digging gently into the muscle there.

Dylan’s jaw flexed.

“Jun.”

“Just repaying you for the emotional labor,” Jun said innocently, crawling up onto the couch until he was behind Dylan, knees pressing into either side of his thigh, body pressed close.

Dylan shifted. “You’re doing too much.”

Jun smirked against his neck. “You didn’t say no.”

His hands slipped from Dylan’s shoulders to his chest, trailing fingertips lightly down the front of his hoodie. Then lower.

Dylan inhaled sharply, closing his eyes.

Jun’s lips brushed the shell of his ear.

“If I kissed you,” he whispered, “would you still be noble?”

Dylan froze.

Didn’t answer.

Didn’t have to.

Jun leaned in. Dylan’s eyes fluttered shut. Their noses brushed—soft and accidental, a whisper away from real.

Then Jun stopped.

Pulled back, smirking like a devil in repose.

“Still thinking,” he said sweetly, and plopped down beside him, legs stretched out across the couch, clearly pleased with himself.

Dylan opened his eyes, dazed.

“You’re evil.”

This time Dylan tugged Jun back in.

Their mouths met again, with certainty. Jun smiled against him, triumphant but tender. Dylan’s fingers curled into the front of his shirt, pulling him closer, grounding himself in the moment.

Jun kissed like he always moved—teasing, fluid, confident—but there was something softer buried in the way he let Dylan lead, how he didn’t push too far, how he stayed close, almost reverent.

Dylan broke the kiss first, panting slightly. “You’re going to ruin me.”

“But I’m cozy,” Jun corrected, and tucked his feet under Dylan’s thigh like nothing had happened at all.

They stayed like that—quiet, pressed together, warmth shared in the hush of a room no one else would enter.

Until—

The door opened, and Nano stepped in.

He paused.

Raised a brow.

Jun waved with one hand, not bothering to move. As if Thame’s soul had taken over Jun’s body and stuck onto a Jun in Dylan’s disguise. “I got my charger.”

Nano blinked. “This isn’t your room.”

“It’s spiritual proximity,” Jun said.

Nano stared, then muttered, “I’m getting earplugs,” and retreated to the bed.

Jun watched him go, then leaned into Dylan’s shoulder.

“Still cozy,” he whispered.

Dylan didn’t answer. Just let him stay.

He walked to his bed, pulled his blanket over his head, and added, “If y’all traumatize me, I’m reporting you to HR.”

“Please do,” Jun muttered. “They can put me on paid leave.”

Dylan said nothing. Still silent, still still.

Later, after Nano drifted off under a blanket and the lights dimmed to soft amber, Jun stood from the couch and stretched.

A minute passed. Then two. The dorm grew quiet.

The performance had faded.

So had the grin.

Dylan and Jun retreated under the covers in silence. Jun pressed his nose into Dylan’s shoulder.

“You taste like toothpaste,” he whispered.

“Because I brushed my teeth.”

“You’re so responsible.”

“Shut up.”

Jun nudged closer under the blanket, bodies spooned lightly. Nano’s phone played softly in the background, but Jun tuned it out.

“I meant it, you know,” he murmured eventually.

Dylan blinked in the dark. “Which part?”

“All of it.” A pause. “But mostly the part where I hate that I’m not Rin.”

Dylan turned his head, startled. “What?”

Jun’s voice was muffled, but a little smudged with sarcasm. “He gets the best version of you.”

“Oh really? So you mean you’d like me to rather reject you than straddle you?”

Jun looked up this time with more seriousness.

Dylan met his eyes, equally serious. Vulnerable in the way he never allowed himself to be, not in rehearsals, not in interviews, not even with the rest of MARS.

“It was you,” he said softly. “It’s always been you.”

Jun’s breath stuttered.

For once, he had nothing to say.

“Can I hold your hand under the blanket?”

Dylan gave a quiet, breathless smile. “Yeah.”

Nano didn’t stir.

Under the blanket, their hands found each other.

Jun whispered something inaudible, a breath of sound against the dark. Dylan didn’t need to hear it to know what it meant.

And when Jun finally tucked his head against Dylan’s shoulder, Dylan didn’t pull away.

He only whispered back, “You’re ridiculous.”

But he held on tighter.

And Jun held back, wordless, but certain.

They didn’t kiss.

They didn’t need to.

In the dark, beneath the soft hum of the dorm’s air conditioning, two hands stayed clasped—unmoving, unafraid—for the rest of the night.

Chapter Text

The SM Thailand director had suddenly come up with the idea of sending the trainees and mentors to spending the last two days at their junior camp. And MARS media team (playing the matchmaker without even meaning to) thought it'd be pure bonding content after Jun's PR breakup so they sent in Thame and Pepper along with Po, as their media manager, to get a few shoots and utilities the opportunity.

The SM Thailand junior camp was nestled deep in a forested area north of Chiang Mai, where the air was cooler, the stars were clearer, and the trainees were—unfortunately—louder than ever.

Day eight began with a hike, meant to build stamina and unity, but mostly resulting in chaos. Nano led the trail with his ever-reliable loudspeaker voice, shouting directions and egging on the youngest trainees like a hyperactive camp counselor.

Jun and Dylan stayed near the end, walking side by side, their elbows occasionally brushing.

“I feel like I’m herding cats,” Dylan muttered as one of the juniors darted off the path to chase a squirrel.

Jun tilted his head to the side, his grin lazy. “Isn’t that what being a mentor is all about? Patience. Poise. Pain.”

“You,” Dylan said, eyes narrowing, “are none of those things.”

Jun made an exaggerated gasp. “That hurt. But you still walked next to me, so…”

Dylan sighed and pretended to focus on the trail ahead, but his ears turned red.

Somehow, between Nano yelling about hydration and Pepper losing signal on the GPS, Jun and Dylan veered a little too far from the others.

They hadn’t meant to.

They’d just paused by a tree to look at something Jun swore was a wild raspberry bush (“It wasn’t,” Dylan said), and when they turned back—no footsteps. No voices. Just trees.

“Oh,” Dylan said flatly. “Great.”

The hiking trail was supposed to be “moderately challenging,” which apparently meant “steep, muddy, and covered in misleading signs.” Nano had cheerfully handed out maps that looked like someone had doodled over topographic lines and wished them luck.

That was two hours ago.

Now, Jun and Dylan were very much not on the main trail.

“I told you we should’ve turned at the weird tree,” Dylan muttered, swatting a branch out of his face.

Jun ducked under it with ease, grinning. “Define weird. They’re all weird. It’s a forest.”

Dylan stopped abruptly, hands on his hips, breathing hard. “We’re lost.”

Jun turned around and kept walking backward, giving Dylan an infuriating full-body once-over. “We’re not lost. We’re… temporarily off-grid. Intentionally. For team bonding.”

“You’re unbearable.”

“You like being alone with me,” Jun sing-songed.

Dylan gave him a flat look. “I like not dying in the woods.”

Jun held a hand up. “Trust me.”

Dylan didn’t move. “You said that right before the zipline incident.”

“That was character development.”

Jun finally stopped when the trees opened into a clearing by a stream—glassy, gurgling, sunlight flickering across its surface. It looked almost magical, if you ignored the biting flies and general threat of dehydration.

Jun plopped down on a mossy rock and patted the space beside him. “We’ll wait here. They’ll realize we’re gone eventually. Nano probably already called a search party.”

Nano, as it turned out, had noticed they were gone.

He was pacing back and forth at the trailhead, windbreaker flapping like a stressed-out duck. “They were right behind us! I swear, I heard Dylan complaining the whole time!”

Pepper adjusted his backpack, deadpan. “If we follow the sound of gay bickering, we’ll find them.”

Thame snorted. “You’re gonna need better sonar than that. They could be anywhere.” He turned and saw Po bent over their shared marshmallow stick, meticulously rearranging the skewers. “P'Po— Why are you—? That one’s already golden-brown.”

“I like it perfect,” Po replied without looking up. “Some of us have standards.”

“You’re gonna start a sugar fire,” Thame hissed, trying to snatch the stick. They ended up in a tug-of-war while Rin slowly backed away from the heat—emotional and literal.

Nano groaned. “Okay. Everyone stay here. I’ll check the ravine trail. If I’m not back in twenty, call the camp nurse. Tell her I finally snapped.”

Back at the stream, Jun was flat on his back, hands folded behind his head, watching the sky through the trees.

Dylan sat a cautious distance away, arms wrapped around his knees. “This is how horror movies start, you know.”

Jun smirked. “Good thing I’m hot. If anything’s gonna eat us, it’ll go for the bland one first.”

Dylan turned toward him, mouth open in protest—then froze.

Jun’s shirt had ridden up slightly, exposing a stretch of pale skin, the dip of his hipbone just visible above his waistband. He wasn’t even doing it on purpose. Probably.

“Staring,” Jun said, eyes still closed.

“I’m not.”

“Blatantly. You should’ve just taken a picture.”

Dylan threw a pebble at him. “Shut up.”

Jun caught the pebble one-handed, finally cracking an eye open. “You’re flustered.”

“I’m annoyed.”

Jun sat up slowly, stretching in that way that made his back muscles do unnecessary things. “You could come over here and prove it.”

Dylan didn’t move. Didn’t blink.

Jun stood. Walked the few steps separating them. Leaned over, palms braced on either side of Dylan’s shoulders against the tree.

“Unless,” Jun murmured, voice dropping half an octave, “you’re scared of me.”

“I’m not—” Dylan’s breath caught when Jun leaned in, close enough to smell the salt-sweet mix of sweat and cologne.

The air charged. Sunlight filtered through leaves, dappling their faces in gold. Somewhere, a bird trilled.

Jun’s lips quirked. “Just say the word.”

Dylan didn’t say a thing.

He just reached up, grabbed Jun’s shirt, and pulled him in.

It started with lips brushing, hesitant, testing—and then Dylan surged forward with all the pent-up frustration of a week’s worth of teasing, accusations, and stolen glances.

Jun made a sound low in his throat, deep and approving, as he pressed Dylan up against the tree trunk. The bark scratched slightly through Dylan’s shirt, but he didn’t care—especially not when Jun’s thigh slotted between his.

Their mouths moved in a heated rhythm—biting, then soft, then biting again.

Jun’s hands slipped under Dylan’s shirt, just fingers along the edge, not quite groping but definitely hovering. Dylan gasped against his mouth, then bit his bottom lip in retaliation.

“You kiss like you judge,” Jun mumbled against his skin. “Aggressive. Hot.”

“Shut up,” Dylan growled, and dragged him closer.

Jun laughed, breathless, as he reached up to tangle a hand in Dylan’s hair, tugging just hard enough to make him shiver. “You like being alone with me,” Jun said again, smug now.

Dylan tried to answer—truly, he did—but Jun kissed him again, and the thought slipped straight out of his head.

By the time Nano found them, Dylan’s shirt was half untucked, his hair a glorious mess of curls, and Jun was whistling like he hadn’t just pressed Dylan against a tree ten minutes ago.

Nano skidded to a stop, panting. “What the hell?! I thought you were dead! Or, like—half-eaten by bears!”

Jun stood and stretched. “We weren’t lost. Just delayed.”

“Important bonding,” Dylan added, avoiding eye contact.

Nano looked between them, narrowed his eyes, and then pointed. “Back to camp. Now. If either of you get eaten by a bear next time, I’m not filing paperwork.”

As they walked back, Jun casually reached over and plucked a leaf from Dylan’s hair.

“You look debauched,” he whispered.

Dylan elbowed him in the ribs. “You are unbearable.”

Jun just grinned.

Thame narrowed his eyes when Jun and Dylan returned.

“Why does Dylan look like he got wrestled by a cougar and liked it?” he muttered.

Po, still carefully roasting a marshmallow, shrugged. “Maybe he tripped.”

“On what? Jun’s tongue?”

Po coughed.

Thame looked at him sideways. “You’re weirdly invested in marshmallow symmetry. What’s your deal?”

Po didn’t answer, eyes fixed on the fire. “It’s sugar science. You wouldn’t understand.”

Thame stared. Then slowly turned back toward the fire.

Nano emerged from the woods, dramatically waving the map like a flag. “I found them! No thanks to this garbage!” He looked at Rin. “Next time we split up, I’m stapling a tracker to Jun’s forehead.”

Later that afternoon was Laundry Day. Chores, camp-style. Everyone had jobs. The sun was too bright for this kind of humiliation.

"Chores build character!" Nano had declared that morning, with all the joyful tyranny of someone who hadn’t touched laundry since high school. “Today, we cleanse not just our souls—but our socks!”

And so, Jun and Dylan found themselves at the river with a plastic tub, a pile of clothes, and a handful of trainee kids—including Rin, who stood off to the side like he’d been assigned as a spy but forgot to wear black.

Dylan rolled up his sleeves with grim determination.

Jun, of course, immediately pulled his shirt off.

“Is that really necessary?” Dylan asked, refusing to look anywhere below Jun’s collarbone.

Jun blinked innocently. “It’s hot.”

“You’re just trying to show off.”

“I’m succeeding.”

Dylan opened his mouth. Closed it. Pretended to care very deeply about the muddy sock he was scrubbing.

A splash. Then Jun knelt beside him, elbow brushing his. Water dripped from his hair. His shoulder. His everything.

Dylan tried not to stare. He failed. Spectacularly.

Jun leaned close. “You gonna wash that shirt, or ask it out to dinner?”

Dylan jerked his hand back from the fabric like it had caught fire.

“I wasn’t—! It’s just—your shirt is stiff. I mean—starchy. Or—” He gave up.

Jun tilted his head, voice low and smug. “You’re scrubbing it like you want to wear it.”

Dylan nearly drowned himself in the bucket.

Rin stood on the opposite bank, arms folded, one eyebrow doing all the work of a full investigation.

“Are they always like this?” he asked Thame, who was nearby “supervising” with Po.

Thame glanced up from his position—arguing about whether the socks should dry north or south-facing.

He snorted. “Those two? Flirt-fighting. It’s like their love language is sarcasm and body heat.”

Po, adjusting the drying lines, muttered, “I still say that’s a weird way to sort socks.”

“Let it go, Po. Not everyone builds a personality around proper sock orientation.”

“You literally wrote a poem about chili last night.”

“That was different.”

By noon, every trainee was soaked.

Dylan tried very hard not to watch Jun wring out shirts with unnecessary muscle tension. He failed again.

Jun caught him, of course. Casually held up Dylan’s shirt, twisted it once, water trailing down his forearm—and locked eyes.

“You’re flustered,” he murmured, handing the shirt over with the air of someone bestowing a blessing.

“I’m hot,” Dylan snapped.

Jun gave him a look that said exactly.

They hung the last shirts on the line. Everyone drifted back toward the path, laughing and dripping.

Jun lingered.

“Here,” he said, grabbing a towel from the basket and stepping behind Dylan, who was trying to wring out his hair.

Jun reached up and began gently towel-drying it instead—soft, slow strokes that turned Dylan’s brain to oatmeal.

“You don’t have to—”

Jun hummed. “You let me.”

Dylan stood very still.

Behind them, a pair of footsteps slowed.

Rin passed by, towel slung over his shoulder, eyes narrowing slightly as he took in the picture: Dylan, towel-flushed and breathless. Jun, still shirtless, drying Dylan’s hair like he owned him.

Rin didn’t say anything.

But he stared.

Chapter Text

It started with a clipboard.

Or rather, the lack of proper clipboard management.

Nano stood in front of the cabin chart with his usual chaos smile. “Okay! Cabin assignments are up. No swapping unless you're dying or someone snores like a chainsaw. And no, Jun, that’s not a challenge.”

Jun raised a hand. “If Dylan snores, can I record it for scientific purposes?”

Nano ignored him. “Jun, you’re in Cabin B with Dylan.”

Dylan blinked. “I thought I was with Nano.”

Nano gave him a suspiciously innocent smile. “Weird. Must be a paperwork mix-up.”

Po, nearby, muttered under his breath, “You are the paperwork.”

Thame added without looking up, “At least pretend to cover your tracks, Nano.”

Nano shrugged. “I’m fostering organic bonding.”

Jun turned to Dylan with mock-serious eyes. “You hear that? It’s fate. We’re chosen by the gods of cohabitation.”

Dylan pinched the bridge of his nose. “I want a refund on fate.”

They opened the cabin door.

And stared.

One bed.

A single, modest mattress that looked just wide enough for one and a half people if they were on very good terms.

“There’s only one bed,” Dylan said.

Jun dropped his bag without hesitation. “Or,” he said with a slow grin, “one opportunity.”

Dylan sat on the edge of the mattress like it might bite him. “We are still not together, just clarifying.”

Jun sprawled out next to him, arms folded behind his head. “You say that, but you keep ending up in shared spaces with me. Curious.”

That night, they moved around each other awkwardly, brushing teeth in silence, navigating the tight space of the cabin like two magnets refusing to decide whether to attract or repel.

Moonlight spilled in through the window, and Jun was lying shirtless, one arm thrown over his eyes like a painting from a gay Renaissance.

Dylan hovered. “I brought your towel. I mean—thanks. For drying my hair. That was…”

Jun shifted slightly, smirked. “Just get in,” he said, voice rough. “You’ve seen me wetter.”

Dylan’s ears burned.

But he climbed in anyway.

Jun didn’t move closer. But he didn’t move away either.

Their shoulders barely touched.

But it was enough.

Dylan adjusted the blanket, trying to stay stoic. Jun leaned in closer than necessary.

“You’re all tense,” Jun murmured. “Wanna talk about it? Or… cuddle it out?”

Dylan only shoved his pillow firmly to the far edge of the bed.

They turned off the light.

For about five minutes, there was blessed silence.

Then—rustling.

Shifting.

Movement beneath the blanket.

Jun’s voice, quiet and teasing: “You really gonna sleep over there like we’ve ever succeeded in keeping things platonic on a single bed?”

Dylan sighed, pretending to still be asleep.

Then he felt it: an arm sliding across his waist.

Slow. Confident.

Jun pulled him in, not just for a cuddle—he fully spooned him, his entire body lining up behind Dylan’s.

A palm slid under Dylan’s shirt, settling right over his stomach.

Right over his belly button.

Dylan’s ears turned pink. “What are you doing?”

“Comforting you,” Jun whispered innocently, chin grazing his shoulder.

“That’s not my anxiety button,” Dylan muttered, cheeks starting to burning.

Jun exhaled a soft laugh. “It’s my favorite spot to start.”

Dylan buried his face in the pillow, half-melting and half-panicking.

“You smell nice,” Jun murmured against his neck. “Like soap. And sin.”

“I’m going to die,” Dylan whispered.

“Me first,” Jun said smugly, snuggling closer.

Morning light slipped in, golden and lazy.

Jun was draped over Dylan again—but this time, boldly, possessively, head nuzzled under Dylan’s jaw, arm still curled low around his waist. His palm was still right there, flat over Dylan’s bare stomach where his shirt had ridden up in the night.

Jun was half on top of him.

His head was pillowed on Dylan’s chest, mouth slightly open, hair a fluffy mess against Dylan’s shoulder. One of his legs was definitely draped between Dylan’s thighs.

Dylan didn’t even try to move.

He was too busy memorizing the moment.

Which is why he didn’t notice the creak of footsteps outside.

Rin had woken early for once. He passed Cabin B, stretching—

—and froze mid-step.

The curtain fluttered open just enough to reveal a lot.

Jun: shirtless. Draped across Dylan like a human blanket.

Dylan: tangled in the sheets.

Rin’s brain blue-screened.

He backed away slowly, like he’d just spotted two bears mating and wasn’t sure if it was rude to watch or call for help.

Inside the cabin, Dylan stirred.

Jun groaned, arm full wrapped around Dylan’s waist tightening. “Don’t move. I was dreaming about you.”

Dylan blinked.

“…What was I doing?”

Jun murmured something, half-asleep. “Mmm…”

Dylan blinked. “What.”

Jun’s lips curled. “You were straddling me… on your bed…”

Dylan froze.

“…and kissing all the wrong places,” Jun added, completely dreamy, his breath warm on Dylan’s throat.

Dylan made a small, wounded noise. “You’re dreaming that?!”

Jun groaned. “Mmm… you were very dedicated. I think you bit my lips. In a good way.”

Dylan shoved at him. “Why would you even tell me that!”

Jun cracked one eye open, smug. “That’s not what Dream Dylan said.”

On the more PG13 side of the camp grounds, Thame sat near the fire pit, toasting bread lazily while Po scouted kindling.

Rin plopped beside them, pale and shaking.

Thame glanced over. “You look like you just saw a ghost.”

Rin muttered, “Worse. I saw P'Jun being gentle.”

Po nearly dropped his firewood. “No.”

Thame smirked. “Was Dylan present?”

“Unfortunately.”

Po raised his brows. “What exactly did you see?”

Rin whispered confused, “P’Jun was hugging P’Dylan.”

Thame gagged. “Domestic. Hide your children.”

Po added, “We are the children.”

Thame: “Then we’re doomed.”

Po tried not to laugh. “Did you trip into their cabin, or were you just conducting a vibe check?”

“I was walking! There was an open window!”

Thame patted his shoulder. “Don’t worry. It’s like a nature documentary. Beautiful, confusing, and weirdly intimate.”

The fire crackled low, throwing shadows onto everyone's faces. The air smelled like toasted sugar and smoke, and Nano had commandeered the night like a gremlin with a game show.

“Lie Detector!” they declared, twirling a stick like a wand. “No machine, just vibes and peer pressure. Answer a question. If we think you’re lying, we vote, and you face a forfeit.”

Jun, lounging back against the log beside Dylan, sipped his cocoa and whispered, “This is bullying disguised as a bonding activity.”

Dylan glanced over. “You’d know.”

Jun’s hand "casually" draped behind Dylan on the log, fingertips almost brushing his hoodie. Under the blanket they were totally not sharing on purpose, their knees pressed just slightly. No one had commented yet. But Rin was starting to squint.

The juniors started easy. “Have you ever cheated during night watch?” “Do you think Pepper is cute?” “Did you really get sick or were you avoiding chores?”

Laughter broke out at every guilty look, every defensive lie.

Then Rin’s turn came.

He looked across the fire. “Jun.”

Jun blinked, amused. “Me?”

Rin’s voice didn’t waver. “Do you have a crush on someone in MARS?”

The entire circle leaned forward like someone had lit the drama fuse. Pepper’s eyes widened. Po looked up from his marshmallow. Nano grinned like Christmas had come early.

Jun tilted his head, gaze flicking toward Dylan for half a second — too brief to catch unless you were watching closely.

Then he smiled.

“Too easy to answer.”

The campfire erupted.

Nano screamed into their hands. Thame threw a marshmallow in the air. Po nearly dropped his stick. Rin looked like someone had just slapped him with a tent pole.

Dylan, face already warm from the fire, turned bright pink.

Jun just sipped his drink again, calm as a lake.

Nano was half-choking. “You—you can’t just say that—”

“I didn’t say anything,” Jun said coolly. “I just said it’s too easy.”

“Which is worse!” Pepper wailed.

Rin narrowed his eyes. “So you’re not denying it.”

“I’m not confirming it either,” Jun replied. “Maybe I just enjoy chaos.”

Nano: “Unbelievable.”

Dylan groaned into the blanket.

The game moved on, but the tension didn’t. The fire dimmed, conversations split into little clusters. People drifted into quieter talking, but Jun and Dylan stayed put.

Jun stretched his legs out under the blanket, brushing Dylan’s.

“You okay?” he asked under his breath.

“I’m going to kill you,” Dylan muttered.

Jun grinned. “So I’ve been told.”

Silence stretched between them like thread.

Then Jun let his hand slide onto Dylan’s—slow, testing. Under the blanket, where no one could see. Dylan didn’t pull away.

But he said, without looking, “You’re playing with fire.”

Jun’s voice dipped. “I like the heat.”

Dylan inhaled. The night was too quiet suddenly, too charged. Jun was leaning in a little too close, and that smirk was doing dangerous things.

Across the firepit, Rin sat rigid on his log, staring at the flames with murder in his eyes. His gaze flicked back once, catching the shape of two heads a little too close under a shared blanket.

He frowned. Rubbed his temples. Whispered to himself, “This camp is cursed.”

Later, while walking back to the cabins Jun and Dylan trailed behind the others, their flashlight beam bouncing softly between trees. Jun’s hand still lingered in Dylan’s hoodie pocket. The blanket was gone, but the proximity hadn’t lessened.

Dylan was quiet.

Jun glanced at him. “What’s wrong?”

“You’re enjoying this too much.”

“Define this.”

Dylan exhaled. “You didn’t deny anything tonight.”

Jun smiled, teasing but unreadable. “Why would I deny a question I never answered?”

Dylan stopped walking. Jun did too.

The stars blinked through the trees, soft and silver.

“Just… don’t make a joke out of it,” Dylan said, eyes serious. “Whatever this is.”

For a second, Jun’s grin faltered. His gaze sharpened.

“I’m not,” he said finally.

Then, quieter: “You’re the only thing I’m not joking about.”

Dylan’s breath hitched—only barely, but Jun caught it.

He didn’t say anything else. Just brushed his knuckles gently against Dylan’s before walking ahead again, leaving Dylan rooted there, blinking like the forest had gone quiet just to listen.

That night Dylan stood awkwardly at the foot of the bed.

Jun lay back with zero shame, shirtless again, arms behind his head like some smug summer prince.

“You’re not gonna hover there all night, are you?” Jun asked.

“I’m debating whether to smother you or myself.”

“Come on. You’ve seen me wetter, angrier, and significantly less clothed.”

“That’s… horrifyingly accurate.”

Jun held up the blanket invitingly. “So just get in already. But I’m cold, and you’re my favorite heater.”

Dylan climbed in with a muttered curse, keeping his back to Jun—but the moment the light clicked off, Jun was right there, warm and close, his breath brushing Dylan’s ear.

“By the way,” Jun whispered, “if I dream about you again tonight…”

“Don’t finish that sentence.”

“I’ll keep it PG,” Jun promised. “PG-13, at best.”

Dylan’s heart was hammering.

But when Jun’s arm snaked around him again and that palm returned to his stomach—

He didn’t move.

SNEAK PEAK:

Earlier that day, Po and Thame were locked in a deeply unnecessary flatnter (flirting banter) over whether their tent should face east for “better airflow” or west for “vibes.”

Nano: “Are you two flirting or fighting?”

Po: “Tent physics.”

Thame: “Tent sexual tension.”

Nano: “Stop making me feel so single!!”

Later, Thame dragged Po into a fake “spying mission” on Jun and Dylan under the excuse of “monitoring species behavior.”

Po whispered, “We’re hiding behind a trash can.”

Thame hissed, “For science!”

Po, reluctantly, got popcorn.

Chapter Text

The morning sun rose like a dare.

By the time the trainees gathered by the riverside clearing, shirts were already half-tucked, sleeves rolled, and feet bare. Nano stood on a boulder like a tiny camp dictator, whistle swinging from their neck.

“Today,” Nano announced, “is the Camp Annual Water Clash. You will get wet. You will fight for honor, bragging rights, and the last stick of ice cream in the cooler.”

Jun leaned over to Dylan. “Bet you I can win it and get your shirt off.”

Dylan gave him a look. “We’re teammates.”

Jun grinned. “Exactly.”

The games started with chaos. Literal chaos.

Water balloons were flung like grenades. Buckets were weaponized. Someone — probably Pepper — had smuggled in water guns. The trainees were divided into two warring factions, each wearing colored bandanas around their arms: red and blue.

Dylan was red. Jun was blue. Nano, watching with sunglasses and a clipboard, smirked knowingly.

“You're going down, blue,” Dylan called from across the field, trying to act tough while tying his bandana. He looked a little too good with damp hair and rolled sleeves, and Jun definitely noticed.

“Oh no,” Jun whispered to his team. “He's hot and he’s trash-talking. We’re doomed.”

Game One was the Great Bucket Relay.

Each team had to race to the river, fill a bucket, and run it back without spilling. It was supposed to test teamwork and coordination.

It ended up testing everyone's patience.

Jun’s team tried to carry the bucket together, only for Rin to trip and send them all toppling. Meanwhile, Dylan sprinted barefoot, water sloshing wildly, yelling, “MOVE!” like a man possessed.

He crossed the finish line soaking wet and triumphant.

Jun, dripping and covered in grass, stood beside him and said, “That was hot.”

Dylan blinked. “I’m trying to win.”

“Exactly.”

Game Two: Capture the Flag (Water Edition).

Rules? Who needed ‘em.

Each team hid a flag near the riverbank. If you got caught sneaking into enemy territory, you got soaked.

Jun prowled the field like a jungle cat, stalking Dylan. When Dylan finally spotted him crouched behind a tree, it was too late.

Jun lunged. They wrestled in a splashy tangle, limbs skidding through wet grass. Dylan shrieked as Jun tackled him into the shallows.

“You’re insane!” Dylan gasped, trying to shove Jun off.

“Admit it’s fun.”

“It’s cold!”

Jun’s grin was feral. “Want me to warm you up?”

“YOU’RE THE ENEMY.”

“Only during games.”

Their laughter was way too flirtatious for a war zone.

By lunch break being soaked and sizzling was a given.

Everyone slumped under trees, munching sandwiches and drying off like lazy seals. Jun peeled his wet shirt off and wrung it out with theatrical flair.

Dylan looked away. Then looked back. Then looked away again.

Jun caught him mid-stare.

“Like what you see?”

“I’m checking for injuries.”

“Oh? Worried about me?”

“Worried you’ll get cocky and trip on a pinecone.”

Jun leaned closer, voice low. “Trip into your arms?”

Dylan kicked a twig at him.

From a few meters away, Rin sat chewing his sandwich very slowly. His eyes kept flicking between them like he was reading subtitles on a romance drama.

Nano passed by and muttered, “Just kiss already or get back in the river.”

The final game was Water Dodgeball Royale.

The game was pure mayhem. Water balloons and soaked sponges were launched with reckless abandon. There were screams, slips, and the occasional very dramatic slow-motion fall.

Jun managed to peg Dylan in the back — and then immediately ran for his life.

“You’re dead!” Dylan yelled, launching after him with a sponge grenade.

They chased through the trees, slipping and laughing, until Jun stumbled into a small clearing by the stream. Dylan caught him around the waist, but their momentum sent them both sprawling — Jun landing first with a soft oof, Dylan on top.

For a moment, time froze.

Dylan’s hair dripped onto Jun’s collarbone. Jun’s hands had found Dylan’s hips — purely for stabilization, obviously.

Their faces were too close. Their shirts clung to them. Their chests rose and fell in sync.

“Caught you,” Dylan whispered.

Jun's smile was dangerous. “Worth it.”

Dylan blinked, realized the position they were in, and scrambled off with a blush that could end wars.

Jun stayed sprawled, looking thoroughly pleased.

The second the games ended, Dylan let out a violent sneeze.

“Bless you,” Jun said, frowning.

“I’m fine,” Dylan insisted, voice already wobbling.

“You’re flushed.”

“I’m winning.”

“You’re wilting,” Jun corrected, placing a hand on his shoulder. “I’m dragging you to dry clothes. And maybe to the nurse.”

“I’m not fragile.”

“You’re damp and delirious.”

Dylan opened his mouth to argue again—then sneezed three times in a row.

Jun was already taking his hand.

“I told you not to dive into the river like a hero,” he muttered. “You’re cute, not waterproof.”

But by nightfall, Dylan was wrapped in a hoodie that felt like paper against the chill, shivering even with a cup of hot soup.

“I’m fine,” he insisted through chattering teeth, sitting on the porch steps of the cabin like he wasn’t dying inside.

Jun crouched beside him with a towel and a look that screamed liar.

“You’re shaking.”

“It’s dramatic flair.”

“You sneezed into your shirt twice.”

“Cost-effective.”

Jun rolled his eyes and pressed the back of his hand to Dylan’s forehead. Dylan tried to swat him off, but Jun didn’t budge.

“Jun—”

“Hot,” Jun said simply, and stood. “You’re going to bed. Now.”

Dylan frowned. “You’re not my mom.”

“Lucky for both of us,” Jun replied, grabbing Dylan’s arm. “Because I don’t think your mom would towel you down the way I’m about to.”

“Jun!”

But his resistance was weak at best. He let himself be dragged inside like a wilted plant, still muttering that he was totally fine and definitely not dying.

Later that night Jun sat at the edge of Dylan’s bed, frowning as he wrung out a cold cloth. The camp nurse had given strict instructions: water, rest, no stress.

Naturally, Jun translated that as hover over Dylan like a stubborn boyfriend in denial.

“You look like a wet sock,” he said gently, brushing the damp cloth over Dylan’s flushed forehead.

Dylan squinted. “You smell good. That’s annoying.”

Jun smirked and brushed hair back from Dylan’s eyes. “You’re cute when you’re dying.”

“I hate you.”

“You keep saying that.”

The room was quiet except for the creak of the bed and the occasional cough from Dylan. Jun stood, dipped the cloth again, and moved to the dresser.

He pulled out a clean shirt.

Dylan groaned. “I’m fine, you don’t have to—”

“Shut up.”

Jun’s hands were too gentle. His fingers worked the damp fabric of Dylan’s old shirt up, exposing his fever-warmed skin. Dylan didn’t stop him. Couldn’t, really. His head was spinning and Jun’s touch was weirdly calming, even as it made his stomach twist in all the wrong ways.

The clean shirt slipped over his head.

“See?” Jun said quietly. “Not so hard.”

“Speak for yourself.”

Jun blinked. Dylan flushed harder and turned into the pillow, mortified.

Jun soaked the towel in warm water from a thermos, wrung it out, and kneeled beside the bunk. Dylan leaned back against the wall, chest bare, sweat gleaming at his collarbones.

Jun tried not to stare. Failed.

The first pass of the cloth over Dylan’s neck made him sigh—soft, involuntary. Jun swallowed hard.

“I’m not enjoying this,” Dylan said, eyes closed as if convincing himself rather than Jun.

“Neither am I,” Jun lied.

He moved slowly. Wiped down Dylan’s shoulders, arms, the dip of his waist. When he reached Dylan’s chest, his hand faltered.

The fever made Dylan more sensitive. He shivered again, almost arched.

“Too cold?” Jun asked.

“Too much.”

Jun exhaled shakily. “Say stop anytime.”

Dylan didn’t.

The towel slid lower. Jun paused right above the waistband of Dylan’s shorts, hand shaking slightly.

“Okay?” he whispered.

Dylan, eyes still closed, nodded.

Jun brushed the cloth lightly across Dylan’s stomach. His fingers ghosted just above the waistband, slow, tender.

Then he stopped.

“We’re done,” Jun said hoarsely, wringing the towel again to keep his hands busy.

Dylan opened his eyes. “Why’d you stop?”

“Because you’re sick,” Jun said. “And I’m not taking advantage of you.”

“You’re being annoyingly… considerate.”

“I know.”

Jun gently tousled Dylan’s damp hair with the towel next. Dylan leaned into the touch, eyelids fluttering.

“You’re cute when you’re dying,” Jun said softly.

“I hate how that sounds hot.”

“Sleep,” Jun said after a beat, his voice suspiciously hoarse. “Before you accidentally flirt again.”

“I wasn’t—”

Jun flicked his forehead. “Sleep.”

Chapter Text

The world at 3:30 a.m. was a secret whispered between shadows.

Camp was silent. Still. The kind of stillness that felt fragile, like a soap bubble floating through the dark — too easy to burst, too perfect to last. The trees, usually chattering with wind and insects, now stood like sentinels in breathless reverence. Above, the stars scattered themselves across the sky with careless extravagance. The moon watched from behind a veil of mist, thin and silver as regret.

Dylan sat on the edge of the cabin’s porch, hoodie zipped to his throat, a mug of lukewarm tea cupped in his hands. He was no longer feverish — just faintly warm, like a page turned too slowly. The last cough had wracked his chest an hour ago. He’d woken to find Jun curled in the beanbag by his bed, arms folded across his stomach, face slack in sleep but still beautiful enough to make Dylan’s breath catch.

And Dylan, who’d spent days brushing off feelings with sarcasm and sneezing fits, had realized with aching clarity: he couldn’t keep pretending.

He needed air. Silence. Stars. And maybe, just maybe, Jun.

The tea tasted like mint and melancholy.

He stood quietly, letting the screen door sigh shut behind him, and padded barefoot across the dewy grass. Each blade kissed his feet. The earth was damp but soft. He walked without thinking, instinct pulling him past the fire pit, past the empty circle of benches, down the slight slope toward the river.

It was there that he found Jun — or rather, Jun found him.

A shadow shifted beneath the trees, and then a familiar voice murmured, “Couldn’t sleep?”

Dylan turned, and there he was. Hoodie zipped halfway, hair tousled, hands buried in his sleeves like he hadn’t fully decided whether to hug or hide.

“You’re awake,” Dylan said, startled. “I thought I was the only insomniac.”

Jun shrugged, his expression unreadable. “You left the cabin. I followed.”

Dylan blinked. “Were you watching me sleep?”

“No,” Jun said. “Yes. A little. You were snoring into your pillow like a dying pug.”

“Charming.”

Jun stepped forward. “You okay now?”

“Mostly.”

Jun reached out, gently thumbed under Dylan’s eye. “You look less like a ghost.”

“You always know what to say,” Dylan said dryly, but leaned into the touch anyway.

Jun let his hand fall. “You want to walk?”

Dylan nodded. And they did.

They didn’t talk at first. Just walked side by side through the silver hush of the woods, the faint murmur of the river their background music. Leaves rustled overhead like gossiping stars. The path curved, meandered, dipped. Somewhere in the distance, an owl called out, lonely and brave.

Eventually, they found a clearing. The river widened here, moonlight skipping across its surface like tossed coins. A low boulder jutted near the edge, slick with moss and perfect for sitting. Dylan lowered himself onto it, breathing in the scent of wet earth and Jun.

Jun crouched beside him, elbow brushing his. “You scared me today,” he said softly.

“I know.”

“You act like you’re indestructible. You’re not.”

“I know that too.”

Jun looked at him. Really looked. “Then why do you keep pretending?”

Dylan didn’t answer right away. He sipped his tea — now gone cold — and set the mug down on the grass.

“I think,” he said slowly, “that pretending I’m fine is easier than admitting I’m not. If I act strong, maybe I’ll feel strong. If I act like I don’t feel anything, maybe the feelings will go away.”

Jun was quiet. But not cold. He reached down, plucked a blade of grass, twisted it between his fingers.

“And now?” he asked.

Dylan turned his face toward him, and the moonlight carved shadows under his cheekbones, made his lashes look silvered. “Now it’s 3:30 in the morning, I feel like I’ve been hit by a truck, and you’re the only person I want to see.”

Jun froze.

Dylan continued, his voice barely more than a whisper. “You’re annoying. And reckless. You flirt like it’s a competitive sport. You’ve been driving me insane for months.”

Jun’s lips twitched. “And yet…”

“And yet,” Dylan said, turning toward him fully, “I can’t stop thinking about you. Even when I’m sick. Even when I’m trying not to.”

Silence.

Then Jun stood. For a heart-stopping second, Dylan thought he was going to walk away. But instead, Jun stepped in front of him, between his knees, so close Dylan had to tilt his head to meet his gaze.

“You’re not the only one,” Jun said, voice rough.

Dylan’s breath caught.

“I’ve liked you,” Jun whispered, “since before I was supposed to.”

“You were never subtle,” Dylan said, hoarse.

“I didn’t want to be.”

He knelt again, hands on either side of Dylan’s thighs, and leaned in.

“I flirted because I didn’t know how else to handle wanting you. You always looked at me like I was a storm you were trying to outrun.”

Dylan’s throat worked. “Maybe I wanted to get caught.”

Jun’s smile was devastating. “Then stop running.”

The kiss didn’t come like a crash. It came like a slow sunrise.

Jun’s lips brushed his, feather-soft, question more than statement. Dylan closed the distance. Their mouths met fully, and the world stilled again. No fireworks. No drama. Just warmth. Pressure. Relief. The way Jun kissed — firm but careful, like he couldn’t believe this was real. Like he’d been waiting for permission.

When they broke apart, Dylan let his forehead fall against Jun’s. He was trembling, but not from the cold.

“I’m scared,” he whispered.

Jun cupped his face. “Me too.”

“Of ruining it. Of being bad at this. Of… wanting you too much.”

Jun pressed another kiss to his cheek. “Then we’ll be scared together.”

Dylan laughed, a shaky thing that turned into a hiccup.

Jun wrapped his arms around him and pulled him close. They sat like that on the boulder, tangled and quiet, listening to the river sing lullabies to the moon.

They didn’t move for a long time.

Time, at 3:47 a.m., had lost its urgency. It melted into the hush between breaths, into the cradle of moonlight pooling at their feet, into the rhythm of Jun’s thumb brushing gently against Dylan’s wrist. The river, constant and soft, murmured secrets just for them — something ancient, something holy.

Dylan leaned his head on Jun’s shoulder. “So… this is real now?”

Jun tilted his face down, pressing a kiss to Dylan’s temple, then the curl of his ear. “It’s always been real. We just stopped lying to ourselves about it.”

“I never lied,” Dylan murmured. “I just… pretended really well.”

“You’re such a terrible liar,” Jun said fondly, lips curling against Dylan’s skin. “You frown whenever you’re jealous. You put on your headphones and act as if you can’t hear when I flirt with other people.”

“I do not blink.”

Jun grinned, smug. “You do. Like a confused owl.”

“I hate you.”

“You adore me.”

Dylan groaned and swatted at him, but left his hand to tangle in Jun’s hoodie sleeve. “You’re so annoying.”

“And yet,” Jun said, nosing his cheek, “you’re still curled up against me at ass o’clock in the forest.”

“Don’t ruin the mood.”

Jun only laughed, low and warm. It rumbled against Dylan’s side like a secret kept in his chest too long.

The stars blinked overhead. Trees held their breath. And for once, Dylan didn’t feel like running. Not from this, not from him.

He lifted his head to look at Jun properly.

“You make me feel…” Dylan paused, brows pulling together, searching for something that felt big enough, sacred enough. “Safe. And annoyed. And breathless. And seventeen again, in the best and worst ways.”

Jun looked back at him — not with mockery or mischief, but something softer, like he’d never been seen so clearly and didn’t know what to do with it.

“You make me feel like I could finally stop pretending,” Dylan finished, voice threadbare but steady. “Like I can just be.”

Jun touched their foreheads together again. “You can.”

The silence afterward felt rich, full. Not empty.

Dylan exhaled. “You know, I always thought we’d have some stupid big moment. Like, fight about it. Or kiss in the middle of a rainstorm while someone yells cut.”

“Too many dramas,” Jun muttered.

“But I like this more,” Dylan said. “Us. Quiet. No script.”

Jun chuckled. “So we’re boyfriends now?”

Dylan tilted his head, pretending to think. “You want the title?”

Jun nodded solemnly. “Very exclusive. Very prestigious.”

“I have to warn you though,” Dylan said, mock serious, “my standards are high.”

“Oh no. Do I pass the test?”

“Well,” Dylan teased, “you did follow me into the woods like a lovesick puppy and confess under the moonlight, so... maybe.”

Jun leaned in, voice just above a whisper. “Is there a probation period?”

“Only if you break the rules.”

“And what are the rules?”

Dylan turned to him fully, letting his fingers slip into the front of Jun’s hoodie, drawing him close again. “Rule one: You’re not allowed to flirt with Po anymore.”

“Oh no, I was just trying to bring Thame and him together. I’m innocent.” Jun protested, grinning. “Plus Thame would kill me if I ever try to.”

Dylan gave him a pointed look. “Rule two: We will tell our friends but not other people yet. No extensive love declaration in public.”

Jun gasped. “Scandalous. What will the campers say?”

“They’ll say you are still heartbroken from your ‘ex gf’ and I’m being very a very supportive, platonic bro.”

Jun laughed and wrapped his arms around Dylan’s waist, his smile now feral with mischief. “What about rule three?”

Dylan smirked. “Rule three is…” He leaned closer, mouth at Jun’s ear, breath hot. “You have to accept the first official gift from your boyfriend.”

Jun blinked. “What kind of gift?”

Dylan’s smirk deepened. He shifted into Jun’s lap, legs sliding on either side of him on the mossy stone, knees framing Jun’s hips. “Close your eyes.”

Jun raised a brow but obeyed. “If it’s a rock, I swear—”

Dylan kissed him. Not soft this time. Not slow.

This was a kiss meant to imprint — deep and dark and full of the things they’d held back for months. The weeks of pretending. The nights of brushing hands and biting back want. The jealousy, the jokes, the almosts. It spilled out into the space between them like lightning behind closed eyes.

Jun gasped against his mouth, clutching at Dylan’s hoodie, fingers curled like he couldn’t quite believe it.

When Dylan pulled back — lips swollen, hair tousled, heart in his throat — he whispered:

“There. First gift.”

Jun’s eyes fluttered open, dazed. “You really should’ve led with that.”

Dylan grinned, flushed and proud. “You like it?”

Jun tugged him down again, mouth hovering just a breath away. “You’ll have to give me a few more to be sure.”

Dylan laughed — low and wicked — as he let himself be kissed again, the river lapping at the shore behind them, and the stars blinking high above, watching two boys lose their melt into each other and their most vulnerable selves unfold like a promise written in midnight.

They stayed like that — tangled, whispering, daring, kissing again and again — until the horizon began to hint at silver behind the trees.

But for now, it was still night.

And it was theirs.

Chapter Text

The forest had quieted since their confession earlier. The stars still shimmered overhead, casting their faint, silvery glow over the soft moss and the rippling river. All around them, night held its breath — as if waiting for them to move again.

Jun sat on the same mossy stone bench by the edge of the clearing, hair damp, lips still swollen from the kisses they'd exchanged earlier beneath the trees. His legs were bent at the knees, elbows resting casually as he stared at the sky, trying to calm the fire still smoldering just under his skin.

He was humming something under his breath — maybe a tune from one of their older songs — lost in thought, or maybe just pretending to be. His fingers absently toyed with a blade of grass. He didn't hear Dylan move at first. But when he did, he felt them more than heard them — soft, certain.

Without a word, Dylan swung one leg over Jun’s lap and sank down deliberately — not playful, not shy — just slow and sure, like this had been decided from the moment the sun dipped below the trees. Like this was inevitable.

Jun blinked up at him, lips parted. “Dylan—”

“Shh,” Dylan said gently, brushing Jun’s hair back behind one ear with maddening tenderness. “Don’t think.”

“I’m not—thinking,” Jun muttered. “I’m trying not to combust.”

Dylan chuckled, and then he kissed him.

Not the flirty kind of kiss they’d shared before. Not stolen and teasing. This one was molten, purposeful. Tongue and teeth, heat and hunger. Dylan kissed him like he meant to brand the taste into both of them.

Jun groaned, hands automatically finding Dylan’s waist — the curve just above his hips, where his hoodie had ridden up to reveal bare skin. The warmth there made Jun’s fingers twitch. Dylan rolled his hips just slightly, and Jun nearly swore out loud.

“You okay?” Dylan murmured between kisses, his mouth brushing along Jun’s jaw now.

Jun exhaled sharply. “You’re going to kill me.”

“Not yet,” Dylan whispered, and then bit gently at Jun’s earlobe, grinning when Jun’s hips bucked involuntarily. “But I might make you beg.”

Jun laughed — breathless and wrecked. “What happened to the sick, shy guy from earlier?”

“He’s recovering,” Dylan said, grazing his lips down the column of Jun’s neck. “With… intense therapy.”

“You’re unbelievable,” Jun groaned, hands now digging into the backs of Dylan’s thighs where he straddled him.

Dylan pulled back just enough to look at him — eyes dark and dancing. “You wanted the gift, boyfriend.”

Dylan leaned close again, his voice a low murmur that vibrated straight into Jun’s chest. “You’re sitting in it.”

Jun tilted his head back against the bench, laughing like he couldn’t believe what he was hearing. “You’re—oh my god—you’re cocky.”

“You like it,” Dylan said smugly, and then kissed him again — open-mouthed, slow and sinfully deep.

This time Jun didn’t fight for control. He let Dylan set the pace — let him tease and roll his hips and drag those kisses out until Jun was dizzy. Dylan's hands slid under his hoodie, tracing over the planes of Jun’s chest, his touch just light enough to make Jun shiver. He circled a thumb lazily over Jun’s nipple and felt the sharp inhale he caused.

Jun’s hands fumbled up Dylan’s thighs, then under the hem of his shirt, finding the heat of his skin. He dragged his palms up Dylan’s sides, marveling at how this was all happening — how real it felt after all those months of flirtation and restraint.

Dylan broke the kiss and rested his forehead against Jun’s. His voice was breathy now, and warm against Jun’s lips.

“You’ve kissed me like you wanted me,” Dylan whispered, “but this time… I want you to feel it.”

Jun swallowed, trying to hold onto something solid — the edge of the stone, the warmth of Dylan’s back under his shirt — but everything was soft now. Dizzying.

“I feel it,” he rasped.

“No,” Dylan murmured, sliding his hands up the back of Jun’s neck, threading fingers through his hair. “I mean really feel it. Stop running.”

Jun’s breath hitched. He tilted his head, brushing his nose against Dylan’s. “That a challenge?”

“It’s a gift,” Dylan whispered, and kissed him again — this time slower, sweeter, but no less intense.

Jun let go.

Let Dylan guide the rhythm, the sway of their bodies in sync. Dylan rocked against him again, slower this time, more deliberate, like he knew exactly what kind of fire he was feeding. Jun’s grip slipped to Dylan’s lower back, holding him tighter, grounding himself in the press of body against body.

And still, Dylan kissed him like it was the only thing that mattered in the world.

Jun groaned, helpless, pulling back just enough to pant against Dylan’s cheek. “You’re so damn pretty when you don’t give that ‘I don’t give a fuck’ look.”

Dylan chuckled, breath warm. “And you’re easy to break when you’re flustered.”

“Lies.”

“Admit it,” Dylan whispered, licking a line up Jun’s throat. “I’ve got you.”

Jun’s hands slid up Dylan’s spine, then tangled in his hair, tugging slightly. “And what are you gonna do with me now that you’ve got me?”

Dylan smirked against his skin. “Whatever I want.”

Jun swore under his breath. The words weren’t even that provocative on their own, but the way Dylan said them — low and dangerous, like velvet catching on skin — made his stomach knot. Or maybe unravel. He didn’t know anymore. His heart was pounding like he’d just finished a dance set.

Dylan, for his part, just smirked and rolled his hips again. Slowly. Intentionally. Enough to draw a soft, involuntary groan from Jun’s lips.

“See?” Dylan murmured, brushing his lips along Jun’s cheek. “You like when I stop holding back.”

“You’ve been holding back?” Jun rasped, gripping Dylan’s waist with both hands now.

Dylan smiled against his ear, hot breath curling over the shell of it. “I’ve been trying to be nice. Gentle. Subtle.”

“Since when are you subtle?” Jun breathed.

“Since I fell for you,” Dylan replied, and suddenly Jun’s breath caught hard in his chest.

Dylan pulled back slightly to meet his eyes, that teasing smile faltering for just a second — replaced with something raw, exposed. “I didn’t want to ruin it. I didn’t want to scare you off.”

Jun stared at him, something tender blooming so fast it hurt. He lifted one hand from Dylan’s waist to cup the side of his face, thumb brushing the edge of his jaw.

“You couldn’t scare me off if you tried,” he whispered. “You’ve got me. Fully.”

The smirk returned — softer this time, but still undeniably Dylan. “Good.”

Then Dylan leaned in again.

Jun responded in kind — letting the kiss consume him, letting it swallow all the things he’d tried not to feel these past few months. The stolen glances. The jealousy. The late-night heart races. The ache of watching Dylan laugh with someone else.

And now, Dylan was in his lap, touching him like they had time, kissing him like they didn’t.

Jun let his hands roam, no longer shy. Under Dylan’s shirt — the warmth of skin on skin. The dip of his lower back. The tense pull of muscle when Dylan arched into him, grinding just hard enough to make Jun bite his own lip.

Dylan gasped, then chuckled. “Are you biting back moans, babe?”

Jun narrowed his eyes. “Don’t call me out like that.”

“I will if it gets me that look,” Dylan whispered, running his hands down Jun’s chest.

“Dylan,” Jun said, almost warningly, but it came out more like a plea.

“Yes?”

“Don’t stop.”

And Dylan didn’t.

He kissed him again, deeper, more demanding — and Jun let him take control for as long as he could stand it.

His skin glowed faintly in the moonlight — pale and flushed, with the sheen of heat tracing down his collarbones.

Jun exhaled, awed. “You look like sin.”

“And you’re about to confess,” Dylan teased, straddling closer again. “So what’s your crime, Jun?”

Jun’s hands traced slowly up Dylan’s ribs. “Wanting you like this.”

“That’s not a crime.”

“It felt like one,” Jun whispered, before kissing the hollow of Dylan’s throat. “Until now.”

Dylan shivered, his hands sliding up into Jun’s hair. “Then let me absolve you.”

Jun let out a breathless laugh — part groan, part surrender — before tipping Dylan back into another kiss. Their mouths met again and again, deeper each time, until Jun felt like he was unraveling beneath Dylan’s hands.

And then Dylan grinded again — slow, rough, and so deliberate that Jun gasped. “You’re—Dylan, I swear—”

“Do it,” Dylan whispered against his lips. “Lose control.”

Jun let out a shuddering breath, fingers tightening at Dylan’s hips. “You’re gonna undo me.”

“I hope so.”

Their bodies moved like they’d been made to do this — to fit together, to find new rhythm, new breath. Jun kissed a path down Dylan’s jaw, to his throat, grazing with teeth just enough to make Dylan whimper softly. That sound — that raw, needful sound — shot straight through Jun like lightning.

And Dylan knew it.

He rocked again, slower now, dragging it out, watching Jun’s face with eyes half-lidded and mouth parted. “You like that?” he breathed.

Jun couldn’t answer. He just nodded, eyes fluttering shut as Dylan kissed the corner of his mouth, his cheekbone, his temple.

“You make me want to ruin you,” Dylan whispered. “But gently. Like… I wanna keep you.”

Jun’s heart stuttered. “You have me.”

“I know.” Dylan leaned in, tongue flicking along the edge of his ear. “So let me have you.”

Jun’s arms wrapped tight around Dylan’s back. “Take what you want.”

And Dylan did. Not everything — not all at once — but enough to have Jun gasping his name and gripping him tighter, hips rising to meet every grind, every teasing twist of movement.

Eventually, Dylan’s voice dropped into a whisper, breathless and heavy with heat. “You said you wanted a boyfriend gift?”

Jun nodded, unable to find real words.

Dylan pulled back just enough to meet his gaze again — lips bruised, cheeks flushed, hair tousled in wild, damp waves.

His next words were a smirk and a question rolled into one:
“Wanna unwrap it?”

Jun’s breath hitched, laughing in disbelief and sheer want. “You’re gonna kill me.”

“I told you,” Dylan said with a wink. “Not yet. But I might make you beg.”

Jun groaned, pulling him into another messy, firelit kiss that didn’t stop for a long, long while.

Chapter Text

The night air was thick with the scent of pine and the distant murmur of the river. Moonlight filtered through the canopy, casting dappled shadows on the forest floor. Jun and Dylan, still breathless from their earlier encounter, found themselves wandering deeper into the woods, laughter echoing softly between the trees.

Jun's hand brushed against Dylan's, fingers intertwining naturally. The warmth of Dylan's touch sent a shiver up Jun's spine, a reminder of the connection they'd just deepened.

"You're insatiable," Dylan teased, glancing sideways with a smirk.

Jun chuckled, pulling Dylan closer. "And you're irresistible."

They stumbled upon a clearing where a tall, sturdy tree stood sentinel. Jun paused, turning to face Dylan. Without a word, he backed Dylan against the rough bark, hands resting on either side of his head.

Dylan's eyes widened slightly, a flicker of anticipation dancing within them. "Taking charge now, are we?"

Jun leaned in, his voice a low murmur. "It's my turn."

Their lips met in a kiss that was both tender and demanding. Jun's hands slid down to Dylan's waist, fingers slipping beneath the hem of his shirt to feel the warmth of his skin. Dylan responded with a soft moan, his own hands gripping Jun's shoulders.

The bark pressed into Dylan's back, grounding him as Jun deepened the kiss. Their bodies pressed together, a tangle of limbs and shared heat. Jun's hand ventured further, tracing the curve of Dylan's hip, eliciting a gasp.

"You're so cocky," Dylan breathed, breaking the kiss momentarily.

"And you're letting me get away with it," Jun replied, nipping at Dylan's lip. "Why's that, babe?"

Dylan's laugh was breathless, filled with desire. "Because I like the fire you ignite in me."

Jun's eyes darkened, his gaze intense. "Then hold on."

He lifted Dylan slightly, guiding his legs to wrap around his waist. Dylan complied, arms encircling Jun's neck as their mouths met again. The rhythm of their kiss matched the pounding of their hearts, each beat a testament to the passion igniting between them.

Jun's hands explored Dylan's back, memorizing every curve and muscle. The forest around them faded, leaving only the sensation of skin against skin, breath against breath.

Their movements slowed, the urgency giving way to a deeper connection. Jun rested his forehead against Dylan's, eyes closed, savoring the moment.

"I've wanted this for so long," he whispered.

Dylan's fingers traced the line of Jun's jaw. "Me too."

They remained entwined, the night wrapping around them like a blanket. The world was silent, save for the rustle of leaves and the shared rhythm of their breathing.

Dylan's legs stayed firm around Jun’s waist, his fingers locked at the nape of Jun’s neck. He could feel Jun’s pulse hammering against his chest, could feel the tremor in Jun’s hands as they roamed his back like Jun was relearning a map he'd already memorized. The rough bark behind Dylan dug into the back of his shoulders, grounding him—but the only thing he was focused on was the way Jun was kissing him now.

Hungrier.

Like he couldn't stop. Like he didn’t want to.

Dylan pulled back for air, only to have Jun chase him immediately—teeth grazing his bottom lip, tongue flicking in a way that sent heat down Dylan’s spine.

“You’re killing me,” Dylan whispered, breath hitching.

Jun smirked, hand curling under Dylan’s thigh to hoist him up tighter. “Not yet,” he said, his voice low and teasing. “But I might ruin you first.”

“Oh?” Dylan raised a brow, but his voice was already thick with desire. “Bold talk from the guy who was nearly crying into my lap ten minutes ago.”

Jun let out a soft moan and pinned Dylan more firmly against the tree, hips pressing forward with intent.

“That was because you were cheating,” Jun murmured against his neck, trailing hot kisses along the sensitive skin. “Grinding like you wanted me to lose my mind. You think I don’t know what you’re doing when you smirk like that?”

Dylan’s smirk only widened, but his breath caught when Jun nipped the base of his throat, hard enough to leave something that wouldn’t fade by morning.

Jun pulled back just enough to look at him—foreheads brushing, breath mingling. “But now? Now I’m going to make you melt for me. No smirking. No teasing. Just you—”

He punctuated the sentence with a slow grind of his hips.

“—coming undone.”

Dylan swallowed hard, lips parted, eyes dark. “Then stop talking,” he whispered. “Do it.”

Jun’s mouth descended again, but this time the kiss was deeper, fuller. His tongue teased Dylan’s in long, languid strokes, one hand slipping beneath Dylan’s hoodie to press against the bare curve of his lower back. Dylan arched into it, letting himself get pulled deeper into the kiss, losing track of where he ended and Jun began.

The night around them hummed. Cicadas buzzed in rhythm with the flutter of Dylan’s pulse, and the distant river was just a whisper beneath the rustle of pine leaves above. Everything else faded into sensation—Jun’s lips, Jun’s heat, Jun’s breath that tasted like forest air and want.

Dylan’s hands wandered too, sliding under the back of Jun’s shirt to press against his warm skin. He felt Jun shudder, muscles flexing, the tension coiled just beneath the surface.

“You like when I touch you,” Dylan breathed into the corner of Jun’s mouth.

Jun bit his lip, smiling but not answering. Instead, he pressed his palm to Dylan’s chest, pushing him just enough that his back was flush with the tree again, their bodies barely an inch apart.

“Hands up,” Jun whispered.

Dylan raised an eyebrow. “Excuse me?”

“You heard me.” Jun’s eyes sparkled. “Let me feel you.”

With one hand, he gripped the hem of Dylan’s hoodie and tugged it slowly, deliberately upward. Dylan let out a soft laugh but raised his arms anyway, the hoodie and shirt sliding off in one smooth motion. The night air kissed his bare skin, cool and electric.

Jun tossed the hoodie aside without looking. His eyes were locked on Dylan’s chest—his fingers immediately following, trailing along collarbones, mapping ribs with reverence. He leaned forward and pressed a soft, open-mouthed kiss to the center of Dylan’s chest, then another near his shoulder. Dylan hissed softly.

“You’re going to make this a thing, huh?” Dylan asked, voice low. “Stealing control just because I let you once?”

Jun looked up, lips brushing the curve of Dylan’s pec. “Let me?” he asked, tilting his head. “Oh no, babe. You wanted this.”

He kissed lower—trailing a line from collarbone to the dip of Dylan’s stomach.

“Still want it?”

Dylan gasped, one hand finding Jun’s hair and threading through it. “Yes,” he whispered. “God, yes.”

The tension snapped like a branch underfoot. Jun surged up again, claiming Dylan’s mouth with a new kind of urgency—rougher, needier. Dylan responded in kind, pulling him closer, guiding his hips forward, their bodies grinding together with the kind of friction that left them both gasping. Bare skin against hoodie fabric

Jun’s hand slipped between them and settled just above Dylan’s waistband, teasing. Not quite moving lower. Just hovering. Waiting.

Dylan broke the kiss with a sharp breath. “You’re evil.”

Jun smiled. “Say please.”

Dylan narrowed his eyes. “Are you—?”

“Say it,” Jun said again, leaning in to press a kiss under Dylan’s jaw. “Come on. You teased me earlier. Turnabout’s fair play.”

Dylan groaned, forehead thumping back lightly against the tree. “You’re seriously going to make me—?”

“Say it, and I’ll give you whatever you want.”

There was a pause. A long, charged beat.

Then Dylan’s mouth quirked up in surrender. He tilted his head, lips brushing the shell of Jun’s ear.

“Please.”

When the tension finally ebbed, when Dylan’s breathing slowed and Jun’s forehead rested against his, both of them slick with sweat and moonlight, neither spoke for a moment.

Then Dylan snorted, pulling back slightly.

“What?” Jun asked, eyes still heavy with affection.

“You,” Dylan whispered, brushing his thumb across Jun’s bottom lip. “You smug bastard.”

Jun grinned and leaned in to kiss him again—soft now, unhurried. “You begged for it.”

Dylan raised a brow. “I’m telling Nano.”

Jun’s hand slapped over his mouth, laughing. “You wouldn’t dare.”

Dylan licked Jun’s palm in retaliation, and Jun cursed under his breath, pulling away with a shiver.

They both stood there for a moment, tangled in each other’s arms, grinning like idiots.

Jun groaned. “You're insufferable.”

Chapter Text

Jun’s forehead rested against Dylan’s as their breathing slowly settled into something less frantic. Leaves rustled above them, and the river gurgled nearby like it was trying not to laugh. The world around them buzzed with midnight calm — a moment stolen from sleep, soft and trembling with the echo of everything they hadn’t said.

Jun’s thumb brushed Dylan’s flushed cheek, smearing a bit of dirt. “So…” he said, voice husky with leftover adrenaline, “do I get a scorecard or something? Like, how many points was that kiss worth?”

Dylan, still half-melted against the tree trunk, huffed a breath that might’ve been a laugh. “You broke the scoreboard, you idiot.”

“Aw,” Jun cooed, “is that your way of calling me amazing?”

“It’s my way of saying I need five business days to emotionally recover.”

Jun grinned — all teeth and giddy brightness. “You’re lucky I like you when you’re snarky.”

Dylan raised an eyebrow, still trying to look unimpressed even as he tugged Jun’s hoodie sleeve, pulling him closer again. “I thought you liked me all the time.”

“Dangerously,” Jun said, voice going soft.

The word hung between them for a beat.

And then Dylan kissed him again — slower this time. A press of lips that had nothing to do with winning or teasing. Just... staying. Just because he could. Jun sighed into it like his lungs remembered how to breathe only when Dylan touched him.

They broke apart eventually, only because Dylan muttered, “I think my spine fused to this tree.”

Jun laughed and immediately stepped back to help, brushing Dylan down dramatically like a human lint roller. “There. You’re un-tree’d. My prince.”

“You’re so dumb,” Dylan said, but didn’t move far.

Jun bumped their shoulders together and grinned sideways. “But I’m your dumb.”

There was a silence, not awkward but sparkling — like the pause before something important.

Dylan glanced up at the stars, then down at the space between their hands. “Hey…”

“Yeah?”

“If we’re, like…” Dylan scratched the back of his neck. “A thing now — which we are. Definitely. Unstoppably. Officially.”

Jun snorted. “You sound like a press release.”

“Let me finish.”

Jun zipped his lips and tossed away the imaginary key.

“If we’re a thing,” Dylan continued, pretending not to be flustered, “what would our ship name be?”

Jun blinked. “Like... the fans would come up with that, right?”

“Yeah, but it’s fun to guess. Come on.” Dylan elbowed him lightly. “Give me your best.”

Jun struck a pose, arms wide. “Easy. Junlan. Or Dun.”

“Dun? That sounds like a bell being dropped.”

Jun pouted. “Fine. Jylan?”

Dylan gagged.

Jun tried again, tapping his chin. “Okay, okay, what about... Judean?”

“That sounds like a medieval kingdom.”

They both groaned at the same time.

Then Dylan looked up, eyes glinting. “Wait. I know.”

Jun perked up.

Dylan grinned. “Disaster.”

Jun blinked. “Wait, what?”

“Our ship name,” Dylan said, straight-faced. “Disaster.”

Jun gave him a long, slow, betrayed stare. “You wound me.”

Dylan shrugged. “You started it. You pinned me to a tree like some hormone-crazed squirrel.”

Jun scoffed. “I was romantic!”

“You kneed me in the thigh!”

“That was foreplay!”

There was a beat of silence before they both cracked up.

Jun wiped his eyes. “Fine. Disaster. But make it sexy.”

“Disaster,” Dylan repeated solemnly. “With kissing.”

“Hot Disaster,” Jun corrected, poking Dylan’s chest. “Don’t forget the important part.”

Dylan grinned, cheeks pink. “You’re such a menace.”

“You like it,” Jun said smugly.

To his utter surprise, Dylan didn’t deny it.

Instead, he reached up — carefully, like he was still shy about it — and hooked a finger into the collar of Jun’s hoodie. “Hey…”

Jun stilled.

“You want a souvenir?” Dylan asked, voice dropping to that low murmur that always sent Jun spiralling. “You’ve been good. Mostly.”

Jun’s ears went red. “I... I mean—”

“It’s a surprise,” Dylan added, letting the tension linger a beat too long. “But first…”

Jun leaned in, lips already puckered hopefully.

Dylan kissed his forehead instead.

Jun blinked. “That’s it?!”

Dylan grinned. “You get the rest later.”

“I’m going to die.”

“Not before I give you something truly horrendous.”

Jun narrowed his eyes. “Oh no.”

“Oh yes,” Dylan said sweetly, fishing something out of his pocket. “I made this for you at the arts and crafts table. Behold: your new title.”

He held up a tiny pinecone. It had googly eyes glued on and a pink felt cape. In wobbly pen, it said Sir Jun, Duke of Dumbassery.

Jun stared.

Dylan tried not to laugh. Failed. “It’s dignified.”

Jun shook his head in mock despair, biting down a grin. “You’re giving me a pinecone puppet as our ‘In the middle of the woods at the middle of the night make out’ souvenir?”

“I glued the eyes myself.”

Jun stared harder. “...You’re perfect.”

They sat down again, side by side this time, the puppet prince resting between them.

After a while, Jun bumped his head gently against Dylan’s shoulder.

Dylan leaned in. “Moonbun.”

Jun snorted. “What.”

“That’s your nickname now.”

“I sound like a breakfast pastry.”

“Exactly.”

“That sounds like a failed bakery item.”

“It sounds like someone who makes me melt,” Dylan said, flicking his nose.

“Fine,” Jun said, squinting up at the stars. “Then you’re Starboy.”

“Like the song?”

“Like the reason I’m up past midnight acting like a lovesick idiot.”

Dylan blushed and ducked his head.

Jun’s hand found his.

And under the stars, the mossy earth warm beneath them, they didn’t need to say another word.

But they kept talking anyway — dumb, soft things. Who would carry the groceries. Who would get custody of the plushies. If they’d share hoodies or steal them.

Eventually Jun whispered, “Hey. This is real, right?”

Dylan squeezed his fingers. “So real.”

And just like that, the moonlight felt warmer.

The disaster? Still hot.
Now with kissing.
And possibly matching keychains.

They walked back hand-in-hand.

Quiet. Glowing. Lit up from inside like two fireflies pretending not to notice the flicker of each other’s wings.

Their fingers stayed twined even when they reached the cabin stairs. Dylan looked up at the dark windows — every other trainee was fast asleep in their own lodges — and whispered, “Think we’ll wake anyone?”

Jun tugged him close with a smirk. “If we do, I’ll bribe them with chocolate milk.”

They snuck into the shared cabin like two thieves returning from a heist — only the treasure was stolen kisses and the fact that Dylan’s hoodie now smelled entirely like Jun. Their shared room was bathed in the soft hush of moonlight spilling through the high window, and for once, the usually rowdy space was still. Sacred.

Jun kicked off his shoes with the grace of a sleepy giraffe.

Dylan laughed softly and followed, shrugging off his outer hoodie and placing it carefully on the end of the bed — not out of habit, but because it had touched Jun. Because it had kissed him by proxy.

Jun turned toward him, eyes half-lidded, smile crooked with exhaustion. “So. Now that we’re dating—”

“Boyfriends,” Dylan corrected.

“Right. Boyfriends,” Jun said, a little breathlessly. “Do we... get a boyfriend bedtime routine?”

Dylan tried to play it cool. “I mean, I already brush my teeth and complain about capitalism. What else is there?”

Jun climbed onto the bed first, lying on his stomach and looking up at him like a puppy waiting for a treat. “Cuddles?”

Dylan’s lips twitched. “I thought you liked being the dominant one.”

“I am,” Jun yawned. “Until I’m horizontal.”

Dylan’s laugh bubbled out like a secret too big to hold in. He flicked off the small lamp and climbed into bed beside him.

At first, there was a moment of awkward limb-tangling — Dylan’s knee bumping Jun’s thigh, Jun’s arm flopping over Dylan’s face like a confused starfish — but eventually, they found it: the soft center of the storm.

Jun ended up on his back, Dylan curled half-on, half-around him, cheek resting just beneath Jun’s collarbone. Their legs tangled lazily, skin warm beneath thin pajamas. The blanket, kicked off halfway, draped over them in rumpled chaos.

“Okay,” Jun murmured. “This is stupid.”

Dylan lifted his head. “What is?”

“How good this feels,” Jun whispered. “Like... dangerously good. Like I want to write poems about your knees and adopt five cats and call one of them ‘Moonbun Jr.’”

Dylan grinned into his chest. “That one would bite everyone.”

“Just like you,” Jun teased, thumb brushing the back of Dylan’s neck.

They lay there in the hush, breathing in each other’s warmth. The ceiling fan hummed a low lullaby. A frog croaked distantly outside. Dylan could feel Jun’s heartbeat, not just in his chest but in every place their skin touched.

After a while, Dylan whispered, “You smell like lemon and fresh grass.”

“That sounds romantic, but slightly cursed.”

“I like it,” Dylan said. “I’d wear it as cologne.”

Jun tilted his head. “What would my cologne be called?”

Dylan smirked. “Hot Disaster No. 5.”

Jun laughed softly — a quiet, breathy sound that Dylan felt down to his ribs.

They slipped into that half-dreamy space where conversation fades into comfort. Dylan’s hand found Jun’s under the blanket and toyed with his fingers. Jun, half-drowsy, murmured, “Promise you won’t run away tomorrow?”

“I literally just made us a ship name,” Dylan said. “You’re doomed.”

Jun grinned without opening his eyes. “Good.”

Silence again.

Then: “Dillybean,” Jun mumbled.

Dylan froze. “What did you call me?”

Jun cracked one eye open. “Dillybean. It’s your cute name now.”

“No.”

“Yes.”

“That’s illegal.”

“I am your boyfriend,” Jun said, clearly smug. “And that means I get naming rights. You’re Dillybean. The third of your name. Ruler of sass. Protector of plushies.”

Dylan buried his face in Jun’s chest. “I take it back. I am running away.”

Jun tightened his arms around him. “You’re not going anywhere, boyfriend.”

They laughed into each other, cheeks pressed close, every inch of them relaxed in a way that felt like coming home.

And in the hush of the late hour, the world small and perfect, Dylan whispered the words that had been clinging to his throat for hours.

“Hey. Jun?”

“Mhm.”

“I’m really happy it’s you.”

Jun didn’t respond with words. He just held Dylan tighter and kissed his forehead, slow and sure, like a promise written in starlight.

They drifted off eventually — not all at once, but in little pieces. A breath. A thumb brushing a cheek. A sleepy “love you” that neither of them would remember saying first.

And long before dawn, the world outside turned gray with promise.

Inside the cabin?

Two hearts beat in sync beneath one messy blanket.
One Hot Disaster.
Two boyfriends.
And a future beginning quietly between cuddles.

Chapter Text

Dylan didn’t mean to wake up that early.

He stirred sometime around 5:11 a.m., groggy, confused, and warm — so warm — tangled in the limbs of one smug boyfriend and one scandalously kicked-off blanket. Jun's chest rose and fell beneath Dylan’s cheek, soft and rhythmic, the kind of breathing that meant deep sleep. His arm was draped over Dylan’s waist like he was claiming territory even in dreams.

It was adorable.

It was unfair.

It was entirely unsustainable, because Dylan’s bladder was staging a quiet protest and the room was getting brighter by the minute.

He peeled himself away gently, managing not to wake Jun — a feat worthy of medals and maybe a parade. Padding across the wooden floor in socks, he squinted at the pink smear on the horizon through the window.

He wasn’t sure what made him turn back after washing up. Maybe it was instinct. Or maybe it was Jun, sitting up sleepily with hair sticking out in five directions and a thermos clutched in his hands like a secret.

“Hey,” Jun said, voice all gravel and morning sugar.

“Hey,” Dylan whispered back, confused. “You’re up?”

Jun grinned, clearly trying to play it cool. “Couldn’t sleep.”

“You were literally snoring ten minutes ago.”

Jun patted the thermos. “I woke up early on purpose. For this.”

Dylan blinked. “You… planned something?”

Jun stood, shoved something into Dylan’s hands — a rolled blanket and a drawstring bag — then pulled on his hoodie and said, “Come on, Boyfriend. Before the sun steals my thunder.”

Still bleary-eyed, Dylan followed him out of the cabin and through the trees, yawning like a baby sloth. The air was crisp and smelled like pine and possibility. By the time they reached the small clearing by the lake — the one where they’d confessed, kissed, and changed everything — the sky had softened to watercolor hues of apricot and rose.

Jun laid out the blanket like a magician revealing a trick.

From the bag, he produced:

• Two thermoses (one clearly coffee, the other rice porridge).
• A container of mango slices.
• Two mismatched spoons.
• A packet of roasted sesame seeds.
• And one napkin that said “Live Laugh Love” like it had been swiped from someone’s aunt’s kitchen.

Dylan sat down slowly, looking like he’d just witnessed sorcery. “You made us breakfast?”

Jun shrugged. “It’s our first morning as boyfriends. Had to start strong.”

Dylan blinked rapidly.

“Also,” Jun added, pretending to be casual, “you mentioned once you like porridge with mangoes when you’re sick. Thought it’d feel safe. Familiar.”

Dylan’s heart did something deeply illegal in his chest.

Jun handed him the coffee first. “Drink up, Starboy. Sunrise doesn’t wait.”

They sipped in silence for a while, wrapped in the blanket together, Jun sitting behind Dylan so they could share warmth like human nesting dolls. The steam curled from their cups as the lake shimmered gold under the waking sky.

When Dylan finally spoke, his voice was quiet. “You’re unreal.”

Jun rested his chin on Dylan’s shoulder. “I’m sleepy and overachieving. Dangerous combo.”

Dylan laughed, soft and breathy. “You remembered all my weird breakfast quirks.”

“Course I did.” Jun bumped their cheeks together. “I’m boyfriend material.”

“You’re boyfriend chaos,” Dylan corrected, taking a bite of mango. “But I like it.”

Jun grinned. “So… points for the breakfast?”

“Ten out of ten. Would date again.”

They shared the porridge, spooning bites into each other’s mouths like an embarrassing K-drama couple, complete with dramatic “Ahhh~” noises and fake swoons. At one point, Dylan tried to feed Jun too big of a bite and ended up with rice on his nose. Jun licked it off with zero warning.

Dylan nearly died on the spot.

“Did you just—”

“Yes,” Jun said smugly. “Boyfriend privileges.”

Dylan shoved him, laughing.

Eventually, they settled again, Dylan nestled against Jun’s chest while Jun held him like a sleepy koala, blanket cocooning them both.

“I had something for you,” Jun murmured, fishing around in the hoodie pocket he’d been wearing last night. “Was gonna give it to you after dinner yesterday, but…”

“But then I fell sick and then I recovered and that we made out.”

“Yeah. That.”

Jun pulled out a tiny bundle — nothing fancy, just a rough friendship bracelet made of braided thread, some of it uneven, with one wonky bead shaped like a star.

Dylan took it like it was fragile. “You made this?”

Jun shrugged, eyes darting away. “At the arts and crafts table. Before someone fell sick. Before all of… this. Just thought it’d be funny. Or cute. I dunno.”

Dylan stared at it for a long moment, then slowly slid it onto his wrist. “Moonbun.”

“No.”

“Moonbun,” Dylan repeated with mock reverence, holding his wrist up to the sunrise. “It’s perfect.”

Jun rolled his eyes. “I hope you know you’re cursed now.”

“Worth it,” Dylan said, and kissed his temple.

They stayed like that until the sun was fully up, the lake alive with light and dragonflies skating across the surface. The food was gone. The coffee lukewarm. But neither of them moved.

Jun murmured into Dylan’s hair, “You ever think we’d get here?”

“Nope,” Dylan said. “But I’m glad we did.”

“Even with the pinecone puppet?”

“Especially because of the pinecone puppet.”

Jun laughed and tipped his head back, looking at the sky like it owed him nothing.

“Hey,” Dylan said after a while. “You cold?”

“A little.”

Without a word, Dylan tugged the hoodie off his own back and helped Jun into it. It hung awkwardly over Jun’s longer torso, the sleeves too short, but Jun pulled the collar up and buried his face in it anyway.

“Now I smell like you,” he mumbled, muffled.

“You smell like me smelling like you,” Dylan corrected.

“Perfect symmetry,” Jun murmured. “I’ll never wash it again.”

“Please do. That’s my favorite hoodie.”

Jun stuck out his tongue.

Dylan grinned. “Hey, Jun?”

“Yeah?”

“I’m really happy it’s you.”

Jun’s hand found his again, fingers slotting together like a secret handshake. “Same, Dillybean.”

“I swear to god—”

“I love you.”

The words slipped out like they’d always lived there. Like they'd just been waiting for a sunrise.

Dylan froze. Then looked up.

Jun didn’t look away.

And slowly, Dylan smiled. “Love you too.”

They didn’t rush. They didn’t kiss like fireworks or scream like teen movie finales. Just two boys. A lake. A messy blanket. And a pair of matching heartbeats.

The breakfast was over. The day was beginning.

But the softest part?

It was just them. Sitting there. Loving quietly. No one watching.

Except maybe a frog.

But the frog promised not to tell.

The smell of pine and the soft rustle of leaves outside mingled with the faint scent of Jun’s hoodie (or wait was it Dylan’s?).

Dylan stretched, feeling unusually light, as if the weight of everything that had been tangled inside him was now softened by the gentle certainty of Jun’s hand in his.

Jun had spread out things by now, surrounded by little scraps of colored thread, beads, and a handful of oddly shaped pinecones.

“What are you doing?” Dylan asked, raising an eyebrow.

Jun looked up, eyes bright. “I’m starting something. A tradition.”

“A tradition?”

Jun nodded seriously. “A boyfriend tradition.”

Dylan laughed, folding his arms. “Oh no. Not another one of your crazy ideas.”

Jun gave him a playful shove. “Crazy is just another word for memorable. You know that.”

Dylan smirked but knelt down next to him anyway, curiosity winning. “So what’s this boyfriend tradition?”

“This is the first item of The Boyfriend Pact,” Jun said, holding the pinecone up like a trophy. “A symbol of our commitment to weirdness and each other.”

Dylan blinked. “Commitment to weirdness?”

“Exactly.”

Jun grinned. “So the pact goes like this: We wear bracelets — like the one I made you — but with a twist.”

“Do tell.”

Jun’s grin deepened. “We have to wear them all the time, no matter what. No taking off for showers, concerts, or ‘accidental’ losses.”

Dylan raised an eyebrow. “Sounds a little controlling.”

Jun shrugged innocently. “Maybe. But it’s for love.”

Dylan shook his head but smiled. “Alright, Mr. Overachiever. What else?”

“Of course.” Jun winked. “Boyfriend duty.”

They sept the next few minutes sipping cold coffee pretending it was too hot to drink it faster and return to the group.

When the coffee finally finished, they sat facing each other, the sunlight streaming in, casting golden halos around their heads.

Jun slipped Dylan’s bracelet onto his wrist first. “I promise to never forget the little things.”

Dylan took Jun’s hand, pulling him close. “And I promise to always laugh at your ridiculous ideas.”

Jun’s eyes crinkled in a smile. “Deal?”

“Deal.”

Jun pulled out a small stick from the floor and handed it to Dylan with a flourish. “Now, the grand finale.”

Dylan raised an eyebrow, curious.

Jun grabbed a finger and held it out with mock solemnity. “Pinky promise.”

They linked pinkies, the gesture feeling heavier with meaning than either expected.

“We pledge to protect this weird, wonderful thing we have,” Jun said quietly. “No matter what.”

Dylan nodded. “No matter what.”

And suddenly breaking the quite Jun said, “I solemnly swear to kiss you before bed every night.” He mock-bowed, “By the power vested in me by this dumb rock we’re sitting on, you are now cursed with me.”

Dylan pulled Jun into a hug, resting his chin on his head. “You’re stuck with me now.”

Jun smiled into Dylan’s shoulder. “I don’t mind.”

“Good.” Dylan kissed the top of Jun’s head. “Because I’m never letting go.”

Chapter Text

The sun had barely made it’s way up over the mountains, slanting gold across the quiet campgrounds. Bags were packed, dorms emptied, and the shuttle idled at the edge of the parking lot, doors open with a soft hiss. The members of MARS—and one very sleep-deprived Po—stood in a semi-circle near the luggage racks, sipping iced coffees and yawning between grumbles about the early hour.

Jun tugged nervously at the cuffs of Dylan’s hoodie. Dylan, standing a bit too close behind him, bumped their shoulders together and leaned down to whisper, “Now or never, Moonbun.”

Jun’s heart hiccuped. He took a breath like he was about to dive into a pool.

“Hey,” he called out. The others looked up mid-slurp or stretch. “Uh. Can we… say something real quick before we head out?”

Nano squinted. “You’re not involved in a murder, right?”

Pepper elbowed him.

“No!” Jun half-laughed, half-choked. “God, no, I—um, we…”

Dylan cleared his throat and stepped beside him, voice more serious than usual. “We just wanted to tell you guys—officially—that we’re dating now.”

He reached out and laced his fingers through Jun’s. Their joined hands hung awkwardly in the middle of the group like some ancient relic being presented for public inspection.

Silence fell.

Jun braced for gasps. Shouts. Questions. Drama. He held his breath, waiting for the explosion.

Nano blinked. “Okay.”

“…That’s it?” Dylan asked, stunned.

Thame sipped his iced Americano. “You told us without telling us a week ago.”

Pepper grinned. “I mean, you were practically sharing oxygen.”

Po, adjusting his sunglasses, gave a casual thumbs-up. “Congrats on catching up to the rest of us.”

Jun gaped. “Wait, you knew?”

Thame scoffed. “You’ve been wearing Dylan’s clothes and sighing at him like a fanfiction protagonist. Of course we knew.”

Dylan opened and closed his mouth. “So all the pacing and panicking we did last night—”

“Was adorable,” Pepper said.

Nano yawned. “Can we get in the car now?”

Still blinking in disbelief, Jun and Dylan followed the others toward the shuttle van, their hands still twined.

The ride back was a mess of backpacks, tangled charging cords, shared snacks, and questionable playlist choices. Thame had claimed the passenger seat with the determination of a man protecting national treasure. Po, who was driving, had silently allowed it. Now the two of them sat up front, pressed shoulder-to-shoulder like magnets, quietly sharing coffee from the same thermos. Thame had even tucked his knees up sideways in his seat to lean more fully against Po, who didn't complain—not once.

In the middle row, Nano was passed out against the window with a half-eaten bag of chips sliding off his lap. Pepper was sketching something in his notebook and humming softly to himself.

That left the back row for Jun and Dylan.

Which, in hindsight, might’ve been a mistake.

Jun was already feeling too warm. It wasn’t the hoodie this time. No, it was the boy currently pressed against his side, stretched out like a smug cat and whispering things that made Jun’s pulse stutter.

“Do you think they’d notice if I kissed your neck?” Dylan murmured, lips brushing the shell of Jun’s ear.

Jun stiffened. “Yes. Don’t you dare.”

Dylan chuckled under his breath and shifted closer, thigh against thigh now. “What if I said I missed you last night?”

“We were in the same room,” Jun whispered.

“But not in the same bed,” Dylan said, faux-sad. His fingers crept under the hem of Jun’s borrowed hoodie. Just a touch. Just enough. “I could barely sleep. I kept thinking about your mouth.”

Jun gripped the edge of his seat like a lifeline. “Dylan.”

Dylan grinned, wicked and delighted. “Hmm?”

“Stop it.”

“Stop what?”

Jun turned his head sharply. “You know what.”

Dylan blinked innocently, even as his pinky traced along Jun’s inner wrist. “I’m just appreciating my boyfriend.”

“You’re appreciating me like a dessert you want to ruin.”

“Mmm.” Dylan hummed appreciatively. “That’s accurate.”

Jun glanced toward the front. Thame was snuggled under Po’s arm, both looking half-asleep. Pepper and Nano were dead to the world. No one was watching. Which somehow made it worse.

Dylan leaned in again, brushing Jun’s jaw with his nose, voice husky and low. “You smell good. Like my hoodie. And trouble.”

“Dylan,” Jun hissed. “I swear—”

“What’s going on back there?” came Po’s voice from the front, dry as dust.

“Nothing!” Jun yelped.

“Dylan’s being a menace,” Pepper added without looking up from his sketchpad.

Dylan, entirely unbothered, reclined further until his head was in Jun’s lap. “Guess I’m just a problem now.”

Jun stared down at him, mouth dry, fingers twitching. “You’re going to get us arrested.”

“For flirting in a shuttle van?” Dylan looked up at him with big, innocent eyes. “That’s not illegal.”

“It should be,” Jun muttered, shoving lightly at his shoulder.

Dylan just laughed and let himself be manhandled upright, but not before dragging his palm along Jun’s thigh on the way up. It was a miracle Jun didn’t combust on the spot.

“I hate you,” Jun whispered, face flaming.

“No you don’t,” Dylan replied sweetly, wrapping an arm around Jun and pulling him close. “You love me. You told everyone and everything.”

Jun buried his face in Dylan’s shoulder with a groan. “Worst mistake of my life.”

Dylan kissed the top of his head. “Best moment of mine.”

Jun went very still. Then softened.

And then bit his shoulder. Lightly. Just to make a point.

Dylan yelped.

“Stop misbehaving, then,” Jun said.

Dylan grinned through the sting. “Can’t help it. You make me want to.”

Jun rolled his eyes—but didn't move away. Instead, he let himself settle back against Dylan, the hum of the road soothing, the warmth of his boyfriend annoyingly perfect.

From the front seat, Thame stirred. “If you two start making out back there, I will throw a waffle at you.”

Po sighed. “You’re not even holding a waffle.”

“I keep emergency snacks in my bag.”

Jun and Dylan exchanged a look—and promptly burst into laughter.

The road stretched ahead, long and winding. The van was filled with sleepiness, warmth, and the kind of domestic chaos that only came with love in all its strange, loud, ridiculous forms.

And Jun, despite everything, had never felt more at home.

Jun stepped off the camp shuttle still wearing Dylan’s hoodie.

He hadn’t meant to. It was just that… it smelled like Dylan. And was soft. And oversized. And Jun may or may not have sneakily rubbed the sleeve against his cheek while pretending to yawn.

Behind him, Dylan was dragging his suitcase with one hand and trying to keep a straight face. “You’re gonna get us more teasing, Jun.”

“I’m blending in,” Jun insisted, tugging the hoodie tighter. “I’m the picture of hot mystery.”

“You’re wearing my hoodie and humming love songs.”

“Fine. Hot disaster mystery.”

Dylan snorted. “That I’ll accept.”





BTW I PUT THIS ON WATTPAD INITIALLY BUT THEN I MEAN Y SHOULD U GUYS BE SPARED FROM MY CRAZINESS AHHAHAHAH

I was painting this.......u guys wanna see the end results?

Chapter Text

The moment they stumbled into the MARS dorm, backpacks slung and hair wind-tossed from the ride, the chaos began.

“GUESS WHO’S FINALLY FREE FROM THIRTY TEENAGERS!” Nano bellowed from the doorway like a man announcing his release from prison. “Did y’all survive camp? Jun, blink twice if Dylan wouldn’t let you sleep—”

Jun immediately choked on air.

Dylan turned the color of a sunburnt strawberry. “Nano!”

Thame, still holding his tablet, didn’t even look up before deadpanning, “You two look suspiciously tanned. Especially… the same side of your neck.”

“Mosquitoes,” Dylan blurted.

“Identical bite patterns?” Thame asked without missing a beat, finally glancing over.

“They… travel in coordinated teams now,” Jun mumbled, face pinking.

Thame raised one eyebrow but didn’t push it. He didn’t have to.

Pepper came in next, dropped his sketchpad on the kitchen counter, took one look at Dylan leaning way too close to Jun by the shoes, and exhaled like a romantic manga character just confessed during fireworks.

“Oh my god,” he whispered dramatically. “You’re so in love.”

“We told you that already,” Dylan said, but his voice cracked at the end.

Jun patted his back with mock sympathy. “It’s still new. He’s adjusting to public affection and mosquito conspiracy theories.”

“Don’t kill him,” Pepper said to Jun, amused. “He’s clearly fragile. Like a lovestruck moth.”

“I need him alive,” Jun replied solemnly. “For important, non-romantic tasks. Like folding my laundry. And holding hands when no one’s looking.”

Dylan groaned, burying his face in Jun’s shoulder. “You said you weren’t going to say that part out loud.”

“Oops,” Jun said, not sounding even remotely sorry.

Po strolled by sipping an iced coffee like he hadn’t been in the van watching it all unfold in real time. He barely paused, thumbs already flying across his phone screen.

A second later, Thame’s phone dinged from the living room.

Po: They’re finally insufferably cute together.

Thame: We need to throw them a surprise boyfriend brunch.

Po: You just want an excuse to make heart-shaped waffles again.

Thame: LET ME HAVE THIS.

Jun raised an eyebrow. “What are you two scheming about now?”

Thame didn’t answer. But the glint in his eyes said: brunch is coming.

Dylan groaned again and flopped onto the couch. “Can’t we just date in peace?”

“Nope,” said Nano, flopping beside him and tossing a throw pillow at Jun. “Not when we knew it was happening since week one and had to suffer through the slow burn like a drama with too many commercial breaks.”

“Honestly,” Pepper added, stretching, “we should get trophies for patience.”

Po passed by again with a smirk. “Or medals for surviving the sexual tension.”

Jun looked skyward as Dylan melted beside him in a heap of blushes and regret.

“Well,” Jun muttered, “this is our life now.”

Dylan peeked up from the cushions. “You still love me, right?”

Jun didn’t hesitate. “Unfortunately.”

And just like that, the teasing continued, the house buzzed with laughter, and MARS returned to its usual rhythm—just with a little more cuddling, a lot more hand-holding, and the looming threat of heart-shaped waffles.

Lunch was chaos. The Mars cafeteria was loud, the soup was orange and suspiciously thick, and Jun was doing his best not to visibly cuddle Dylan in public.

It wasn’t going great.

They sat side by side—“because the other chairs are wobbly,” Jun claimed—and Jun’s foot kept tapping Dylan’s leg under the table. Dylan, who was one whisper away from combusting, squeezed Jun’s hand under the tablecloth.

Nano watched them like he was observing a science experiment about to explode. “You’re not being subtle.”

Pepper just hummed and took a bite of his sandwich. “It’s cute. Like watching kittens awkwardly paw at each other.”

Po raised an eyebrow. “You two done whispering sweet nothings and sharing noodles like a Disney movie?”

Jun grinned. “You’re just jealous because your tragic love arc is with someone who steals your coffee creamer.”

Po deadpanned. “He steals more than that.”

Thame entered with dramatic flair, carrying a tray of perfect heart-shaped waffles.

“I HEARD LOVE WAS IN THE AIR,” he announced, slamming the tray down. “Also, P’Po said if I made one more batch of these he’d block me, but worth it.”

Jun blinked. “Wait… is this for us?”

“Duh.” Thame threw an arm over each of their shoulders. “I’ve known since day one. You think I missed the way Dylan looked at you like you were a limited-edition dessert?”

“Thame—” Dylan groaned.

Later, back in their shared dorm space, Jun flopped onto Dylan’s bed while Dylan changed out of his camp clothes. Jun was still wearing the hoodie. He refused to surrender it. He had declared it “Jun’s now, sorry, no returns, no exchanges.”

Dylan raised an eyebrow as he emerged in a fresh t-shirt. “You really like that hoodie, huh?”

“I like you,” Jun corrected, dragging Dylan by the waistband until he tumbled into bed beside him. “The hoodie’s just a bonus.”

They lay there, tangled in each other’s limbs, giggling and red-faced and whispering like they had the world’s juiciest secret.

Jun poked Dylan’s cheek. “You realize everyone knows, right?”

“Yeah.” Dylan’s voice was soft. “But I kinda didn’t care. I mean—I did, a little. But also…”

Jun waited, patient.

“I liked this. Us. Even if they all teased.”

Jun smiled and pressed a kiss to his forehead. “Good. Because I’m not giving you up. You’re mine.”

Dylan turned beet red again. “Yours?”

Jun, smug: “Completely.”

Later that evening, Thame cornered Po in the hallway with a proud gleam in his eye. “Did you see how red Dylan got when Jun called him ‘babe’ by accident?”

“Was it an accident?”

“I mean, he meant to whisper it and then he shouted it.”

Thame shook his head fondly. “This dorm’s a rom-com waiting to happen.”

“Correction,” Po said smugly. “It is happening. And I’m the executive producer. Just wait till I launch Operation: Bros But Boyfriends.”

Thame groaned. “Do I have to suffer through this?”

“Yes. But you’ll secretly enjoy it.”

“…Damn it.”

Chapter Text

At dinner the next day, the group sat in their usual chaotic mess. Jun kept sneakily slipping his hand into Dylan’s under the table. Dylan pretended to focus on his rice but melted every time Jun’s thumb brushed his knuckles.

Nano watched with narrowed eyes and finally sighed. “You know you’re glowing, right? Like romantically radioactive?”

Pepper winked. “They’re in the honeymoon phase.”

Thame dramatically wiped away a fake tear. “Our little chaos gremlins are in love. So proud.”

Jun just shrugged and kissed Dylan’s cheek.

Loudly. Unapologetically. PDA be damned.

Dylan choked on his water.

Thame beamed. “A toast to young love and matching neck bites!”

Nano raised his glass. “And the slow death of our collective peace and quiet.”

Jun smirked. “You love us.”

Thame sighed. “Unfortunately.

Po knew.

He had known for weeks—months, maybe. Since before the camp, before the hoodie, before Dylan’s painfully obvious heart-eyes or Jun’s not-so-innocent flirting. It wasn’t like they were subtle.

But in the world of idol PR and fandom hysteria, a soft-launch was better than a hard drop. And Po, as MARS’s unofficial PR wizard, decided they were going to roll out the “we’re just bros” series.

“Let’s give them what they want,” Po had said one morning, armed with a cappuccino and evil glee. “But not everything. Just a taste.”

So he launched it:
A chaotic, perfectly curated content arc that screamed platonic soulmates while dripping with flirtation so thick it needed a fan rating.

It started innocently.
Jun and Dylan in the MARS kitchen.
Baking cookies.

Dylan, flour on his nose, earnestly reading instructions. Jun, licking icing off his finger with zero remorse. Po, behind the camera, muttering “For the love of God, can you at least pretend this isn’t your third date?”

“Hey,” Jun said sweetly, batting his lashes. “You said we’re bros baking.”

“Bros don’t lick their fingers like that while maintaining eye contact,” Po deadpanned.

“Bros can be flirty,” Jun argued. “It’s called emotional intimacy.”

Dylan, red as the strawberry jam he was attempting to fold in, just mumbled, “I think I measured this wrong.”

Jun leaned over his shoulder, chin brushing Dylan’s, and whispered, “You’re doing great, chef.”

Po zoomed in slowly. “I hate both of you.”

The video was titled: “Jun & Dylan Bake Like Bros (And Definitely Don’t Flirt, Right?)”
It hit a million views in under a day.

Next came the “Which MARS Member Would You Date?” TikTok.

Po asked the questions off-camera.
Jun and Dylan sat shoulder to shoulder on the couch, legs pressed together, phones in hand.

“Alright, ready?” Po called. “First question: Who’s the most romantic?”

Dylan glanced sideways at Jun, who was chewing gum like it was his alibi. “Uh… Jun.”

Jun smirked. “Oh?”

“Second,” Po said, grinning, “Who gives the best hugs?”

Dylan: “Jun.”

Jun: “Aw. You softie.”

Po: “Who would you date?”

Dylan didn’t even blink. “Jun.”

Jun paused. “Thame.”

Dylan whipped around. “Thame?!”

Po behind the camera looked absolutely messed with.

Jun grinned wickedly. “He’s got waffles and emotional trauma. That’s hot.”

Dylan pouted. “I make waffles.”

“Your waffles are soggy,” Jun teased.

Po, zooming in gleefully on Dylan’s betrayed expression: “This is gold.”

The comments were unhinged.

“THEY’RE SO MARRIED”
“Jun picking Thame just to make Dylan jealous?? ICONIC”
“Dylan’s eyes screamed betrayal at 3:02”
“If they’re not dating I’m a soggy bagel”

Po pinned that last one.

Then came the duet TikToks.
Back-hugs during dance practice.
The “Touch Your Best Friend and See What Happens” challenge.

Jun slammed his palm to Dylan’s chest.
Dylan flinched, blushed, and muttered something about “nerves.”
Jun smirked and whispered, “Your heart’s racing.”

Dylan: “You’re—You’re annoying.”

Jun: “You like it.”

Po from behind the camera: “I AM EDITING THAT INTO A FAN-CAM.”

They never said anything.
On screen, they remained “best friends” and “bandmates” and “bros.”

But the tension?
The little glances?
The almost-touches, the real ones that lingered a little too long, the low murmurs and shared water bottles and thigh presses on the couch?

It was cinematic.

Dylan started wearing Jun’s hair ties on his wrist.
Jun started learning Dylan’s skincare routine “for research.”
They bickered like old lovers and cuddled like teenage dreams and every fan edit just made Po more powerful.

Until finally, inevitably, it culminated in:

The Livestream.

The camera went live to Jun sitting in Dylan’s lap.

Well—not technically. He was kind of half-on, half-beside. But he was leaned back against Dylan’s chest, long legs draped over the couch, hoodie sleeves covering his hands like he was trying to disappear into the boy behind him.

Dylan’s arm was casually slung across Jun’s waist. Not possessively. Not obviously.

But enough.

Po was behind the camera again, this time only supervising. The livestream was mostly for fans to “chill” with MARS after their content week. It was casual. Warm lighting. Plush pillows. Laughter.

They started with Q&A.

“What’s your favorite thing to do together?”
“Game nights,” Dylan said.
“Pranking Thame,” Jun added, unrepentant.

“Who steals more food?”
“Jun,” Dylan said without hesitation.
“Rude. Accurate. But rude.”

“Do you guys ever fight?”
Dylan hesitated. “Uh, not really—”
“Only when he hides the last cookie,” Jun interrupted.

Po held up his phone. “You’re not even trying to be chill. You look like boyfriends in a cottagecore K-drama.”

“Oops,” Jun said.

Then Jun took over reading fan comments.

Big mistake.

Jun: “Omg they’re soulmates—”
Jun: “Jun is Dylan’s emotional support chaos demon—”
Jun: “If they’re not dating I’m a soggy bagel.”

Dylan choked on his soda.

Jun wiggled his brows. “So, Dylan... should we tell them?”

Dylan blushed. “Tell them what?”

Jun smirked. “That we’re soulmates. And I’m your chaos demon.”

Po, off-screen: “I’m your chaos demon, Jun.”

Jun: “You’re a wrath demon. Different category.”

Dylan was still blushing. “I mean… should we?”

Jun shrugged, teasing. “Nah. Let’s kiss instead.”

Dylan: “That’s not—wait, what—!”

Jun leaned close. Lips brushed Dylan’s cheek.
Not quite a kiss. Not quite innocent.

Dylan froze. Then melted.

The chat went ballistic.

“OMGGGGGG”
“THAT WAS A KISS. I SAW IT”
“MY HEART—”

Po was cackling.

“End the stream,” Dylan mumbled, ears red.

“No,” Po said. “Let them suffer.”

Jun, looking into the camera like a menace: “You heard the producer.”

After the livestream, they didn’t talk for a while.

Not out loud.

Jun flopped sideways, head on Dylan’s lap, arms crossed behind his head like he hadn’t just ignited a thousand shipper hearts.

Dylan ran fingers through his hair without thinking.

“Too much?” Jun asked, voice low.

“No,” Dylan said softly. “Just… sometimes I want to shout it. You know?”

“I know.”

“But I also like this. Having you to myself. Just ours.”

Jun smiled. “You do get possessive.”

“You like it.”

Jun didn’t argue.

Later, in the editing suite, Po added subtle captions to the archived stream.

💬 “Just bros?”
💬 “More like… dangerously close to kissing”
💬 “CEO of Chaos Demon Love”

He closed the laptop with a smug little grin.

Operation “Bros But Boyfriends” was going perfectly.

Behind closed doors, in the quiet of their shared space, Jun wrapped his arms around Dylan from behind. Pressed his nose into his nape. Whispers only for him.

“I like being your secret.”

Dylan shivered. “I like being your disaster.”

Jun laughed. “Hot disaster. With kissing.”

Dylan turned in his arms. Pulled him close. Let the rest of the world believe what they wanted. Let Po market the mystery.

Because in this moment—quiet, pressed together, hearts syncing—

They weren’t content.

They were real.

Chapter Text

By the time the chaos of Mars Dorm simmered down—heart-shaped waffles half-eaten, Thame high on serotonin, Nano swearing he was going to drown in “secondhand sap,” and Po texting memes at warp speed—Jun had grabbed Dylan’s hand and tugged him wordlessly toward the back stairwell.

No one followed. No one asked.

Maybe that was the miracle of this newfound peace. Their group teased, yes, but they knew when to let something sacred be.

So Dylan and Jun climbed the narrow stairs in silence, hands still twined, hearts still thudding in that fluttery post-confession haze. The rooftop door creaked open into golden afternoon, the sky stretching wide and rose-blushed overhead. Warm light painted long shadows across the faded tile. It smelled like sun and dust and summer air.

Jun didn’t say a word. He just pulled Dylan by the collar and kissed him.

Soft. Lingering. The kind of kiss that hummed. Dylan’s eyes fluttered closed as Jun’s hands cradled his face—thumbs brushing cheekbones, gentle and worshipful—and then moved to his waist, tugging him close, close, until they were chest to chest, hip to hip.

“You didn’t even look at the view,” Dylan whispered, breathless against Jun’s lips.

“You’re the view,” Jun murmured, voice low and warm and full of wonder.

Dylan flushed so hard he nearly combusted.

They found the little beanbag lounge under the awning—worn out, slightly uneven, but perfectly theirs. Dylan collapsed onto it first, half-laughing as he sank in, and Jun followed.

It was late afternoon, that gold-blue hour when the clouds turned into soft watercolor smears and the sun hovered like a breath held too long. The rooftop tiles were warm underfoot, and the breeze smelled faintly of laundry and jasmine from someone’s open window.

Jun flopped down first, sighing in relief as he lay flat on his back. “I love our chaos gremlins,” he muttered, “but I also love silence. And not being roasted alive for being in love.”

Dylan chuckled and dropped down beside him. “Honestly, I thought they’d be more surprised.”

“I thought Nano would faint. Or Pepper would write a poem.”

“Or Thame would scream ‘Plot twist!’ and fall off the couch.”

They both laughed quietly, heads turned toward each other, shoulders brushing. The sky slowly dimmed above them, a gentle bleed from day into dusk.

“I can’t believe you’re mine,” Jun whispered, fingers playing with the hem of Dylan’s shirt, knuckles brushing soft skin. “This feels fake.”

After a moment, Jun rolled over—right onto Dylan.

“Jun—”

“Shh,” Jun murmured, settling fully on top of him, chest to chest, legs tangled, arms circling Dylan’s waist like it was the most natural thing in the world. “I’m comfy.”

“You’re also heavy,” Dylan teased, not moving an inch to push him off.

“You love it.”

He wasn’t wrong. Dylan wrapped his arms around Jun’s back and let out a slow breath. His heart beat a little too fast. Or maybe just fast enough.

For a while, they just breathed together. Slow. Steady. In sync.

“I thought this was un-real too,” Dylan admitted, cheeks pink, his arms instinctively looping around Jun’s waist as Jun fully settled on top of him, stretching out like a contented cat. “Until you stole my hoodie. And made out with me against a tree.”

Jun laughed into his chest. “Okay, that was hot.”

“It was,” Dylan agreed, breath hitching as Jun kissed his neck once—then again, slow and teasing—and tucked his face into the crook of Dylan’s shoulder like he belonged there.

They lay there, tangled, Jun’s full weight resting on Dylan, arms around his waist, cheek pressed to Dylan’s collarbone. Dylan had one hand curved gently at the small of Jun’s back, the other buried in his hair, combing through the soft strands like Jun was something to be memorized.

“You smell like my hoodie,” Dylan said.

“You smell like…my boyfriend,” Jun murmured into his throat, licking lazily along Dylan’s jaw. “God, you’re warm. I could die here. This is my grave now.”

“You’re ridiculous.”

“Your ridiculous.”

Dylan chuckled, pulling him tighter. “Yes. Mine.”

They stayed like that, their bodies aligned like puzzle pieces, legs tangled, heat melting between them. Dylan’s thumb traced slow circles at Jun’s lower back, just under the hem of his shirt. Jun responded by pressing kisses along his throat, soft and scattered, with the occasional wicked flick of tongue that made Dylan tremble.

“You’re such a tease,” Dylan whispered.

“You started it,” Jun replied smugly, then nuzzled closer until his nose was against Dylan’s. Their lashes brushed. Their breath mingled.

“I made a playlist for you,” Dylan confessed, quiet and embarrassed. “On the way back from camp. I didn’t know if I’d ever give it to you.”

Jun didn’t respond right away. Just held him tighter, burying his nose in Dylan’s neck, warm breath fanning against skin.

“You’re an idiot,” Jun whispered. “The sweetest idiot I’ve ever fallen in love with.”

Dylan’s exhale was a shaky laugh. “You’re not so bad yourself, Moonbun.”

Jun snorted into his neck. “Don’t you dare call me that again.”

“Too late. It’s canon now.”

They lay like that, wrapped up in each other, letting the silence thread between them.

“I was going to label it something dumb like... ‘You’re the Moon to My Disaster,’ or something.”

Jun broke into a bright, helpless laugh. “Please tell me you did.”

“…I did. It’s still on my phone.”

“Give it.”

Jun didn’t move from his spot—still very much sprawled on Dylan like he owned him—but reached blindly into Dylan’s pocket and fished out his phone with a triumphant little grin.

They scrolled together, Jun lying fully on top, Dylan’s head tilted to the side to watch. The playlist was there, embarrassingly titled Hot Disaster Moonbun Vol. 1.

“Dylan,” Jun breathed. “You absolute romantic nerd.”

Dylan tried to hide his face. “Shut up.”

Jun didn’t shut up. He kissed Dylan’s nose instead. Then his cheek. Then his lips. Then both eyelids. Then, very gently, the tip of his ear.

Each kiss was an affirmation. A promise.

“I love you,” Jun whispered, burying his face into the crook of Dylan’s neck and just breathing him in.

Dylan tightened his arms around him. “I love you too.”

The music started playing, lyrics about trust, soft beginnings, stargazing kisses, and quiet hope—faint through the shared earbuds they now wore, one in each ear, heads pressed together. A soft acoustic song, guitar and gentle vocals, something quiet and honest. Jun made a sleepy noise of delight, letting himself melt entirely into Dylan’s chest, face smooshed against his collarbone.

“This is the best day of my life,” Jun mumbled, lips grazing Dylan’s skin. “Better than mango pancakes. Better than your hoodie. Better than the tree kiss.”

Dylan laughed. “Wow. High praise.”

“Shut up and let me nap on your heart.”

Dylan smoothed a hand through Jun’s hair, humming along to the song. “You fit there. Perfectly.”

Jun made a satisfied hum, pressing one last kiss over Dylan’s heart. “Mine,” he whispered again.

“Yours,” Dylan echoed.

By the time the sun dipped low, dyeing the sky in sherbet orange and cotton-candy pink, Jun was fast asleep sprawled on top of Dylan, breathing steady and warm. Dylan didn’t move. Not even an inch. He just held him close, arm around Jun’s waist, their fingers still laced, earbuds still playing.

The rooftop stayed silent. No one interrupted.

Inside, the rest of Mars knew. And they left the door gently closed behind them.

Just us two. Just like this.

Forever, if they could help it.

Chapter Text

The rooftop had gone quiet. Golden light stretched long across the cement floor, and above them the clouds glowed like spilled apricot jam across an evening sky. A breeze stirred Dylan’s hair, but the real warmth came from Jun, heavy and content on top of him.

Chest to chest, Jun was a perfect blanket of sleepy affection—his arms wrapped tightly around Dylan’s waist like they were on a rollercoaster and not a rooftop, his cheek smushed against Dylan’s shoulder. His breath ghosted softly over Dylan’s collarbone. They hadn’t moved in over an hour.

Dylan’s fingers gently stroked up and down Jun’s spine, tracing the dip where his shirt had ridden up just enough to expose a sliver of soft skin. He couldn’t help smiling down at the boy sprawled across him. Every so often, Jun would give a little snore or mumble something like “five more minutes…” and burrow impossibly deeper into Dylan’s body like he could melt straight through.

“Hey,” Dylan whispered, brushing some messy hair from Jun’s temple. “We should go downstairs soon. Everyone probably thinks we’ve run off into the sunset.”

Jun didn’t answer. He just squished his nose against Dylan’s neck, inhaled dramatically, and muttered, “No. You smell too nice. I’m staying. You’re my pillow now.”

“You can’t just claim me like a body pillow,” Dylan protested weakly, grinning even as his heart hiccupped at the possessive rasp in Jun’s voice.

Jun only gave a sleepy groan and cuddled harder.

“I’m serious,” Dylan tried again. “If we don’t move, Nano will come looking. He’ll have a drone camera.”

“Let him,” Jun mumbled. “We look cute from every angle.”

It was both absolutely unfair and alarmingly effective—Jun being drowsy, clingy, and full of quiet confidence. Dylan kissed the top of his head, then his cheek, lingering longer than necessary, before carefully attempting to slide out from under him.

Jun whimpered like a puppy. “Babe…”

Dylan melted immediately. “Okay, okay,” he whispered. “Compromise. I’ll carry you.”

Jun made a sleepy noise that could have been a yes or a challenge. Either way, Dylan carefully sat up, adjusting Jun so his arms looped around Dylan’s neck. And then—slowly, bracing himself—he scooped him up bridal style.

“Whoa,” Jun breathed, eyes fluttering half-open. “You’re strong.”

Dylan’s ears turned pink. “Don’t flatter me, you’re light.”

“You’re still my favorite ride,” Jun said, already nuzzling into Dylan’s neck again, voice slurred with affection. “So warm…”

“Please don’t say that while I’m holding you like a groom,” Dylan whispered, stumbling slightly on the rooftop steps.

The moment they stepped into the dorm hallway, they knew.

It was too quiet.

Too still.

Too… suspiciously well-lit.

Then—

📸 Click!
“OH MY GOD, HE’S CARRYING HIM LIKE A PRINCE!” Nano bellowed from behind his phone camera. “IT’S OVER FOR THE REST OF US!”

Dylan froze. Jun didn’t. He just burrowed deeper into Dylan’s hoodie like a cat resisting its vet appointment.

Pepper was live-blogging with wild eyes. “Update: Jun is asleep in Dylan’s arms. His hair is tangled in Dylan’s hoodie strings. Dylan is BLUSHING. I REPEAT, HE’S BLUSHING.”

Thame was fully crying in the corner, tissue in one hand, the other on his chest. “It’s so pure. Look at them. I’m gonna explode.”

Po stood calmly at the end of the hallway with a mug of tea, slow-clapping like a proud, deadpan mother hen. “I knew this day would come. The day one of them would carry the other like a regency drama hero.”

“Do you guys just wait around for moments like this?” Dylan asked, not sure whether to laugh or run.

“Yes,” all four of them chorused in sync.

Jun peeked one eye open and squinted at the chaos. “Is this a dream? Or have I entered a cult?”

“My camera roll is full,” Nano announced, already uploading the pics in the group chat for future use. “Also, I added sparkles to your cheeks in post.”

Dylan gave a dramatic sigh. “I was trying to be romantic. I should’ve known better.”

“You’re still being romantic,” Thame sniffled. “Just… in front of witnesses.”

Jun tilted his face toward Dylan’s neck and gave a lazy kiss under his jaw. “Ignore them. You’re still my prince.”

Dylan’s knees almost gave out.

Po sipped his tea. “You melt him, you buy him.”

Somehow, Dylan managed to carry Jun all the way to his bed and gently lower him onto it. Jun promptly grabbed Dylan’s wrist and yanked him down too, curling into his side like he was trying to mold them into one organism.

“Mine,” Jun muttered.

“You’re not even pretending to hide it anymore,” Dylan teased.

“Too sleepy. Too in love. Zero filter,” Jun said, and nuzzled into Dylan’s jawline like he belonged there.

Po was already scribbling a new schedule on the whiteboard. “Tomorrow’s content: Dylan carries Jun through seven romantic scenarios. One of them involves flower petals and a dramatic balcony.”

Thame raised a hand. “Can we have heart-shaped props?”

“I want a fog machine,” Nano added.

Pepper clapped. “Let’s make it themed: 'Our Boyfriend Era.'”

Jun lifted his head slightly, smirking. “Are we the content now?”

“You’ve always been the content,” Thame sniffled. “We were just waiting for you to admit it.”

Dylan groaned, hiding his face in Jun’s hair.

Jun just smiled into Dylan’s neck and whispered, “I’m never getting off you, by the way.”

“Good,” Dylan replied. “I wouldn’t let you.”

Jun woke slowly to the familiar scent of fabric softener, Dylan’s shampoo, and something warm, clean, and unmistakably home. His cheek was smushed against a pillow that definitely wasn’t his, and the quilted comforter he was tangled in smelled faintly like cedarwood and summer.

Wait.

He cracked one eye open and confirmed it: he was in Dylan’s bed.

Again.

Chapter Text

A dopey grin stretched across his face. It wasn’t even embarrassing anymore—if anything, it was kind of perfect. He’d clearly migrated here in his sleep, because the last thing he remembered was lying half-dead from cuddles on the rooftop. Somewhere between chest-on-chest snuggles and a whispery “I really like you,” he must’ve drifted into dreamland and just... stayed. Dylan hadn’t moved him. Probably hadn’t even tried.

Jun stretched, rolled onto his back—and felt something crinkle under his pillow.

Frowning, he reached under it and pulled out a tiny envelope made from folded notebook paper, sealed with a sticker of a chubby blue whale.

There, in Dylan’s unmistakable chicken-scratch:

💌 to: Moonbun
from: your Dillybean

Curious now, Jun opened it—and promptly melted into the mattress.

Inside were tiny, carefully cut rectangles of paper. Each one hand-labeled in colorful pen. Some were creased, like they’d been erased a few too many times. One even had smudged edges like Dylan had messed it up first then tried so hard to correct it.

🪪 “1 Free Hair Ruffle – redeem when sad or smug”
💋 “Redeem for Kisses x3 (stackable if pouty)”
🫂 “Use in Emergencies: Dylan Will Hold Your Hand Without Questions”
😘 “1 Shoulder Kiss (bonus if caught by Thame)”
🧸 “Jun Nap Pass – Dylan will be your human pillow, no complaints”
🩷 “Wildcard: I’ll do anything you want for 10 minutes. Unless it involves glitter glue.”

Jun read each one slowly, heart swelling. They weren’t just coupons. They were... Dylan. Each word, each crinkle and scribbled doodle was proof that his boyfriend had sat down, probably late at night, and poured effort into this dorky, adorable gesture just to make Jun smile.

He clutched the envelope to his chest and whispered, “Oh my god. I’m dating a sentient marshmallow.”

Then the door creaked.

Dylan peeked in, shirt rumpled, hair still damp from a shower. “Hey—oh. You’re up.”

Jun sat bolt upright, cheeks burning. “Did you seriously leave me boyfriend coupons?!”

Dylan froze. “I, um. Yes?”

Jun stood up in one bounce and marched across the room, waving the envelope like a victory flag. “This is the cutest thing I’ve ever seen in my life.”

“You weren’t supposed to find it until later,” Dylan groaned, rubbing the back of his neck. “I panicked. I didn’t know what to get you. And I couldn’t exactly wrap myself in a bow and jump out of a cake.”

Jun stepped right into his space. “You made me a coupon for shoulder kisses.”

Dylan blinked. “Yeah?”

“You drew a chibi version of yourself crying on the ‘hand-hold’ one.”

“Okay, that part was for dramatic effect—”

Jun kissed him.

There was no warning, no preamble, no slow romantic build-up. He just grabbed Dylan by the collar, yanked him down, and kissed him with the kind of fervor that made Dylan stumble back a step in surprise.

Jun didn’t let up. He tilted his head, deepened the kiss, arms sliding around Dylan’s waist as his lips parted in invitation. Dylan melted into it with a quiet groan, hands coming up to cup Jun’s face, thumb brushing over the apple of his cheek.

It started soft—open-mouthed, slow, sweet. But then Jun made a noise, something between a sigh and a whimper, and Dylan’s control snapped like a taut string.

He surged forward, backing Jun up against the nearest wall. Their bodies slotted together perfectly, hips aligned, chests pressed so close Jun could feel Dylan’s heartbeat like a war drum.

“Someone’s redeeming all their coupons at once,” Dylan mumbled breathlessly between kisses.

Jun nipped at his bottom lip. “You owe me three kisses.”

Dylan kissed his mouth. “One.”

Jun tugged on his hoodie. “You said they’re stackable.”

Dylan kissed under his jaw. “Two.”

Jun tilted his head back with a low gasp as Dylan trailed kisses down the side of his throat, tongue flicking briefly over his pulse point. “That’s not a kiss, that’s illegal.”

Dylan smirked against his neck. “Three.”

Jun shivered. “Redeeming a shoulder kiss. Bonus: Thame doesn’t even have to see.”

Dylan kissed his shoulder through the thin cotton of his borrowed shirt, then pulled it down just slightly to mouth at bare skin. Jun squirmed.

“Redeeming wildcard,” Jun whispered, voice airy now. “Ten minutes. I want... this.”

He slipped his hands under Dylan’s shirt, palms skimming along warm skin, thumbs brushing over his ribs. Dylan sucked in a sharp breath and kissed him again—messier now, needier. Their mouths slanted together over and over, tongues brushing, breaths mixing in humid little gasps.

The air between them crackled with something electric. Each time Jun tugged Dylan closer, each brush of skin-on-skin under shirts riding up, every sound—the wet slide of lips, the soft moan when Jun bit Dylan’s lip gently, the ragged inhale when Dylan’s hand dipped under the hem of Jun’s shirt—made the room feel too small, too warm.

They finally pulled apart, dizzy and panting, foreheads pressed together.

“Okay,” Dylan whispered, voice hoarse. “That was...”

Jun grinned, pink cheeked and panting. “Redeemable for repeats?”

Dylan’s eyes sparkled. “Infinite redemptions. Lifetime membership.”

They flopped onto the bed in a tangle of limbs, giggling and breathless. Jun curled into Dylan’s side, hand tucked under his shirt now, palm resting over his heartbeat. Dylan laced their fingers together and pulled the covers over them both.

Silence fell—peaceful, content.

Then Jun murmured into his collarbone, “Is this legal tender?”

Dylan laughed softly. “Only in the country of Us.”

Jun lifted his head and kissed him one more time—slow, sweet, lingering—before dropping his face back to Dylan’s chest and whispering, “Don’t ever stop doing stupid things like this for me.”

“I won’t,” Dylan promised, wrapping both arms around him. “I like seeing you this soft.”

Jun grinned. “Soft? I am feral, thank you very much.”

“Feral in love.”

“Mmm,” Jun murmured, already drifting. “Feral with boyfriend coupons.”

Chapter Text

It started as a joke.

The invitation from the variety show had clearly been meant for chaos: Up & Personal: Campus Crush Edition, featuring fan-favorite duos from T-Pop groups. When Jun and Dylan were asked, it was under the pretence of “platonic besties with undeniable chemistry.” Their agent convinced them it was light, no PDA, no confessions, and definitely no hint of actual romance.

Dylan had accepted first. Jun, upon hearing the name of the game segment—“You Sit, I Sock”—grinned for about three hours straight.

They arrived in coordinated outfits, though they both pretended it was an accident. Jun wore a crisp white T-shirt tucked into loose beige cargo pants. Dylan had gone for soft neutrals—a knitted cream vest layered over a pale blue shirt, sleeves rolled just above the elbow. He looked like a boyfriend in a Thai BL, which was devastating because Jun was only trying to survive being near him for forty-five commercial-free minutes.

The show started easy enough. The host was loud, the games were silly, and the other “pairs” were all laughing at rumors about them dating.
When it was Jun and Dylan’s turn, they fell into their usual rhythm.

“So, Jun, Dylan,” the MC said, grinning like a cat, “any truth to the whole summer boyfriends thing?”

“What summer boyfriends?” Jun blinked innocently. “We’re winter enemies. Very seasonal.”

“Yeah,” Dylan added, smiling sweetly. “He bullies me in spring. We cool off by fall.”

The audience laughed. The MC moved on. But the smile Jun gave Dylan was sharp and sideways. Dylan met it like a mirror. This was their game, their stage. Just bros, your honor. In matching colors. With charged silences and private jokes. Totally normal.

The MC beamed as the segment title lit up on the screen behind them. “Now it’s time for our crowd-favorite: Who Knows Who Best!” they announced. “Each duo gets questions about the other. Answer right, you score. Get it wrong… well, let’s hope your friendship survives.”

Jun leaned toward Dylan with a smirk. “Ready to fail spectacularly?”

Dylan rolled his eyes. “You mean watch you expose your lack of attention span? Absolutely.”

The first question was simple: What’s Dylan’s favorite midnight snack?

Jun didn’t hesitate. “Yogurt with honey and cinnamon. Two spoons. One to eat and one to stir.”

Dylan’s brow rose. “That’s disturbingly accurate.”

The MC blinked. “Whoa—okay, stalker alert!”

Jun shrugged, grinning. “I pay attention.”

The next questions followed like dominoes. What song calms Dylan down? (That obscure acoustic version of “Astronaut in the ocean”), what’s his biggest irrational fear? (Insects(that fly)), and what was his first ever pet’s name? (Minty the turtle).

Each time, Jun answered without breaking a sweat. Each time, Dylan’s look grew more incredulous.

“Okay, okay,” Dylan finally said, laughing as the crowd “oooh”ed, “you win. You know me too well.”

The MC leaned into the mic. “I feel like I’m third-wheeling right now.”

Jun tossed a wink Dylan’s way. “Then scoot over.”

The audience roared. Dylan bit back a grin, elbowing Jun—gently. “Shut up.”

For the second game a giant pad was brought out, along with a whiteboard marker.

“Next game: Draw It, Don’t Say It!” the MC called. “One person draws the word on the card, the other guesses. You’ve got thirty seconds!”

Dylan volunteered to draw first. He pulled a card from the pile, glanced at it, and hesitated.

He turned to the board and drew a lumpy oval. Then two lines. A crooked arrow pointing to the center.

The MC tilted their head. “What on earth…?”

Jun didn’t even blink. “Heart.”

“CORRECT!” the MC shouted, stunned. “How?!”

Jun leaned back in his chair. “He always draws hearts like that. Kind of off-center. Like they’re shy.”

Dylan, who was mid-cough of laughter, ducked behind the whiteboard. “Don’t expose my tragic doodle style, bro.”

“Bro?” the MC echoed with a laugh. “You memorize his doodles, but he’s ‘bro’ now?”

Jun just grinned. “Hey, platonic bros can have taste.”

The third game started, truth or dare lite. The wheel clacked as it spun, colors flashing. Jun and Dylan sat side by side on high stools, trying not to look competitive. Or flustered.

The arrow landed on Jun.

“Dare,” the MC read with glee, “Say something nice about your partner while holding eye contact.”

Jun turned to Dylan, and something in his body language shifted—shoulders settling, voice softening.

He met Dylan’s gaze fully. “Dylan looks soft, but he’s dangerously smart. Sharp as glass. And he makes me feel like home.”

The silence that followed wasn’t awkward—it was weighted. Just a beat too long for a normal game segment.

Dylan laughed—but it was gentler than before, quieter. “That was a platonic compliment, right?”

Jun’s mouth quirked. “Oh, extremely platonic.”

The MC fanned themselves dramatically. “Okay, you’re gonna kill the rumors by adding gasoline, huh?”

Fourth game was guess the touch, one partner wears a blindfold. The other uses a random object to gently touch their hand, face, or neck. The blindfolded person has to guess the object. Very normal. Totally not a set-up for emotionally compromising physical intimacy.

Dylan went first, slipping on the blindfold with the hesitant confidence of a man who didn’t yet know what Jun was capable of.

“Jun, you ready?” the MC asked, holding up the first object—a feather.

Jun made a dramatic show of rolling up his sleeves. “Born ready.”

He knelt beside Dylan and gently ran the feather along the inside of Dylan’s wrist. The reaction was immediate—Dylan inhaled a little too sharply for TV-safe comfort, his whole body twitching like someone had turned on a live wire.

“Uh… feather?” Dylan guessed, voice slightly higher than usual.

“Correct!” the MC cheered.

“You okay there, Dylan?” Jun teased, resting his chin on Dylan’s shoulder for just a second too long.

“I’m fine,” Dylan replied, rubbing at his wrist. “Didn’t expect you to go for the pulse point.”

Jun grinned. “Educational videos taught me well.”

When it was Dylan’s turn, he chose a plush heart and lightly brushed it against Jun’s cheek before cupping Jun’s jaw with it for a lingering second.

Jun froze—his voice cracked slightly as he answered, “Uh. That’s… a plush toy?”

“Name it,” the MC prompted.

Jun blinked. “A heart?”

“Correct!”

Dylan smiled, the picture of innocence. “Lucky guess?”

Jun exhaled slowly. “Sure.”

Next game was where each person says three statements: two truths and one lie. The other must guess the lie.

Dylan went first.

1. I hate spicy food.
2. I once dreamed about Jun.
3. I collect vinyl records.

Jun folded his arms. “The lie’s… the spicy food.”

Dylan grinned. “Wrong. I do hate spicy food. The vinyls are the lie.”

Jun’s expression shifted. “Wait—you dreamed about me?”

Dylan tilted his head, the picture of innocence. “It was platonic. We were both frogs.”

The MC cackled. “That is somehow the cutest and weirdest thing I’ve heard today.”

Then came The Game.

The stagehands brought out a single chair—plastic, comically small—and a transparent box. Inside was a large, rainbow-striped sock. Oversized. Fuzzy. Suspiciously suggestive.

“It’s time for ‘You Sit, I Sock!’” the MC boomed, eyes glinting. “One of you sits in the chair. The other must sit on their lap. While the one in the chair puts this on—” he held up the sock like it was the Holy Grail—“using only one hand. The other hand must stay behind the back of the one sitting.”

“...What part of this is about socks?” Jun asked.

“Intimacy through textiles,” the MC grinned. “Now pick your positions!”

Jun was already plopping into the chair, spreading his knees like an invitation. “I’m built for laps,” he said casually. “C’mon, bro.”

Dylan hesitated. And when he hesitated, the crowd made noises. Not booing—just teasing “Oooooh”s that made his cheeks tint pink.

“Shy?” the MC teased.

“It’s a small chair,” Dylan muttered, rubbing the back of his neck. “And he’s not very trustworthy.”

“Thank you,” Jun said brightly, before patting his lap. “Trust me. Very stable infrastructure.”

It was not supposed to be hot. It was not supposed to turn into a moment.

But then Dylan stepped forward and—delicately, like a fawn about to cross a stream—lowered himself onto Jun’s lap. Not fully. Just perched on the edge of his knees. His back was straight as a ruler, hands awkwardly in his lap, thighs tight together.

Jun looked up at him, pretending to pout.

“Bro. That’s not how you sit on a lap.”

“It’s a national broadcast,” Dylan said, stiffly.

“This isn’t lap-hovering,” the MC agreed. “Be more comfortable, Dylan. Settle in!”

The word comfortable did something to Dylan’s brain.

He gave Jun a look. The kind that said: You started this. Now hold still.

Then slowly—so, so slowly—he slid further back into Jun’s lap.

Jun exhaled a little too fast.

Dylan adjusted his hips slightly, tilting them into the dip between Jun’s legs until their bodies locked like puzzle pieces. Then he leaned back just enough that his shoulder brushed Jun’s collarbone. His head tilted like he might rest it there.

Jun’s body betrayed him instantly.

His spine arched. His thighs tensed. And—oh no—his pants definitely got tighter.

He laughed. Loudly. Way too loudly.

“You good, Jun?” the MC asked.

“Great. Loving the sock vibe,” Jun said through his teeth, reaching for the fuzzy tube of doom. He grabbed it with one hand, the other arm wrapping behind Dylan’s back as per the rules.

“Focus, babe,” Dylan murmured. “Sock up.”

Jun bent forward, trying to pull the giant sock over his sneaker. But the positioning was hell. Dylan was warm, his weight perfect and horrible, and every time Jun leaned, his chest brushed against Dylan’s back.

And Dylan... Dylan was being very still.

Too still.

Then Dylan turned his head slightly, face close to Jun’s ear, and whispered—still smiling sweetly for the camera:

“Is this how you imagined I’d sit on you? Or did your fantasies include more grinding?”

Jun nearly fumbled the sock off.

He choked, disguised it as a cough, and tried to adjust the fabric while simultaneously not dying on live television.

Dylan just kept smiling. Angelic. Unbothered.

Jun finished getting the sock over his shoe—shakily, with a lot of inner cursing—and just as he straightened, Dylan leaned back again.

Right into his chest.

Their bodies aligned perfectly.

And then Dylan whispered, voice too low for mics but right into Jun’s soul:

“You’re lucky the pants are baggy today.”

Jun made a noise. Not a word. A noise.

Dylan stood up like nothing happened, dusting imaginary lint from his vest. The crowd clapped politely. The MC said something about “teamwork” and “surprising chemistry.”

Jun just stayed seated, head tilted back, eyes on Dylan like he’d just witnessed a meteor shower in human form.

His mouth moved but no sound came out.

Dylan looked down at him. Tilted his head. Smiled.

Jun finally muttered, too low for anyone but Dylan to hear:

“You are going to pay for this.”

“Looking forward to it,” Dylan replied, slipping back into his seat like nothing had happened.

They made it through the rest of the show with mild teasing and fanservice smiles.

But under the table, Jun’s leg kept bouncing.

And Dylan? He crossed his legs and leaned into Jun just enough to drive him absolutely insane.

When the cameras cut and they stood to leave, Jun hissed, “That was evil.”

“I was gentle,” Dylan replied. “Could’ve rocked your world. I didn’t.”

Jun swore under his breath. Dylan just hummed a little tune.

As they walked off set, Jun leaned in close and whispered:

“You better hope we don’t get a hotel room with only one bed.”

Dylan didn’t answer. He just tugged Jun’s sleeve, smiled, and said: “Then I’ll sit more comfortably next time.”

Chapter Text

The van door slid shut with a clunk, sealing them into a world of plush leather seats and too much unspoken tension.

Dylan buckled in with a content sigh. “Mmm. I love scheduled transportation. Feels like I’m being chauffeured to sin.”

Jun slid in beside him, crossing his arms and shooting him a withering look. “You’re too relaxed. That’s suspicious.”

“I’m just proud of us. We survived the sock game. Lap Olympics. Live thirst trap hour.” Dylan nudged his shoulder. “You did so well, baby. Controlled. Broody. Totally professional.”

Jun side-eyed him. “I had to mentally recite the multiplication table to keep my hands off you.”

“Oh no,” Dylan gasped. “Math? You poor thing.”

“I was on seven times eight when you sat down on me.”

Dylan blinked. “Wait, that was sexy math.”

“It stopped being sexy when I realized you were actively trying to ruin my career.”

“Correction,” Dylan said, leaning in conspiratorially. “I was trying to ruin your self-control. Different departments.”

Jun exhaled, exasperated, then muttered under his breath, “Mission accomplished.”

The driver started the engine. A soft playlist played through the speakers—some lo-fi R&B instrumental, dangerously romantic.

Dylan leaned his head on Jun’s shoulder and whispered, “You know, technically we are in the backseat of a car together.”

Jun turned to look at him, eyes narrowing. “Don't even.”

Dylan lifted his head slightly, lips twitching. “I mean, just saying. Feels like we’re in one of those dramas where the characters finally kiss in the car and the fandom loses its mind.”

Jun snorted. “You want a car kiss now?”

Dylan tilted his head, mock-innocent. “I mean… unless you’re too mentally exhausted from multiplication, boyfriend.”

Jun grabbed his chin and kissed him. Quick. Hard. Just enough to make Dylan gasp.

“I—” Dylan blinked, flustered. “Okay, wow. That was more division than I expected.”

Jun grinned, smug. “You were saying?”

“I forgot,” Dylan admitted, cheeks pink. “What are words. I only know moans now.”

Jun laughed—actually laughed, head thrown back, the kind of laugh that made Dylan feel like the luckiest guy in the world.

They fell into a comfortable silence after that, heads leaning together as the city lights passed them by in streaks of gold and blue. Jun’s hand found Dylan’s under the blanket draped over their laps (bless whoever left that there). Fingers laced without a word.

Dylan peeked at him. “You’re not mad at me for earlier, right?”

Jun glanced over. “For traumatizing me with a public lap dance?”

“Technically clothed!”

Jun smirked. “Barely.”

“You loved it,” Dylan said.

“I’m planning your punishment.”

Dylan’s eyes gleamed. “Oh no,” he whispered.

Jun rolled his eyes and leaned in, lips brushing Dylan’s ear.

“You’ll find out,” he murmured, “when we’re alone. In the hotel. With one bed.”

Dylan inhaled sharply. “Oh.”

Jun sat back like nothing happened.

Dylan took a moment. “That was mean.”

“You started it.”

“I started sitting.”

Jun looked at him with mock offense. “You started everything.”

“You started me,” Dylan replied, winking. “I was just a good boy until you corrupted me.”

Jun blinked. “You were never a good boy.”

“I could try harder.”

“Not in public.”

Dylan hummed. “Challenge accepted.”

Jun groaned into his hands.

When the van finally pulled up to the hotel, Dylan stretched like a cat, deliberately arching his back and making a little noise that was definitely not innocent.

Jun stared out the window like it might swallow him whole.

“Do you need help with your bag?” Dylan asked sweetly.

“No. I need help restraining myself from throwing you over my shoulder and ruining both our reputations in the lobby.”

Dylan lit up like a devil given permission to play.

“Then hurry up,” he whispered, brushing past Jun and stepping out of the van first, “before I get even more comfortable.”

Jun took a deep breath. Then another.

“God help me,” he muttered, stepping into the night—and right into his boyfriend’s trap.

The elevator ride up was silent.

Not because there was nothing to say, but because every word would’ve come out a groan. Or a plea. Or a sin.

Jun stood stiffly in the corner, fists clenched in his pockets. Dylan stood beside him, humming softly—completely unbothered. Except for the flush riding high on his cheeks and the way he kept chewing on his bottom lip like it was a game controller and Jun was losing.

Ding.

Their floor.

They stepped out into the hallway, walking fast—too fast to be casual.

Dylan laughed so hard he nearly tripped.

When Jun finally stopped at the door and swiped the keycard, the tiny red light blinked.

Denied.

Jun swore under his breath.

Dylan leaned into his back. "It's okay," he whispered. "Foreplay builds character."

Jun turned the card again. Beep. Green.

The door swung open.

Jun stepped inside. Paused.

Dylan peeked over his shoulder—and grinned.

“One bed.”

It was big. King-sized. Comically fluffy. The kind of bed that invited messes and whispered about regrets.

Dylan set his bag down. “Guess we’ll have to share.”

Jun tossed his bag aside and locked the door. “Guess so.”

A beat passed. Then another.

“You’ve been torturing me for hours,” Jun said, tilting his head. “I’m cashing in.”

Dylan’s voice dropped. “I didn’t know I was doing that.”

Jun raised an eyebrow. “You were grinding on me. On national television.”

“That was acting. Part of the game!”

Jun stepped forward. Dylan stepped back—until his calves hit the bed. Jun loomed over him, hands braced on either side of Dylan’s hips.

“Then act for me now,” Jun whispered. “Pretend the cameras are still on.”

Dylan swallowed. “That’s so dirty.”

“You like dirty.”

Dylan sat, breath catching. “You want me to put on a show for just you?”

Jun leaned in, forehead to forehead. “Yeah.”

“Even if I make you beg?”

Jun exhaled. “Especially then.”

Dylan smirked. Trouble.

With a shove to the chest, Dylan knocked Jun backward. Jun let himself fall onto the mattress, bouncing slightly.

Dylan climbed on top like he owned it. Legs straddling Jun’s hips. Fingers finding the hem of Jun’s shirt and slipping underneath.

“Do you even know how sexy you looked back there?” Dylan murmured, palms sliding up Jun’s chest. “Just sitting there, arms crossed, trying not to lose it?”

“I was this close,” Jun grunted.

“I know. That’s why I kept leaning in.” His lips brushed Jun’s jaw. “Kept whispering. Sitting back on you. You made this little noise in your throat…”

Jun’s hands gripped Dylan’s thighs. “You’re evil.”

Dylan licked under his ear. “Then punish me.”

Jun growled and flipped them, pinning Dylan to the bed with one smooth motion.

“Oh,” Dylan gasped, “someone lost patience.”

“I’ll be gentle,” Jun said mockingly, kissing down his neck, biting just enough to leave a mark. “Could’ve rocked your world. Didn’t.”

“You’re quoting me?” Dylan laughed breathlessly.

“You earned it.”

Jun dragged Dylan’s shirt up until he sat up and yanked it off. Skin on skin. Jun stared like it was the first time.

“You’re unreal,” he whispered.

“So touch me like I’m real.”

Jun did.

Mouth on collarbone. Tongue on sternum. Hands tracing ribs. Dylan arched into him, gasping, fingers in Jun’s hair like he was drowning and Jun was air.

They kissed—messy, desperate kisses that landed anywhere. Shoulder. Jaw. Laughter between gasps. Hands tugging and grabbing.

Clothes hit the floor like broken promises.

When Dylan was down to just briefs and Jun was shirtless and sweating, they paused, panting.

Jun pulled Dylan into his arms. Both on their sides, tangled under the covers. Dylan hooked a leg over Jun’s hip. Jun nosed his neck. “You smell like berries and trouble.”

“You smell like restraint and frustration.”

Jun kissed his forehead. “I’m still gonna make you pay.”

“Mm. Can’t wait.”

Jun’s hand slid across Dylan’s waist, fingertips slipping just under the band of his briefs. Not quite touching—but close.

“You’re hard,” Jun whispered.

“So are you,” Dylan rasped, voice wrecked and honeyed. “Didn’t even finish.”

“You started it.”

“Yeah,” Dylan gasped as Jun finally cupped him over the fabric, “but you were the one breathing like a Victorian ghost.”

Jun let out a soft laugh, licking behind Dylan’s ear. “I should’ve pulled you into my lap backstage.”

“God,” Dylan groaned, pressing into him. “You would’ve made a sound. You always do.”

“Yeah?” Jun murmured. “What kind of sound?”

Dylan turned his head, their noses brushing. Eyes gleaming. “The kind that’d short-circuit the sound guy’s mic.”

Jun kissed him—deep and slow. Dylan moaned into it, voice so beautifully ruined it felt like smoke between their mouths.

“Your voice,” Jun muttered, pulling back. “It’s killing me.”

Dylan smirked lazily. “What, this one?” he whispered, wrecked and low, letting it roll over Jun’s neck like static. “You like it when I talk like I’ve been kissing you for hours?”

His voice was all gravel and glow now, gasping more than speaking.

Jun nodded, hand sliding lower. Dylan arched with a sharp inhale. Jun hadn’t even touched—just looked.

“You’re—,” Jun started, voice low.

“Yeah,” Dylan whispered, eyelids heavy. “Been hard since you mouthed ‘payback’ in the car.”

Jun’s breath caught. “That turned you on?”

“Your eyes were black,” Dylan whispered. “Your hand on my thigh. All I could think about was how you’d taste if you pulled over.”

Jun groaned, then bit down Dylan’s neck—enough to claim.

“You say shit like that,” he growled, “and expect me to stay patient?”

“I don’t want you patient,” Dylan said, hips rolling. “I want you wrecked.”

“Say it again.”

“I want you wrecked.”

Jun’s hand finally wrapped around him. Dylan swore, breath sharp.

“You talk so sweet on camera,” Jun muttered, pumping slow, “but in bed? You’re filthy.”

“You like it.”

“I love it.”

Dylan moaned—choked and low, the kind of sound that made Jun’s thighs twitch. He palmed Jun through his waistband, fingers slow and tight.

“You’re big when you’re frustrated,” Dylan whispered. “Is that from teasing? Or hearing me moan your name in our bed?”

Jun kissed him—hard, desperate. Dylan kissed back with teeth, tongue, and breath like wildfire.

Then Jun broke the kiss, panting. “Don’t say my name like that.”

“Why not?” Dylan taunted.

“Because I’ll come just from that.”

“...So sensitive, babe,” Dylan purred. “That’s hot.”

“You’re gonna ruin me.”

Dylan smiled, already half-ruined himself. “Good.”

Jun swore softly. “Yes.”

Dylan leaned in, words brushing Jun’s lips. “You should’ve heard the noises you made when I licked your collarbone.”

“I was holding back,” Jun grunted. “I could’ve begged.”

“No begging,” Dylan said, grinding again, voice low. “But you could make me come without even touching me properly, you know that?”

Jun groaned, gripping Dylan’s sides.

“You got on top of me back there,” he muttered. “If you’d moved one inch lower, I would've come in my jeans. Like a teenager.”

“That would’ve made the driver very uncomfortable.”

Jun pushed him onto his back again, hovering close. “You’re trouble.”

“Your favorite kind.”

They kissed again, slower this time. Dylan kissed back with that wrecked-voice energy—lazy and open-mouthed, like they had all night.

When they finally slowed, bodies flush, Dylan exhaled as Jun’s hand wrapped around him again—confident now, steady. Jun watched every twitch of Dylan’s mouth.

“You’re too pretty when you fall apart,” Jun whispered, thumb brushing over the tip. “No one else gets to see you like this.”

Dylan bit his lip. “That possessive thing? Keep doing it.”

Jun chuckled, low and filthy. “Yeah? You like knowing you’re mine?”

“Only yours,” Dylan breathed. “No one else touches me like this.”

Jun leaned in, lips brushing Dylan’s ear. “Good. Because I wouldn’t share—even if you begged.”

That earned a choked gasp. Jun kissed him again, deep and slow. Hips grinding now, bodies perfectly slotted.

Dylan clawed at his back. “God, your skin’s so hot. I can feel everything.”

“You should,” Jun rasped. “You made me like this. That lap game? I’ve been hard for hours.”

“Then do something about it,” Dylan whispered. A dare.

“Oh, I will.”

Jun reached between them—slow now, slick with heat. Dylan arched with a moan caught in his throat, knees falling open.

“Fuuuck,” he breathed, voice cracking.

Jun kissed the sound out of his mouth. “Say it. Say what it feels like.”

“Like… like I’m going to lose my mind just from you touching me,” Dylan panted. “Like I’ve never been this turned on in my life.”

“I can feel how close you are,” Jun whispered. “You’re twitching. So sensitive. You gonna come just from my hand, boyfriend?”

Dylan nodded wildly, breath hot and ragged. “Y-yeah—Jun, I’m—”

“Good,” Jun whispered. “I want to watch.”

Chapter Text

A few weeks after the reality show, it began innocently enough.

Dylan stood in the kitchen of the group house, arms crossed, trying not to look weird about the oversized, traditional-looking red envelope in his hand. It wasn’t the red envelope — not a wedding one or anything. But it was from his mother, and she’d insisted he “hand-deliver it with respect” to his bandmates because "friends who eat at the table should also sit at the feast."

It was 10:42 a.m.

Nano was upside down on the couch, legs over the backrest, phone in hand. Thame was drinking protein coffee like it owed him money. Pepper was reading a web novel and muttering, “If this protagonist gets kidnapped again I’m throwing my phone.” And Po was, as always, lurking behind the camera setup, probably mid-way through editing their vlog series.

Jun sat at the dining table, biting into a toast triangle like it had personally wronged him.

Dylan cleared his throat.

“Hey,” he said too loudly.

Nano groaned. “Is this a chores speech? I did the sink.”

“I know,” Dylan said. “This isn’t about that.”

He held up the envelope. They all stared at it like it might contain eviction papers.

“…Is that a wedding invite?” Thame asked, tone immediately suspicious.

“It’s red, Dylan,” said Pepper. “That’s suspiciously festive.”

“I’m not getting married,” Dylan said, very quickly, too quickly, and his eyes darted instinctively toward Jun, who blinked at him over his toast.

“Now I think you are,” Jun said, deadpan.

“I’m not,” Dylan muttered. “Anyway. My grandma’s turning 80 this weekend. Big family banquet. It’s kind of a thing.”

Thame perked up. “Ooh. Food?”

“Real banquet food?” Po added, half-standing from behind the counter. “Like the fancy kind with eight courses?”

“Ten,” Dylan said. “And yes, real banquet food. Jellyfish salad. Roasted duck. Sea cucumber if you’re brave.”

Nano made a face. “Sea cucumber tastes like depression.”

“Please don’t say that to my grandma,” Dylan sighed.

“So what’s the envelope?” Jun asked, head tilted.

Dylan walked over and dropped it onto the table with quiet ceremony. “It’s from my mom. It says: ‘Dear MARS, thank you for looking after my useless son. Please come eat.’ In my mother’s actual words.”

Po opened the envelope, reading the neatly folded invite with its glittering embossed gold letters. “‘Formal dress encouraged. Family presence expected. No excuses, Po.’”

Po whistled. “She knows me.”

“Wait,” Thame said. “We’re all invited?”

“Yeah,” Dylan said. “All of you. Po too. And bring your best fake manners because this is my extended family we’re talking about. They will judge you.”

“Sounds fun,” Jun said, already looking far too entertained. “Will they judge you too?”

“Nonstop,” Dylan said, too calmly. “I haven’t seen half of them in years. The other half are just… old aunties with sharp eyes and louder mouths.”

“So we just show up,” Pepper said. “Eat. Smile. Dress nice?”

“And don’t cause drama,” Dylan warned. “Don’t insult the food. Don’t talk about crypto.”

Nano tilted his head. “Has anyone ever?”

“My cousin Kevin,” Dylan muttered darkly.

Jun tried not to smile. “So… what exactly do we wear? Like suits?”

“I’m wearing a mandarin collar jacket,” Dylan said, “but you can wear whatever makes you look clean and expensive.”

Thame brightened. “So I can wear my black suit with the—”

“No ripped jeans, Thame.”

“Ugh, fascist.”

“I’m gonna wear the gray suit I wore to that awards show,” Po said, already typing a note into his phone. “And style Jun.”

Jun glanced up, toast forgotten. “Wait. Why me?”

“Because Dylan’s going to combust when you show up in anything remotely ‘tall and devastating,’” Po said without looking up.

Dylan nearly dropped his tea.

Jun leaned on the table with a smile. “So I should pick something devastating?”

“You always do,” Dylan muttered, turning red.

Nano made a mock gagging noise.

“But seriously,” Dylan added, attempting to recover, “just… be yourselves, but… nice. Grandma’s a little old-school, but she’s got a sharp brain and a sharper tongue. You will be interviewed.”

Jun leaned closer, amusement glittering in his eyes. “Will she ask me about my intentions?”

“She might ask if I’ve fed you enough,” Dylan muttered.

“Not gonna lie,” Thame said, “this is sounding like a reality TV episode. ‘The Idol Meets the Matriarch.’”

“It’s fine,” Dylan sighed. “Just… don’t leave me alone with the matchmaking aunties.”

Jun immediately lit up. “Oh, I cannot wait to meet the matchmaking aunties.”

“Please no.”

“I’ll be polite,” Jun promised sweetly. “Sarcastically.”

“I’m doomed,” Dylan whispered.

Pepper leaned back in his chair. “You sure we won’t be intruding?”

“No,” Dylan said honestly. “You’re family.”

There was a beat of silence.

Then Nano threw a hand in the air. “Fine. I’ll be civil.”

Thame smirked. “I’ll do push-ups before we go.”

Nano grinned. “I’ll bring the chaos.”

Jun bumped his knee under the table. “And I’ll look hot. For your grandma.”

Dylan groaned into his hands.

On Dylan’s grandma’s 80^th birthday chaos in it’s true forms seemed to have bestowed itself upon the MARS group house.

The group house was a battleground of wardrobe explosions, hair dryers, and half-yelled questions shouted through open doorways.

“Has anyone seen my black belt?! Not the leather one—the one that doesn’t make me look like a gangster?” Pepper shouted from the shared hallway.

“I swear to god if one more person touches my hair wax—” Nano’s voice drifted from the bathroom, followed by the sound of something thudding into the wall.

Jun sat cross-legged on Dylan’s bed, watching his boyfriend adjust the cuffs on his deep navy changshan shirt, trimmed with muted gold. His hair was artfully disheveled, like he'd walked out of a perfume ad, jaw sharp enough to wound, cheekbones catching the golden spill of sunset that leaked through the curtains.

Jun blinked slowly, brain emptying.

Oh no.

Oh no, he's hot-hot today.

Dylan glanced over. “Is the collar sitting weird? It feels tight.”

Jun did not respond.

“Babe?”

Still nothing.

“Moonbun.”

Jun inhaled like he’d just remembered air was a thing. “I’m sorry,” he muttered, standing up slowly. “But I just need to say… for the record…”

Dylan raised an eyebrow. “Yes?”

“You look like a historical drama’s final boss and the love interest combined. Like. At once. Like if I kissed you right now, the emperor would disown me but I’d do it anyway.”

Dylan smirked, brushing his thumb along the edge of Jun’s jaw. “You could just say I look nice.”

Jun leaned in. “If I weren’t scared of Po yelling at us to hurry up, I would keep you locked in this room for the next twelve hours and worship you like you’re the last god left on earth.”

Dylan’s ears turned pink. “Well. You’re definitely not wearing that flirty mouth at my grandma’s banquet.”

Jun gave him a sinful smile. “Too late.”

Down the hallway in Thame’s room someone was having his own moment of misfortune (yeh definitely fortune in disguise).

“P’Po… help,” Thame groaned, staring at his own reflection with a mix of panic and defeat. “I think I put the frog buttons on backwards. Is that a thing?”

Po, already dressed in a pale jade silk changshan with his hair neatly parted, walked over with his usual shy grace. He gently turned Thame around by the shoulders, fingers moving with quiet precision as he redid the buttons.

“You didn’t ruin it,” Po murmured. “You just… creatively misaligned tradition.”

Thame laughed. “That sounds like something a museum plaque would say before kicking me out.”

Po’s mouth twitched into a soft smile. “You look good. Even with your chaos.”

Thame’s voice dropped. “You’re so pretty, P’Po. I can’t believe I get to go places with you.”

Po blushed furiously. “Stop saying things like that when I’m trying to fix your clothes.”

“But you’re blushing. I win.”

“Thame—”

The younger boy grinned, grabbing Po’s hand. “You’re my lucky charm tonight.”

“I’m not a rabbit’s foot,” Po said, but his voice was too fond to hold any real protest. He fixed the last clasp on Thame’s collar and ran his hands down the shoulders to smooth them.

Thame’s eyes fluttered shut. “You touch me like I’m breakable.”

“I know you’re not,” Po whispered. “But sometimes I like pretending you are.”

In the living room, a few minutes later.

“Wow. The boyfriends have entered their do not disturb mode,” Pepper commented, watching Jun and Dylan emerge from the hallway, followed by Thame and Po looking like an ad for 'gentle princes in love.'

Nano raised an eyebrow. “Bro, are we sure they’re not already married?”

“I give it three months before someone accidentally uploads a kissing selfie,” Pepper whispered.

“They already act like they’re married. Dylan looked at Jun like he was about to eat him.”

Jun picked up on the comment as he passed and smirked. “If you think that was something, you should see what he looks like when I wear mesh.”

Dylan groaned. “Jun.”

Thame held up a finger. “One word about mesh and my grandma will cancel my entire bloodline.”

Pepper looked panicked. “No mesh! Please. Not today.”

Nano clapped his hands. “All right, all right. Group selfie before the aunties start asking why Dylan doesn’t have a girlfriend.”

Jun muttered, “Because he has me and that’s already a full-time job.”

Thame grinned. “Let’s go melt their brains.”

As they gathered by the door for the photo, Po adjusted Thame’s collar one last time, Dylan fixed Jun’s button, and Nano framed the shot with professional precision.

“Say scandal,” he sang.

“Scandal,” they chorused.

And then they were out the door, headed straight into the lion’s den.

Chapter Text

“Why does this already feel like a trap?” Jun whispered, eyeing the entrance like it might bite.

“Because it is,” Dylan muttered back, pushing open the towering carved doors.

Inside, it was a sea of relatives. Hair dyed jet black or silver-streaked and piled into precise chignons, uncle bellies stretching silk shirts to their limits, kids in wrinkled polos playing phone games under round tables covered in gold cloth. A giant red banner read:
HAPPY 80TH BIRTHDAY GRANDMA LIM!!
And beneath it, the dragon herself—Dylan’s grandma—sat on her throne-like chair with unmatched elegance, sipping tea and judging everyone equally.

“Smile,” Dylan hissed, and Jun barely had time to react before Dylan’s hand brushed his lower back—low enough to make Jun's ears heat but high enough to be public-appropriate.

The group swept in like a boyband version of royalty. Or, depending on perspective, a walking scandal.

The Fortune Phoenix Grand Hotel looked like it had overdosed on symbolism. Red brocade. Gold dragons. Chairs wrapped in silky red covers that looked like they could scream. A massive floral “80” blinked at them from the stage backdrop like it knew things.

Dylan took a breath. Straightened the mandarin-collar jacket Jun had helped him pick. No earrings. No nonsense.

He stood just tall enough to look like a man with a spine. Just lean enough to look idol-eligible. Just polite enough to survive.

Po nudged him. “Brace yourself. Auntie Zone, incoming.”

Auntie Gloria swooped like a hawk that ate glitter. “Dylan, sweetheart! You remember your cousins, don’t you?”

Behind her trailed the Nepo Sons: Kevin (NFT guy), Brandon (between startups, probably unemployed), and Jason (the gym selfie guy). All three had that family-money glow and the emotional maturity of a damp sock.

“Kevin is doing computer things,” Gloria said vaguely.

Kevin nodded once, adjusting the sleeves of his obviously fake Off-White jacket. It said Off-Fight. Spray-painted Yeezys completed the crime scene.

“Brandon’s in startups,” she added.

“Translation: unemployed,” Jun whispered, sipping politely from a tiny porcelain teacup like it was spiked with arsenic.

“And Jason’s very into fitness. Do you work out, Dylan? You look thin.”

Dylan kept the smile. “I manage. Thank you, Auntie Gloria.”

“Roommates?” Jason asked, eyes flicking between him and Jun. “Or… you know.”

“Roommates,” Jun said flatly, then smiled like a knife. “He sleeps on the floor. Like a Victorian servant. Or a monk. Depends on his sins.”

“Only when I’m being punished,” Dylan added dryly, refusing to look at Jun. “He writes the punishments down. Keeps score.”

Jun’s teacup clicked as he set it down. “I have charts.”

Auntie Lulu swooped in next with the backup vocalist. “You remember Fiona? She sings too!”

Fiona arrived dressed like a highlighter with glitter eyelids and a purse that blinked. “Hi~ I’m tone-deaf but passionate.”

“Oh wow,” Jun said, flawlessly fake. “So brave. Art through suffering.”

“She’s very fair,” Lulu insisted. “Good for pictures. Dylan, you need balance in your life. A sweet, traditional girl.”

“She’s also great at hair-braiding,” Fiona offered brightly.

“I already have someone who does that for me,” Dylan said quickly, nodding toward Jun.

Jun bowed slightly. “I charge hourly. Comes with dramatic sighs.”

“Don’t wait too long, Dylan,” another aunt hissed. “Or someone else will take her!”

Jun smiled serenely, but his grip on the teacup tightened. “Tragic, truly,” he murmured. “I’d have to throw myself off a balcony.”

Dylan leaned closer. “Moonbun. Your sarcasm’s leaking again.”

“Not sarcasm,” Jun whispered. “Just violent territorialism in satin.”

The matchmaking continued like a bullet train through awkward-ville.

Auntie Clara grabbed Dylan’s arm. “My friend’s daughter just finished her MBA in Canada. Speaks five languages. Very modern but still knows how to make bird’s nest soup.”

Jun turned. “That’s rare. So does Dylan. He cries while doing it, though.”

“I—excuse me?” Dylan sputtered.

“Oh yes,” Jun said smoothly, all fake-nice. “He sobbed last time he cut ginger wrong. We had to play him a ballad playlist to get him back to baseline.”

Fiona looked concerned. “Is he… sensitive?”

“No,” Jun said flatly. “He just takes soup very seriously.”

Another aunt jumped in. “There’s also Belinda. She works in tech. Very smart. Owns a condo. Drives a BMW.”

Dylan bowed extra low. “That’s very impressive. I’ll keep that in mind.”

Jun didn’t speak. He just looked at Dylan. Looked long. Looked like he was debating murder.

Dylan glanced back, wary. “What?”

Jun smiled. “Oh, nothing. Just remembering the last time you said you'd ‘keep something in mind.’ Wasn’t it the laundry you never did?”

“I washed your socks,” Dylan muttered.

“Three days late,” Jun snapped back. “And you shrank my cardigan.”

“I thought it was mine!”

“You can’t wear apricot!”

“You said I looked soft in it!”

“Like a warm dumpling!” Jun hissed.

The aunts blinked. Fiona was blinking rapidly.

Dylan straightened again and smiled like a saint. “Thank you so much for the introductions, Auntie. Truly honored.”

Then came Cousin Gary, like a mid-level boss fight. “Yo, Dyl,” he grinned, flicking back over-gelled hair. “Heard you’re famous now. Cute. I’m doing real estate. Bought two NFTs. Flipping crypto.”

“How’s that going?” Dylan asked, still polite. “Hope the market’s kind.”

“Market crashed, but I’m manifesting a comeback.”

Jun looked away before he cackled.

Next came Lucas, cradling a vape like an Oscar. “I’m doing lifestyle branding. Closed a collab with a perfume shop. They sent me a free sample.”

His mother beamed. “He’s very popular on TikTok. Sometimes gets five hundred likes.”

“Oh yes,” Auntie Flora said, eyes flicking to Jun, “unlike some people who follow fame, our sons create wealth.”

“Dylan, you still studying? Aiya, why so slow?”, Auntie #4. “My friend's son graduated early. Making six figures.”

“In Monopoly?” Nano whispered to Pepper.

“And this Jun,” Auntie #4 continued, “is he in your band? So skinny. You don’t feed him? Look at those wrists. Like bamboo. My son goes gym, you know. Very manly.”

“Yeah, I do push-ups,” Gary said, cracking his knuckles like a Marvel villain with joint issues.

“I eat protein bars,” Lucas added. “The chocolate ones.”

Po leaned toward Thame. “I’ll pay five hundred baht if you push one of them into the hotpot.”

“I’ll do it for free if one more of them says ‘crypto,’” Thame muttered.

Finally, Dylan turned to Jun and whispered, “Still surviving?”

“Barely,” Jun muttered, voice dry. “I can take Fiona. And Belinda. Maybe one auntie. But if another one tries to sell you like livestock—”

“You’ll what?”

“I’ll flip this table. Then I’ll marry you onstage just to prove a point.”

Dylan choked.

Jun stared at him, dead serious.

Dylan turned red. Whispered, “Please don’t. Grandma would make us wear matching gold hanfus.”

“Perfect,” Jun said. “They’ll call us a power couple.”

“Auntie Flora’s head would explode.”

“Even better,” Jun muttered. “You’re mine, Dillybean. They can fight me for custody.”

They had barely made it three courses toward the main course when Grandma Lim, perched in the center like a queen at court, waved them closer.

“Dylan,” she called, “Come here. And bring your handsome friend.”

Dylan hesitated mid-bow. “You mean—Jun?”

“Of course. The tall one. With the sad eyes.”

Jun blinked. “I’m not sad.”

“She sees through souls,” Dylan whispered out of the corner of his mouth. “Don’t fight it.”

Jun leaned in, eyes sparkling. “You’re the sad one. I just reflect it.”

They arrived at her table, where Dylan dutifully straightened his collar (again), and Jun bowed deeply, palms pressed in the Thai wai before lowering into a half-chair curtsy.

“Hello ma’am” Jun bowed.

Grandma Lim smiled a little and said “Call me Nai Nai like my little Dylan does.”

Grandma’s eyes gleamed like she was reading a weather forecast directly from their souls.

“Sit,” she said, motioning to the chairs beside her.

They obeyed.

“Nai Nai,” he said properly.

That made her eyes crinkle deeper. “Ai ya. So polite!” She patted Jun’s hand. “Not like those other wild weeds your generation’s growing.”

“Wild weeds?” Jun echoed, amused.

“She means the cousins,” Dylan stage-whispered.

“I figured.”

Grandma’s smile widened. She glanced between them, gaze sharp, and then switched to Cantonese without warning:
「佢靚仔過你前度好多。」
(“He’s much better-looking than your ex.”)

Dylan stiffened. “Nai nai—!”

Jun blinked. “Wait—what did she say?”

“Nothing,” Dylan said way too quickly. “She was talking about… feng shui.”

Jun narrowed his eyes. “I’m almost sure she said the word for ‘ex’—”

“Feng. Shui,” Dylan insisted.

Grandma’s smile deepened. “Very polite. Tall. You sing too?”

“Yes, Nai Nai,” Jun said. “I’m in the group with Dylan. We all live together too.”

“Ahh,” she said, pouring him tea. “So you wake up to his face every day?”

Dylan immediately went rigid. “Nai Nai—he’s—he has his own room.”

Jun sipped his tea, unfazed. “Barely. He keeps sneaking into mine for the air conditioning.”

Dylan choked. “It was one time—”

“Twice,” Jun corrected. “One with blanket theft.”

Grandma was clearly enjoying this.

“In my time,” she said, eyes glinting, “boys who bicker like this were already engaged.”

Dylan’s neck turned pink.

“In your time,” he said gently, “people still courted by sending poetry and oranges.”

She tilted her head. “Maybe that’s why it lasted longer.”

Jun smiled into his cup.

Dylan cleared his throat, fumbling for his teacup.

「而且……眼睛太专注了。看你的时候，好像你是整个月亮。」
(And his eyes—too focused. When he looks at you, it’s like you’re the whole moon.)

Dylan looked like he was malfunctioning. “Nai Nai—he doesn’t—he’s just polite!”

Jun glanced sideways. “I know when I’m being talked about.”

“She said you have calm eyes,” Dylan offered weakly. “And that you… uh, drink tea nicely.”

Jun gave him a look. “You are a terrible translator.”

Grandma turned back to Jun, resuming in Mandarin this time. “You help him cook?”

“Sometimes,” Jun said. “He burns things. Even water.”

“I’m working on that,” Dylan muttered.

“Don’t let him near the rice cooker,” Jun added. “One time the lid melted.”

“It wasn’t my fault! The manual was in pure Thai!”

“You’re ethnically Thai.”

“Unhelpful!” Dylan snapped.

Grandma was laughing so hard she had to pat her chest. “This is better than TV. You two should record yourselves arguing. Very marketable.”

Jun nodded solemnly. “We thought about a YouTube series: How to Not Die Living with Dylan.”

“I’m very nurturing,” Dylan grumbled.

“He labelled my hot sauce ‘Death Juice’ and threatened to sue if I added it to his noodles again.”

“I was wheezing for three hours!”

“Sounds like love,” Grandma said sweetly.

「这个不错。长得好，眼神也干净。」
(This one’s not bad. Good face. Clean eyes.)

Dylan hissed in a whisper, “He can almost understand you!”

“I’m praising,” she said innocently.

Jun leaned closer, eyebrow arched. “You translating, or...?”

“She says you have... strong bone structure,” Dylan mumbled.

Chapter Text

Grandma turned to Dylan with a faint smirk.

「骗他也骗不了我。你眼睛太诚实。」
(You lie to him, but not to me. Your eyes are too honest.)

Dylan blinked rapidly.

“She’s smiling like she’s planning a wedding,” Jun said, trying not to smile too.

“She’s always like this,” Dylan muttered, squirming.

Then—quietly, in Thai this time—Grandma added, “You think I don’t know my own grandson?”

Dylan went still.

“I’ve seen the way he looks at you when you’re not looking,” she said, this time to Jun. “And how you pretend not to notice.”

Jun’s lips parted.

“I’m not pretending,” he said softly.

Grandma hummed. “Then why do you keep your knee so far from his under the table?”

Dylan made a small noise of pure panic.

Jun looked at his lap.

Then—boldly—he slid his knee sideways until it touched Dylan’s.

Grandma nodded, satisfied.

“Food. That’s the important part,” she said, nodding. “Have you eaten yet?”

Jun’s lips quirked. “Yes, Nai Nai. The fish was excellent.”

“I cooked better at twenty,” she replied. “But you’re polite, and that makes you handsome twice.”

Jun blinked. “Uh… thank you.”

“You have good energy,” she continued, eyeing him like he was a jade statue she was appraising. “Strong cheekbones. Kind eyes. I can tell you’re a worrier.”

Dylan muttered, “Told you she reads souls.”

“I’m not a worrier,” Jun insisted. “I just… prepare for chaos.”

“She means you care,” Dylan translated gently. “She sees that.”

Jun looked faintly touched. “I do.”

“I knew it,” Grandma said smugly.

“Me?”

“Of course. I’m old. I can see through.”

Jun chuckled beside her.

Dylan helping refill tea cups like a proper eldest grandson, Jun sitting politely, shoulders straight, trying to fold his legs under the chair even though the fabric was slippery and his knees kept bumping Dylan’s.

“Jun,” said Grandma Lim, peering over her rimless glasses, “Where’s your family from?”

“Chiang Mai, ma’am—I mean, Nai Nai,” Jun corrected, bowing slightly.

“Ahh, Chiang Mai,” she said, pleased. “My husband and I went there once. Long time ago. Very peaceful. Very green. You have the mountains in your bones, I think.”

Jun blinked. “I—thank you.”

“She means you seem grounded,” Dylan muttered in his extra polite tone, not daring to interrupt fully but translating anyway.

Grandma’s eyes twinkled. “Yes. You don’t float around like some of these boys nowadays. Always on phones. Looking like lost pigeons.”

Jun laughed softly. “I try not to float.”

“Your family still in Chiang Mai?” she asked, pouring him a new cup of chrysanthemum tea with her own hands.

“Yes. My mom’s a teacher. Dad was… a carpenter. Mostly local projects.”

“Ahh, craftsman,” Grandma nodded. “That’s good. Real work. Honest.”

Jun smiled. “He taught me to build things. I’m not great, but I can still assemble a shelf faster than Dylan.”

“I jammed one screw!” Dylan protested faintly. “And the instructions were in… Norwegian!”

Grandma gave him a flat look. “Still. Learn from this one. Jun, what do you cook?”

“A bit,” Jun said, modest. “Mostly breakfast. Rice porridge, Thai-style omelets. Dylan’s addicted to my toast.”

“Because you butter it like it owes you money,” Dylan muttered under his breath.

“He likes runny yolks,” Jun said, pretending not to notice the slow blush creeping up Dylan’s neck.

Grandma smiled. “Then you are husband material.”

Across the table, an uncle choked on his tea.

Jun choked a little too. “Oh—uh—well—”

Dylan sat up straighter, nearly bowing to the ceiling. “He’s—he’s very helpful around the dorm! And polite! And—uh—efficient with groceries.”

Grandma waved a hand. “I’m old, not senile. I know what I see. I saw the way he adjusted your collar when you walked in. Like he’s been doing it forever.”

Dylan turned crimson.

Jun sipped his tea calmly. “He forgets how buttons work.”

“Too many dance routines,” Grandma said sagely. “Scrambled his brain.”

“Hey,” Dylan whispered indignantly.

Grandma tilted her head. “Are you learning Cantonese, Jun?”

“I’m trying,” Jun admitted. “Dylan’s been teaching me… select vocabulary.”

“Select?” she asked, amused.

Jun looked sheepish. “Mostly food insults and dramatic declarations. Like, ‘You smell like yesterday’s soup’ and ‘If you leave, I will throw myself into the sea.’”

Dylan coughed violently. “It was supposed to be poetic!”

“It was deeply concerning,” Jun deadpanned. “Also he taught me how to say ‘tofu with no soul.’”

Grandma burst out laughing. “Very good! Drama is the spice of love.”

Jun bowed again. “That’s what I said, but someone said I was being excessive.”

“You are,” Dylan said from behind his teacup.

“He cried because I cut the scallions wrong once,” Jun added.

“I was having a moment!” Dylan protested.

“See?” Jun gestured at him like he’d just proven a theory.

Grandma wiped a tear from laughing. “You two quarrel like a married couple.”

Dylan almost fell off the chair.

Jun said sweetly, “We have charts.”

Grandma gave him a look. “And what else has he been teaching you? Besides soup-based insults.”

Jun considered. “How to appreciate art. And the Cantonese word for ‘idiot.’”

“Classic,” she said. “You need that.”

Jun smiled, then glanced at Dylan with something soft in his eyes. “He also showed me how to say ‘I’ll be here.’”

Grandma’s teasing faded into something gentler.

“That’s a good one,” she said, voice quieter now. “Better than declarations. That one means you stay. Even when it’s hard.”

Jun nodded.

Her eyes shifted to Dylan. She dropped her voice low and leaned toward him, switching to Cantonese, her tone light but loaded:

「这样看他，你以为我不知道？」
(You look at him like that, and you think I don’t know?)

Dylan stiffened. “Nai Nai—”

「你小时候撒谎都脸红，现在还是。」
(You used to blush when you lied as a kid. Still do.)

Dylan's ears turned red instantly.

Jun tilted his head. “What’d she say?”

“She’s talking about dumplings,” Dylan said quickly.

Jun narrowed his eyes. “Is that right.”

Grandma gave Jun a warm smile. “He’s shy.”

Jun replied. “It’s charming.”

「他叫你moonbun吗？」
(He call you ‘Moonbun’?)

Dylan smacked the table lightly. “Nai Nai!”

Jun blinked. “Wait. Did she just say ‘Moonbun’?”

“Definitely dumplings,” Dylan said again, eyes wide.

But Grandma was on a roll now. She looked Dylan dead in the eye, soft but sharp as ever:

「他有好心，也会照顾你。别浪费。」
(He has a good heart. He’ll take care of you. Don’t waste it.)

Dylan swallowed, looking down.

Jun noticed the shift instantly. “Hey,” he murmured, nudging Dylan’s foot again. “You okay?”

「以后给我一个漂亮的孙子，我就放心了。」
(If you give me a beautiful wedding someday, I can rest easy.)

Dylan made a noise so strangled it sounded like a broken saxophone.

“Nai Nai, please—”

“She said… something about trusting me,” Dylan lied.

“Hmm,” Jun said, suspicious. “Trust you with what?”

“Nothing!” Dylan said quickly.

“Everything,” Grandma said serenely, back in English now. “He trusts you with everything.”

Dylan’s eyes flicked toward Jun—then away—then back.

Slowly, he nodded.

“I do.”

Jun’s face softened.

Grandma patted Jun’s hand again and then looked squarely at Dylan.
「眼神好乾淨，仲肯聽老人家講嘢。唔好錯過呀，阿孫。」
(“His eyes are very clear, and he listens to elders. Don’t mess this up, ah boy.”)

Dylan gave a strangled smile. “Nai nai, please—”

Jun raised a brow. “I definitely heard ‘don’t mess this up.’ Was that about me or the shrimp dumplings?”

“Shrimp,” Dylan lied. “Definitely the dumplings.”

Grandma leaned back, eyes glittering.
「如果你唔要，我幫你收埋。」
(“If you don’t want him, I’ll keep him for myself.”)

Dylan turned bright red. “Nai nai!”

Jun tilted his head. “...Did she just threaten to adopt me?”

“She’s joking,” Dylan mumbled, looking like he wanted to melt into his chair.

Jun smirked. “I think I’m her favorite.”

“You’re everyone’s favorite,” Dylan muttered.

“I know.”

They were about to sit again when Grandma tugged Dylan by the sleeve and spoke under her breath, still in Cantonese:
「搵個咁靚仔咁乖既男朋友，你算有眼光。記住要錫佢。」
(“Finding such a handsome, well-mannered boyfriend—you’ve got good taste. Remember to cherish him.”)

Dylan froze like he’d been tasered.

Jun looked back and forth. “Okay, that definitely included the word for ‘boyfriend.’ What did she say?”

“She said—uh—your collar’s straight. Very straight.”

Jun looked down. “It’s literally buttoned wrong.”

“Exactly. She was worried.”

Grandma chuckled into her teacup.

Later, Grandma called Dylan over while Jun was chatting with Pepper.

She said in thai, gesturing beside her. “You’re twitching like a pigeon.”

Dylan sighed. “You’re scaring me.”

“Why?” she asked, innocent. “I only said he’s pretty. Good posture. Smart eyes.”

“You’ve said worse.”

Grandma gave him a long look.
「我老啦，但唔盲。你地一齊，我睇得出。唔洗驚，阿嫲支持你。」
(“I’m old, not blind. You’re together. I can see it. Don’t be scared, ah ma supports you.”)

Dylan’s mouth parted. His heart thudded.

“You don’t—mind?”

Grandma snorted. “Mind? Child, I’ve sat through four decades of bad husbands and louder wives. Jun is good. He sees you. Not just the idol. The boy.”

Dylan swallowed. “He’s… everything.”

She patted his hand. “I know.”

Then, louder, to Jun across the table:
Jun! handsome! Do you understand long sentences in Cantonese?

Jun blinked. “Um… no, ma’am. A little, some phrases and words—”

She turned to Dylan, speaking with a wicked grin:
「咁你快啲教佢，咁你地以後吵架時，佢知你鬧緊佢咩。」
(“Then teach him fast—so when you argue, he knows you’re scolding him.”)

Dylan flushed again. “Nai nai—!”

Jun leaned forward. “Wait—what was that?”

“Nothing!” Dylan yelped. “She wants me to… study harder.”

“She said ‘argue.’ And ‘scold,’ I think.”

Grandma winked. “He’s learning already.”

Then, after a beat, she muttered:
「你唔好再扮唔知啦，咁靚既仔唔係日日有得揀。」
(“Stop pretending not to know. You don’t get boys this pretty every day.”)

Jun leaned in, watching them, trying to decode the flow of Cantonese. “Okay, that had some version of the word ‘pretty.’ She’s calling me pretty again, isn’t she?”

Dylan avoided his gaze. “What is… language, really?”

Jun smirked. “You’re the worst translator ever.”

But then, under the table, Dylan’s fingers brushed against his—slow, hesitant, but firm.

Jun froze. Then softened.

They didn’t say anything. They didn’t need to.

From the head of the table, Grandma Lim smiled like a general with a war already won.

Chapter Text

“Jun!” Auntie May sing-songed like she was announcing dessert. “Such a lovely young man. You know—my daughter Daniela is single. And she works in finance.”

Dylan didn’t choke this time, but he froze. His chopsticks stalled mid-air.

Jun’s mouth curled into something polite—and dangerous. “Finance,” he echoed. “That’s intense.”

Auntie May’s eyes sparkled. “She’s brilliant. I keep saying, she needs someone clever and artistic to balance her out.”

Jun tilted his head. “Balance is important,” he said softly, eyes flicking sideways to Dylan. “I like… contrast.”

Right then, Daniela arrived—blazer wrinkled, expression stiff, and cologne bold enough to declare a merger.

She slid in beside Jun like she was claiming territory. “Hi. I’m Daniela. I work with derivatives and hedge risk exposure for mid-sized portfolios.”

Jun turned to her with the kind of calm that made Dylan want to flip the table. “Wow. That sounds... volatile.”

Daniela chuckled, missing the edge in his tone. “Well, I manage it.”

Jun hummed. “You must be good at handling… pressure.”

Dylan dropped his napkin. On purpose. Needed something to focus on that wasn’t Jun’s voice.

Daniela perked up. “So are you into finance too?”

Jun's gaze slid slowly back to Dylan, then lingered a beat too long. “I like systems. Especially when I know exactly where to push.”

Dylan looked like he’d forgotten how chairs worked.

Jun sipped his tea. “But only when the system… responds.”

Daniela tilted her head. “That’s… cryptic.”

Jun smiled, lips just barely parted. “Not really. The trick is finding something reactive. Responsive.”

Dylan inhaled sharply. Jun didn’t even glance at him this time.

Daniela kept going, oblivious. “So what do you do?”

“I’m in music,” Jun said. “I study patterns. Rhythm. How timing changes everything.”

Daniela frowned. “That’s pretty niche.”

Jun nodded thoughtfully. “Mmm. I like niche.”

He looked at Dylan.

“Especially when it lets you get under the surface.”

Daniela blinked. “So you compose?”

“Sometimes.” Jun leaned forward slightly, forearm resting on the table, voice lowered. “But I prefer live response. Feedback. Real-time reaction.”

Daniela faltered.

Dylan squeezed his water glass like it owed him money.

Auntie May giggled. “Daniela’s last boyfriend was a startup guy. So boring. She needs someone exciting. Someone who can take charge!”

Jun tilted his head innocently. “I can do that,” he said, so sweetly it nearly sounded like a joke—except his eyes were on Dylan.

Daniela laughed. “You’re funny.”

Jun smiled. “Only when I’m not distracted.”

Dylan didn’t move. At all.

Daniela nudged Jun’s elbow. “So—what kind of person are you into?”

Jun didn’t even blink. “Someone who looks like trouble, but acts like he doesn't know it.”

Dylan’s fork hit the plate. Clatter. Nobody noticed. Except Jun.

Jun glanced at him, then back to Daniela with the calm of a man who’d already won. “You know… the quiet kind. Buttoned-up. Polite. But secretly… a menace.”

Dylan made an involuntary sound in the back of his throat.

Daniela grinned. “That’s oddly specific.”

Jun’s voice dropped. “You have no idea.”

Auntie May interrupted brightly. “Well, Jun, I think you'd be a great match for Daniela. Don’t you think so, Dylan?”

Dylan opened his mouth. No words came out.

Jun smiled at him.

Then murmured, in a voice only Dylan could hear:

“You look like you want to drag me under this table.”

Dylan actually choked this time.

Jun turned back to Daniela, unbothered. “You were saying?”

Daniela blinked. “Um. Are you… single?”

Jun’s voice stayed polite. “It’s complicated. I’m sort of… committed.”

Daniela frowned. “To what?”

Jun glanced sideways, hand brushing Dylan’s wrist. “To bad decisions.”

Daniela laughed. “God, you’re such a flirt.”

Jun gave a half-shrug. “Only when someone brings it out of me.”

Dylan looked like he needed an exorcism.

Daniela checked her phone. “Excuse me, I’ve got to take this.”

“Of course,” Jun said. “Take your time. I’m very patient.”

Once she left the table, Dylan exhaled like he’d just escaped drowning.

Jun leaned in, chin tilted, voice like smoke.

“You okay, babe?”

Dylan glared. “You’re going to get me disowned.”

Jun laughed under his breath. “You started it. Showing up in that shirt like that.”

Dylan muttered, “It’s just silk.”

“You know what silk does to me.”

“I hope you choke on your steamed fish.”

Jun licked his lips. “I’d rather choke on you.”

“JUN.”

“Shh,” Jun said sweetly. “Family-friendly, remember?”

Jun had already survived two aunties grilling him about marriage timelines and one uncle asking if he’d “found God yet” (???)—so he’d absolutely earned this break. He drifted toward the far end of the buffet, drawn by the chaotic scent of something spicy, fermented, and questionably legal.

A mystery dish bubbled ominously on a side table, guarded only by a laminated sign in red Chinese characters and one very amused girl in a qipao and white sneakers.

“You brave?” she asked, chin tilted.

Jun blinked. “Is this a dare?”

She grinned. “Only if you can’t handle chili oil, pig’s blood, or existential flavor crises.”

“...You had me at 'crises.'”

He ladled a modest amount into a tiny porcelain bowl. The smell slapped him across the face. “Holy hell.”

“Right?” the girl laughed. “That’s 酸辣猪红米线. Locals call it ‘death noodles.’ We say it’s good for your circulation.”

“Or my autopsy.”

“I’m Alice, by the way.”

“Jun.” They shook hands. Hers was warm and confident.

He took a bite—and immediately teared up. “Jesus.”

Alice looked delighted. “You like?”

“I think I’m seeing the other side.”

“You’ll build immunity. Maybe a soul, too.”

They were laughing when Dylan appeared from the crowd, looking flushed and mildly frazzled from an auntie gauntlet. “Jun—oh.”

His eyes widened.

Alice turned, equally stunned. “No way! Dylan?!”

Jun straightened slightly, eyebrows raised.

Dylan smiled in that awkward, too-wide way he did when blindsided. “Alice! Wow, it’s been… forever.”

“Since you ate chalk and blamed me in kindergarten?”

Jun blinked.

“Or since you lost a bet and let me cut your bangs?”

Jun blinked harder.

“You still have the scar?”

Dylan rubbed his forehead. “Emotionally, yes.” 

They both laughed—and before Jun could blink, Alice had launched into a hug that made Jun’s protective instincts sit up and snarl.

Dylan laughed, patting her back awkwardly. “Wow, it’s been years.”

“Too many,” Alice agreed, pulling away to scan his face. “You still allergic to grass?”

“I grew out of it.”

“Boo. That was the best part.”

Jun cleared his throat. “I see someone’s popular.”

Dylan startled. “Right—Jun, this is Alice. Alice, Jun.” Dylan stepped back, ears pink. “So—what are you doing here?”

“Grandma invited my mom. I’m tagging along. Free food and family melodrama? Can’t miss that.”

Jun sipped water like it was tea. “Old friends?”

“Next-door neighbors,” Alice answered brightly. “We used to catch frogs and stage pretend weddings. Guess who was the runaway groom every time.”

Dylan gave Jun a warning look.

Jun just smiled, lazy and pleased. “Frogs and commitment issues. A strong foundation.”

Alice laughed. “You’ve got sass. I like him.”

Cue the entrance of The Cousins, armed with dangerous energy and zero sense of boundaries.

“Alice! Finally! Look who’s back—the first wife!”

“Dylan’s frog bride!”

“Frog husband,” Dylan corrected under his breath, but no one heard him.

One cousin (with no volume control) gasped, “Omg, what if this is fate?! Reunited at PoPo’s 80th! Come on, don’t lie—y’all were so cute.”

Another chimed in, “Still could be, no? Neither of you brought dates...”

Jun’s arm drifted around Dylan’s waist like a gentle wave. He didn’t say anything—just smiled.

Dylan stiffened briefly, then melted. His ears flushed, but he didn’t pull away.

Alice noticed everything. Her eyes dropped to Jun’s hand, then back up—curious. Calculating.

“Auntie May, didn’t you say they used to ‘bathe together in a bucket’?”

Dylan groaned, “I was THREE!”

“Aw,” Jun cooed. “You were a wet menace even then?”

Alice, bless her, suddenly took mercy. “Okay, wow, I just remembered—I mom wanted to meet Dylan. Dylan, lets go?”

Dylan blinked. “Uh, yeah?”

Jun followed without needing an invitation.

They stepped out from the cage of extended relative, flushed faces. The chaos faded behind them.

Jun tilted his head at Dylan. “So. First wife.”

Dylan sighed. “I swear, they used to call her that to her face.”

“I like her.”

“You like anyone who isn’t threatening.”

Jun leaned in. “She’s observant. I respect that.”

Just then, Alice caught up to them, breathless and smug.

“Okay,” she said in rapid-fire Cantonese, 「你個男朋友望住你個樣，好似想直接喺枱底撐開你雙腳慢慢食落去。」

(“The way your boyfriend was looking at you—like he wanted to spread your legs under the table and take his time with you.”)

Dylan made a sound between a squeak and a gasp.

Jun paused. “What’d she say?”

Dylan, somehow redder than a poached lobster, coughed violently. “Nothing. Vitamin D levels. She’s… worried.”

Jun raised an eyebrow. “You sure? Her tone said X-rated novella.”

“She’s just very… specific.”

Jun grinned. “I like her more and more.”

Alice gave Dylan a mock-salute and turned back toward the gossiping end of the hall. “Don’t do anything too scandalous,” she called back in thai, just loud enough for Dylan to want the earth to swallow him.

Jun slung an arm over Dylan’s shoulders, smug. “Sooo... legs, huh?”

Dylan hissed, “I will suffocate you with spring rolls.”

Jun’s grin widened. “You’d have to catch me first.”

Alice turned around again and winked. “Enjoy the rest of the banquet. And, Dylan?”

“Y-Yeah?”

“If you two disappear for a while, I’ll tell your cousins you’re in the bathroom. Together. Very constipated.”

And with that she vanished, sneakers flashing in the dark like a smug little fairy godmother of chaos.

Jun leaned in, brushing their shoulders. “She knows.”

Dylan covered his face. “She knows too much.”

Jun smirked. “And now I need to know exactly what she said.”

“No.”

“Was it about your smile?”

“No.”

“Your ass?”

Dylan wheezed.

Jun added, almost thoughtfully, “You really were about to get shipped into a second marriage.”

Dylan groaned, still red. “God, it’s like high school but with soup.”

Jun laughed softly. “It’s okay. I’ll fight her for you.”

“She’d win.”

“I’ll seduce her into surrender.”

Dylan looked at him sideways. “You’re not allowed to flirt your way out of everything.”

Jun’s eyes twinkled. “Who’s going to stop me? The frog bridegroom?”

Chapter Text

It began with a button.

A simple, stupid, strategic button.

Jun’s shirt was immaculate, a pale slate blue that picked up the warm lighting from the banquet hall chandeliers and made his skin look glow-washed, like honey warmed over low heat. The embroidery near his collar was so subtle it looked like secrets stitched in silk.

And then—click.

He undid the second button from the top.

Not the first, no. That would’ve screamed intention. But the second? It was the kind of careless, elegant sin that whispered: I’m comfortable. I belong here. I'm not trying—are you looking?

Dylan was definitely looking.

One second, Jun was just politely chatting with Dylan’s eldest cousin about the difference between traditional dumpling folds across regions, and the next—he was all relaxed limbs, one arm hooked behind Dylan’s chair, neck tilted just enough to flash the dip of his collarbone. His chest shifted with a slow inhale as he laughed at something innocuous.

That glimpse of skin should’ve come with a goddamn parental warning.

Dylan’s throat tightened. He picked up his water glass and drank like hydration would cleanse the visual sin out of his system. It did not.

Across the table, Thame leaned over with a knowing smirk. “Do I need to remind you to breathe?”

“I am breathing,” Dylan hissed through his teeth.

“Barely.”

And then the napkin dropped.

Jun, seated in elegant grace like he was posing for a C-drama family portrait, glanced down with a soft “Oops,” as the white linen slipped from his lap.

It was too smooth to be accidental.

The napkin drifted like a feather to the plush carpet. Jun gave a delicate sigh, then leaned forward to retrieve it.

Except he didn’t bend at the waist.

He melted forward, slow and fluid, like the motion of a cat stretching after a nap. His shoulder brushed Dylan’s thigh. His fingers slid just slightly too far under the table. Long, elegant, exploring fingers. A pause. He grabbed the napkin—slowly. Straightened.

Back upright, he looked over at Dylan with a smile like butter wouldn’t melt in his mouth.

“Got it,” he murmured.

Dylan’s whole brain was one long internal Windows error sound.

From the opposite side of the table, Po whispered with delight into Thame’s shoulder. “That was premeditated. He knows what he’s doing.”

Thame grinned around his spoon. “So does Dylan. He just doesn’t know what to do about it.”

Nano, chewing on a spicy dumpling like it was popcorn, added with absolute glee, “This is better than the variety show. I'm sweating for him.”

Dylan, meanwhile, was doing his best to maintain a conversation with his aunt. He nodded when she said something about visiting Macau, and then promptly lost the thread when Jun—Jun—picked up his water glass.

There was one ice cube left.

Just one.

He caught it between his teeth, the delicate clink echoing like a challenge.

Then Jun swirled the cube in his mouth, cheeks hollowing slightly with the motion. His lips parted as he sucked on it, a little exhale leaving him like the cold had caught in his lungs.

He didn’t look at Dylan.

He didn’t have to.

The sound of that crack—the slow crunch as his teeth finally broke through the melting cube—sent a physical shiver down Dylan’s spine. His fingers twitched where they rested on his thigh.

Jun licked a stray drop of water from the corner of his mouth, then let his gaze drift lazily back to the plate. Cool. Composed. Torturous.

Dylan made a noise. A soft, strangled sound like someone trying to scream through a pillow.

“Mm?” Jun turned, lips still faintly wet. “You okay?”

“You—” Dylan swallowed. “Menace. To. Society.”

“I’m just thirsty,” Jun said, blinking with calculated innocence. His tongue ran along the curve of his bottom lip, chasing the cold.

Nano had collapsed into his own arms across the table. “Oh my god. He’s a public hazard.”

Po was red from stifled laughter. “This is so much better than the slideshow we were supposed to watch.”

But then came dessert.

A waiter glided in with tiny glass bowls and porcelain plates, each arranged like edible art. Sesame balls dusted in gold leaf. Almond jelly trembling faintly like it was shy. Delicate scoops of mango pudding cradled in hollowed-out orange peels.

Jun picked up his chopsticks.

He reached for one of the glossy, syrup-lacquered sesame balls—and on cue, it slipped.

The ball tumbled midair.

Jun caught it with a little gasp, managing to snatch it awkwardly before it rolled onto the tablecloth. But the syrup had already splashed—a slow, glistening drip catching on the corner of his mouth.

He blinked, lips parted.

Then lifted his thumb. Slow, deliberate. Dragged it across his lower lip, collecting the syrup.

And sucked it clean.

Dylan stared.

Jun still hadn’t looked at him.

He was focused on his plate. Chewing slowly. Calmly.

Then he finally glanced up. “Mm? Something wrong?”

Dylan couldn’t breathe.

“You’re flushed,” Jun said, tilting his head like an angel dipped in mischief. “Do you need water?”

The sesame ball incident should’ve been Dylan’s rock bottom. Jun licking syrup off his thumb, slow and oblivious, like sin hadn’t just casually entered through his mouth and sat down for tea.

But then Jun had to go and smile.

And talk to Dylan’s *aunt* like he was already part of the family. Meanwhile, Dylan was internally duct-taping together the last pieces of his self-control.

At the other end of the table, Thame whispered, “The boyfriend’s about to commit crimes.”

Po, calmly chewing, said, “Only if Jun looks at him while holding another dumpling.”

Nano added, “Ten bucks he short-circuits before dessert ends.”

And then—salvation or damnation, depending on interpretation—Grandma Lim spoke.

“Jun-ya,” she called, her voice soft but sharp enough to slice clean through the dinner chatter.

Jun looked up mid-sip. “Yes, Nai Nai?”

“Come here.” She patted the seat beside her. “I have something for you.”

Dylan stiffened. “Oh no.”

Jun, as usual, was unbothered. “Okay,” he said, and walked over with that easy grace that made his shirt cling politely to his shoulders.

Nai Nai’s eyes twinkled. “Wah… strong back. You carry yourself well.”

Jun chuckled bashfully. “You’re too kind.”

She gestured to one of Dylan’s uncles, who brought over a red lacquered box. When Nai Nai opened it, even the chopsticks paused mid-air around the table.

Inside lay a deep crimson changshan, with gold-thread dragons coiling across the fabric like living flame. The kind of outfit that said “I could marry into this dynasty or burn it down” depending on the angle.

“I had this made for Dylan,” grandma Lim said. “But he has many. You—you’re special. You should wear it.”

Jun blinked. “Me? Really?”

Nai Nai nodded. “I want to see it on you. Just once.”

Jun scratched the back of his neck. “I’d love to, but I wouldn’t even know how to wear it…”

“Then how did you dress today?”

Jun smiled toward Dylan, who was very obviously pretending to have a sudden fascination with the centerpiece flowers. “He helped me.”

“Good,” Nai Nai said. “Then he can help again.”

Chapter Text

Across the table, Dylan’s fork clattered to the plate. He made a sound that might’ve been agreement.

But Nai Nai wasn’t finished. With an amused little tilt of her head, she added something in Cantonese—fluid, teasing.

Jun blinked. “What did she just say?”

Dylan had gone pale. Then red. “Uh—nothing. Just a joke.”

“Sounded like more than a joke.” Jun narrowed his eyes. “What did she say?”

Po was already nudging Nano. Nano pulled out his phone faster than a cowboy in a shootout.

“No. Don’t you dare—” Dylan started.

But it was too late. The app translated, cheerful and cruel:

> “Help him dress, but don’t get too distracted unbuttoning what’s already on him, ah?”

The air at the table collapsed into silence. Then Pepper dropped his chopsticks.

Thame whispered, “No way she said that.”

“She did,” Nano confirmed, solemnly holding up the screen.

Jun blinked. “Wait, what? No—what does that mean?”

Dylan stood up so fast his chair scraped. “We’re going to go change. Right now.”

“But—Dylan,” Jun said, eyes darting between him and the box, “what did she—?”

“Doesn’t matter. Come on.”

“She said something about unbuttoning—?”

Dylan didn’t answer. He just grabbed Jun’s wrist and kept walking faster.

Back at the table, Po was fanning himself with a napkin. “I give them eight minutes.”

Thame said, “Seven. That thing’s silk. It’s not staying on long.”

Nano raised his hand solemnly. “I just want credit as translator when someone gets married.”

Pepper rolled his eyes. “In a changshan?”

Po leaned over to Thame. “Fifty bucks says Jun starts undressing himself just to get answers.”

Thame replied, “I’m not betting against inevitability.”

As Dylan tugged Jun gently by the wrist toward the hallway, Jun glanced back at the table, confused and deeply intrigued.

“She said what?” he whispered. “Why did she sound so amused?”

“I’m begging you to stop talking.”

“Should I be worried?”

“No,” Dylan muttered, practically dragging him now, “but I should.”

As Dylan all but frog-marched Jun down the hall, they passed a couple of younger cousins who were snickering into their sleeves. The ornate hallway, decked in crimson silk banners and gold calligraphy, was blessedly empty—just a few doors, soft carpets, and the increasingly erratic sound of Dylan's breathing.

Jun was letting himself be pulled along with the ease of a guy who knew he couldn't stop this any time soon.

“Hey,” Jun said, voice mild. “You never did tell me what Nai Nai said.”

“Doesn’t matter,” Dylan mumbled, face still flushed. “It’s not important. She’s just… dramatic.”

Jun raised an eyebrow.

Then his phone pinged.

Dylan didn’t notice. He was too busy unlocking the door to the temporary gift room—opulent and quiet, filled with velvet-wrapped boxes and towers of tissue paper, not a single soul in sight.

Jun, meanwhile, glanced at his phone.

The message was from Pepper.

Group Chat: Dumpling Thirst Crisis

Pepper: JUN U NEED TO SEE WHAT NAI NAI SAID

Pepper: translating for the people

Pepper: “Help him dress, but don’t get too distracted unbuttoning what’s already on him, ah?”

Pepper: BLESS THIS WOMAN

Jun stopped. Blinked. Re-read.

And then. He smiled.

Slowly.

They reached the door to the storage room where Dylan’s family had been keeping gifts and outfits. He yanked it open and tried to usher Jun in like a gentleman with a very broken survival instinct.

Jun didn’t move. He paused just before the threshold and looked at Dylan.