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Chapter Text

Jin had never done something like this before.

He had been cast as one of the main leads of a highly anticipated crime drama, right beside a man others would have scrambled to stand beside. He had been lucky, extremely so, to have had the privilege of acting beside him this early in his career. A role like this should have built some excitement, anticipation, or exhilaration, but he felt the familiar yawning chasm of emptiness inside him. No amount of work, praise, or success ever came close to filling it. He just sat in front of his mirror in his dressing room in silence, absentmindedly sipping on his orange juice, waiting to be called.

Eventually, Mildy called him over to introduce him to the director of the drama. After a brief introduction, Mildy explained what a great director Jo was and how Jin should do anything he asked. Jin just nodded along, voicing agreements without so much as a question, fiddling with his box of mints, trying to get one out. In his haste, one fell out and rolled away from him. Panicked, he scrambled after it when polished black formal shoes crushed it right in front of his eyes.

Jin, on his knees, looked up at the perpetrator, affronted, and then in wonder. The polished shoes gleamed under the studio lights. A faint, expensive cologne drifted down to him, mixing with the cold scent of mint on his own fingers..

Akin.

His co-star.

He was ethereal. Jin hadn’t had a chance to look at anything Akin had been in, but he was sure that no camera could capture his true essence. Dressed in a sharp and elegant suit with an unreadable look on his face, Akin stared down at him with vacant eyes.

His expression was impassive, lips pursed in a straight line. He didn’t utter a word.

He just walked on.

Then everything shifted into motion. Jin was whisked away for makeup and costume before his shoot.

The shooting didn’t go well. Jin repeatedly bumped into the chair while trying to hit his mark. The set lights burned hot on his skin, sweat gathering at his collar. He could feel eyes on him, the crew, the camera, the director’s impatient voice cutting through the silence with every “Cut! Again.” Each time he made a mistake, anxiety coiled tighter in his chest. His delivery turned stiff, mechanical, as if he were reading his lines for the first time.

Absorbed in his anxiety, he improvised instinctively into something that felt more natural, more him.

“Cut.”

“P’Jo, I changed the script. Is that okay?” Jin asked nervously, glancing toward the director.

“It’s perfect. I love it,” he said, kind and reassuring. “For the next scene, move more confidently since you’re actually the mole.”

The reassurance steadied him, just a bit. Jin permitted himself a tiny sigh of relief.

Perhaps he’d be all right.

That fantasy shattered quickly.

That day, they were scheduled to film a tie-in brand ad for XOXO Juice. Aof, the owner, was on set and just wasn’t satisfied with the product image in the scene they were shooting. He pointed out small corrections in every single shot. It kept getting darker; they were losing light, and Jin wasn’t crying when he was supposed to. He was getting frustrated with himself. Why couldn’t he just cry when he was supposed to? Why couldn’t he bring more emotion, as was required of him?

He attempted everything: remembering sad memories, blinking harder, holding his breath. Nothing worked. Frustration gnawed within him. What kind of actor couldn’t even cry on cue?

He was leaning against the half-wall, spent and humiliated, when Akin suddenly appeared.

He quickly and suddenly pulled Jin by the wrist. They passed through the humming crew and reached a standstill near the opposite edge of the rooftop.

“Hey,” Akin said, holding Jin’s wrists fast. His tone was even but urgent. “What’s your name?”

“Jin,” he replied reflexively, taken aback by the touch.

“Right. Jin. Look at me.”

Jin didn’t move.

The instant their eyes locked, the world stopped. The crew, the heat, and the build-up of pressure all receded.

“Breathe,” Akin said, steady and low.

Jin didn’t stir. He couldn’t. He forgot how to.

“Slowly,” Akin urged.

“You’re not breathing properly. Breathe. Slowly.” Akin showed him, inhaling first, then exhaling in a slow, measured stream. Jin imitated him, breathing stumblingly at first, then steadying his breath.

Akin leaned forward and touched one finger lightly to Jin’s chest, just over his heart. The warmth of his fingertip pressed through the thin fabric, and Jin’s heart stuttered hard against it, as if trying to reach him. “Here,” he breathed.

And something within Jin shifted. His chest relaxed. His heartbeat slowed into a gentler rhythm.

Slowly, a tear ran down the side of his face.

He was shocked, and Akin’s face relaxed into the softest smile.

“He’s ready,” he shouted to the crew, freeing him.

Later that evening, after the filming wrapped up, Jin strolled over toward the vending machines. He noticed Akin going over earlier and trailed behind without much thought.

He saw him right away. Akin was kicking the machine in silent frustration while on a call with someone.

Jin grinned to himself.

When he got close enough, he was able to hear Akin’s conversation. Akin admitted that he was worked up looking at Jin, and it was rare that someone bothered him like Jin did. Jin’s breath caught in his throat. Did he really hear that right? A thrill and a pang of confusion tangled in his chest.

Jin just smiled to himself, walked up to him, and asked if he liked chocolate. Akin, not realising who it was, answered immediately. Then once he looked up, he jumped back, startled.

“Hey… When did you get here?” Akin questioned, worried that Jin might have heard his conversation.

“Just now,” Jin lied.

“When exactly was ‘just now’?” Akin looked as if he had been caught doing something he shouldn’t have.

“Well, just now. I came here just now.”

“Was it like five minutes ago?”

“Like a second ago.”

“Okay. Did you hear anything I said?”

“I didn’t hear anything,” Jin lied innocently, smiling.

Akin looked at him for a moment, uncertain, then seemed to let it pass.

Jin smiled and earnestly thanked Akin for being patient with him and helping him out with the scene. He hoped that one day, he could be as good as Akin.

“Is that all? If that’s it, I’ll leave now.” Jin just nodded as Akin walked away. But he turned back and handed over a new box of the same mints that Jin always carried with him. Jin thanked him, looked at the box in absolute wonder, and smiled.

The following days were a blur. Jin was wrapped up in multiple promotional shoots and the drama’s shooting schedule. Everyone was receiving his acting pretty well, and he was trending right alongside Akin. After a meeting with Jade, Akin’s manager, who explained how Jin should constantly challenge Akin to help them both improve,

That evening, Jin sat on his living room floor in his dimly lit apartment and finally allowed himself to see Akin’s previous performances. Jin was mystified.

The way Akin captured the emotions of his characters, through their voice, dialogue, and facial expressions, left Jin in awe. He finally understood why Akin had been at the top for ten years. The enormity of exactly who he was sharing the screen with finally settled in his bones.

He went onto Instagram and followed him instantly. From that point forward, Jin made a silent vow: he would work as hard as he ever had. He would prove to himself and others that he deserved to stand alongside Akin, not only on set but as an equal.

The following day, they shot their first real dialogue scene together. Jin’s nerves were destroyed.

He was rightfully nervous and didn’t want to embarrass Akin, so he resolved to give his best. The moment Jin saw Akin on set, he bounded up to him and, after thoroughly embarrassing Akin by calling him ‘sensei,’ he assured him that he would do his best and hoped Akin would recognise his efforts. Before giving him a chance to respond, he ran away to practice his lines.

Jin didn’t understand why the dialogues in the script hit so close. He had no desire to outshine Akin or his character. Jin knew where he belonged, and he didn’t need to take more than he was allowed. Before he could stop himself, he changed the lines. He knew that he had messed up.

Akin looked furious but went along with it so as not to waste time. Even the crew looked surprised but moved to the next scene, claiming they would fix it in post-production.

Every scene he shot with Akin felt as if Akin was speaking to him, Jin, and not his character. He knew it was all acting, but he couldn’t help internalising it. Every line Akin’s character uttered, Jin lapped it up as if it were for him. He was slowly losing himself and forgetting he was acting. He improvised. Again.

“Are you even serious about acting?” Akin grabbed his collar as he yelled at him.

“Cut.” The director yelled and immediately went up to them, trying to mediate.

“Jo, look at this guy. He’s just messing around. So this is the one who wanted to get to know me.” Akin was absolutely furious as he angrily walked off, and Jin just sat there.

Jo tried to explain how Jin needed to act beside Akin and portray the emotions required, and not let Akin carry all the acting. Jin was mortified. He was trying to do his best, just as he promised, but it was difficult not to defend himself. They were behind schedule because of him. He was making it difficult for the crew to get their work done on time.

The shoot was a disaster, but at least Jin was able to apologise to Akin afterwards. Both of them not only rehearsed lines for the scene that Jin messed up, but Akin also gave him tips to improve his acting. Jin genuinely felt more confident in what he was doing now that he was sure Akin didn’t hate him. He just wanted to help Jin be better. Jin was sure he was going to show Akin that he wanted to get to know him better.

The following day’s shoot was for a rain scene. It was a confrontation, not many dialogues, but a very sombre mood.

Jin’s character was going to be confronted by Akin’s character in the rain. A metal pipe frame was set up for the water to circulate through and pour from, as if the characters were under rain.

In the scene where Jin was holding his hands up and Akin raised his gun to point at him.

And then, all changed.

A metal pipe, directly above Akin, from the rain rig, loosened. Jin saw it drop. Fast, sharp, dangerous.

Instinctively, he dived. All Jin focused on was the pipe falling toward Akin. He sprinted toward Akin, the scene be damned. Jin pushed Akin back on the hood of the car and shielded him with his own body.

The pipe slammed into his back and shoulder with a sickening crack of metal against flesh. The jolt shuddered through his spine, rain hissing off the steel as it clattered away. All he focused on was that Akin was safe. The pain didn’t even register until Jin got home. In that moment, all he cared about was that the pipe didn’t hit Akin.

All he could think about was Akin. Safe. Underneath him. Eyes wide open.

Their faces were inches apart.

Too close.

Jin could hear Akin’s heart, fast, irregular. Or perhaps his own.

Akin’s eyes were wide, stunned, but there was something softer underneath something that pulled Jin closer still.

Akin didn’t move away. He leaned in too.

And then…

Shouts. The crew swarmed in.

The moment broke.

Looking back on it, he was glad they did. Any progress Jin was able to make with Akin would have been destroyed if he had gone and kissed him like that.

Both of them were pulled to their feet, and blankets were wrapped around them. Jin was pulled aside to be checked over, although he kept assuring them that he was okay, that nothing hurt, and he was going to be just fine. After being fussed over and his bleeding shoulder wrapped up, he was promptly sent home to rest and heal. He didn’t even get a chance to check on Akin to see how he was doing.

Later, sitting in bed, gazing at the ceiling, he realised that he had a bruised and cut shoulder. But the pain in his chest hurt so much more.

He almost kissed Akin.

And he didn’t even realise when admiration turned into this.

All he knew was that he’d do anything to be worthy of standing alongside him.

Chapter Text

Jin hadn’t stopped thinking about that rooftop moment. The way Akin had looked at him, the intensity in his eyes. It stayed with him. Even now, days later, as the shoot progressed, the memory lingered like an unfinished sentence.

The shoot for the next few days went well. The director, Jo, couldn’t stop complimenting his acting and how it was on a completely new level since the rooftop scene. Jin felt proud of himself. All the effort he had been putting in had actually gone somewhere. But Akin avoided him. He stayed strictly professional outside of filming. They would film a scene, and Akin would immediately walk away. Anytime Jin entered his vicinity, Akin suddenly became too busy to even look at him.

Jin was confused. Even though they had almost kissed that time, Jin kept it all aside. He must have imagined Akin leaning in. Jin’s behaviour towards him hadn’t changed at all. He remained the same, but something changed for Akin. Jin had saved him from getting seriously hurt. He was sure that the pipe would have directly hit Akin’s head if he hadn’t pushed him back.

Jin didn’t want Akin falling over himself in gratitude or constantly thanking him. He just wanted things to go as they had been. Akin had given him directions to be better, and he hadn’t looked as if Jin’s presence was making him physically uncomfortable.

The faint smell of antiseptic and talcum powder hung in the cramped room. Jin noticed how Akin’s fingers fumbled with the foil strip, pills nearly slipping from his trembling hands. The overhead bulbs flickered slightly, washing Akin’s face in harsh light that made the dark circles under his eyes look deeper than ever. Jin attempted to make small talk, but Akin’s answers were excruciatingly concise.

The sight of the medicine made him uneasy, so Jin moved closer and very delicately picked up his hand to take Akin’s temperature. But Akin pushed his arm away and stood up so suddenly that his chair fell over. The movement caused Jin to stumble backwards, his hurt shoulder banging against the rack of costumes behind him.

He winced at the hurt, holding the place instinctively. Before he could say anything, Sine called out to ask if everything was okay.

“Nothing. The chair just fell over,” Akin said hastily, his tone level.

Akin shook his head and walked away. Jin was left standing in the dressing room, clutching at his shoulder. After that, Jin didn’t see him at all. Both were busy shooting different scenes separately. Akin not only shot for the drama, he had multiple brand ads to shoot, so Jin didn’t see him till he got in the same elevator as him while leaving work.

Akin looked unsteady. He was swaying a little and constantly kept massaging his head. Jin wanted to ask if he was okay, but the way his last attempt had gone, he kept quiet and just kept glancing towards him periodically.

“Your shoulder...” Akin began while looking at the band-aid peeking over Jin’s neckline.

“It’s alright... just a scratch. Nothing fatal.” It definitely wasn’t just a scratch. The pipe’s impact left a nasty bruise and a deep scratch that hurt every time Jin even moved it a bit. And after Akin shoved him off, the scratch started bleeding again. But Jin wasn’t about to tell him that. Akin already looked so guilty. He couldn’t have borne seeing that look on his face.

Akin just nodded, and before he was able to say whatever he wanted to, the elevator dinged when it reached the floor Akin wanted to get off at.

“See you then,” Akin called out as he slowly walked out. Jin looked at him with worry.

The dull thud of Akin’s head against the door echoed down the hallway, sharp and sickening. Jin’s breath caught in his throat as the world seemed to freeze around that single sound. Jin acted immediately, running to him. He grabbed Akin before he could fall and settled him in his lap. His skin was cold and damp, and he had a raging fever. Jin shook him, softly at first, then increasingly harder when he didn’t awaken.

“P’Akin! P’Akin, wake up!” He needed to get him to a hospital.

Panic washed over him as he held Akin’s unconscious form and ran to where he had parked his bike. He drove crazily, his eyes darting from the road to the mirror, where in the reflection, Akin’s head rolled slightly with each pothole.

After they arrived at the closest hospital, Jin didn’t even bother to safely park his bike before carrying Akin through the door. Nurses ran up with a stretcher, and Jin attempted to follow, panting and scared, until the ER doors closed in his face.

The antiseptic smell burned his nose. Behind him, a nurse’s shoes squeaked on the linoleum, and the low murmur of an old TV in the waiting area grated on his frayed nerves. He gripped his phone so tightly he half expected it to crack.

His mind spun around. Why hadn’t Akin said anything to anyone that he was ill? Why did he keep forcing himself? Was Jin responsible for this? Had he complicated things for Akin?

At last, after what seemed like an eternity, the doctor came back.

“There is nothing to worry about. He has a pretty high fever, but we have given him antibiotics for that. He is also severely dehydrated and has definitely not eaten as much as he should for the schedule he has. I have hooked him up to an IV for now, but make sure he is eating and drinking well after this.”

Jin was devastated. He couldn’t believe Akin had been neglecting himself so much.

“Can I please see him?”

“Yes. But he’s asleep right now.”

Jin just nodded and walked into the room. Akin appeared pale, forehead wet with sweat, lips parched and slightly ajar. He looked so tiny, so fragile under the light hospital blanket. Jin drew up a chair and grasped his hand softly in his own.

The nurse came in and reassured Jin that there was no cause for concern. Jin was relieved.

His breath caught as he hovered over Akin’s face. The steady beep of the heart monitor reminded him that Akin was real, fragile, and warm under his hand. Nothing else. He promised himself. The moment he got a little closer, he could hear the small snores he let out. Jin laughed a little to himself and then took his phone out to record a video of him snoring. Jin couldn’t help but think about how adorable he looked while sleeping.

But then Akin, still asleep, shifted and reached out and yanked Jin down with surprising force.

Jin came to a standstill. Akin’s scent wrapped around him, warm and painfully familiar. He didn’t want to move. But reality hit. He couldn’t remain like that. Not like this.

He carefully retreated, and before he could think, he kissed Akin. A gentle, lingering kiss on his lips.

“I’ll catch up to you someday,” he breathed. “I’ll stand by your side. Always.”

Then he got up and left the room, quiet as could be. Sine will be arriving shortly.

Jin sat in his living room replaying his actions in the room. He had kissed Akin. When he was unconscious. He couldn’t have stopped him if he didn’t want to be kissed by Jin. What the hell was wrong with Jin? How could he have done something so disgusting and disrespectful? Guilt over his actions gnawed at him. He should tell Akin. Hiding something like this wasn’t right. He would tell him. Soon. When the time was right.

A few hours later, Jin got a text from Sine that Akin was awake and feeling much better and that he didn’t need to worry, and Sine would take care of him from then on.

Akin was back on set in three days, and filming continued with the same vigour. As filming came to an end, Jin was called aside by Mildy one day and was told that he had been offered a contract from Sigma Entertainment. He was overjoyed. Sigma Entertainment was the biggest company that managed artists, and Jin agreed immediately. And then, along with his usual filming schedule, he was doing multiple promotional shoots with this new company. Jin became just as busy as Akin was.

He was promised a global stage, but for that, he needed to branch out his skills. He not only did ads but also modelling, singing and dancing. He was told that if he rose high enough, then he would get a chance to act with Akin again.

His schedule was so incessantly busy that he was corralled into things one after the other. He barely got any downtime. All he focused on was making sure he kept himself healthy. Akin's collapsing in front of him made him understand the importance of taking care of oneself. As much as he liked his work, show business was ruthless.

He was doing so well in his new company that he got a chance to have a shoot with Judy herself. She was on the same level as Akin. Jin’s popularity grew faster than he thought; his followers on his social media increased dramatically.

Sometimes, after a long day, when he was finally alone with his thoughts, he would sit and wonder if he really deserved all this. All this fame and admiration. And to think he hadn’t really set out to be an actor. He just got lucky. He hadn’t thought that delivering pizza somewhere would change the entire trajectory of his life. He was grateful, no denying that, but sometimes he was a little scared. How long till the public found someone more relevant to run after? It was show business after all. And when that happened, what would happen to him? Would his company still want him? Would they terminate his contract? If they did, then what?

His phone rang suddenly. It was his new manager. When he answered, all he got was, “You have a live TV interview tomorrow night. Be ready. I will send a car to pick you up and take you to the location.” As soon as he agreed, the phone was cut. Jin got up, sighing to himself. Time to go to bed. He had more shoots the next day and now even an interview.

The interview started with a bang. He hit 3.5 million followers on his Instagram. He was not only popular in Thailand but also in Korea, Japan and China, and his popularity kept increasing. The interviewer displayed the photo of when he was working at a pizza place and asked him about what he wanted to do. Jin truthfully told him that he hadn’t been looking to be an actor; he just got lucky. Right place at the right time. When the interviewer asked about which actor inspired him the most, Jin couldn’t stop the smile on his face as he answered.

“P’Akin”

He explained how, when he first met him, he was so intimidated by him because he was such a big star. He didn’t want to be a burden to him and wanted to learn from him as much as he could. But when he actually got to know him, he found out how kind Akin really was. It was hilarious when the interviewer joked about Akin being on set right then to surprise him. When he was asked about how he felt that Akin hadn’t followed him back on his account, Jin answered promptly.

“It’s understandable. He’s always so busy. I’m sure he hasn’t even noticed that I’m following him.”

The stage lights were blinding, turning the audience beyond the cameras into a vague blur. Jin’s pulse thumped in his ears, but he kept his smile steady. Everyone loved his interview. The interviewer proceeded to ask some stories about Akin, and Jin decided to tell about the time when Akin helped him cry on the scene. For him, that was the first time Akin helped him. The surge of gratitude he felt. Akin selflessly helped him out even after he messed up so much and delayed everyone. Right when he was acting out exactly what Akin did, everyone in the studio started cheering about how Akin must have been watching the show because he just followed Jin back. That was the end of the interview.

The next day, Jin added Akin to his close friends list and posted a story about wrapping his car in a new colour with a poll for the viewers to choose which colour. And the moment Akin replied, he just struck up a conversation with him. Jin only added Akin to his close friends. He just wanted to know which colour Akin liked so he would get his car in the same colour. After finding out that Akin liked sand, he replied that after he got his car wrapped, he would pick Akin up because he deserved to see the car first, as he chose the colour for him.

Just when he found out where Akin was, his manager, Ford, called him regarding a new project and how he needed to come to the office to discuss it. Sadly, he couldn’t go and pick Akin up. After texting him about the same, he waited for a response. He could see that Akin saw the message, but he didn’t respond. Jin just hoped Akin wasn’t too angry with him. Then he had another new project. He had no idea when he would get time to take Akin out and show his new car off to him.

He loved his job. Really. But he despised the way it always managed to interfere with his plans for Akin.

He just wanted to see him again.

He missed him.

Chapter Text

Akin walked into Jade’s office in Channel S’s building with his stomach in tight knots. He had been dreading this conversation ever since Jade had called. He had a new proposal for another drama. It was going to be a collaboration between Channel S and Sigma Entertainment. The collaboration was a great chance to bring Channel S and Akin to a new level. And from what Jade had told him, Legend of Gemini had a great storyline. It was new and exciting. The only catch was that this drama had two main characters, and the second lead was none other than Jin.

Jade had been very clear that Akin needed to accept this because if he didn’t, then his career would take a hit. Jade hadn’t shied away from mentioning that Akin had been in the industry for more than ten years, but Jin, who had been there for barely two, had already surpassed him in popularity. Passing up on this opportunity would have been career suicide for him. And he had given too much of himself to let something like this be his undoing.

Akin was aware of his standing in the media, especially with Jin around. While there was nothing negative or scandalous about him, he wasn’t being received with the same fervour as before. He was older now. And the audience, once enchanted, had moved on. Jin gave them what they wanted: novelty, energy, and charm. Akin wasn’t bitter about this. It was natural. Every actor had their cycle in the industry. He just wasn’t so keen on ending his so soon. And he had always liked himself a challenge. He would treat this as one.

If only it were as easy as it sounded. The introduction of Jin into his life had shifted something in him. He had always been a person who was happy with his work. He hadn’t needed anything more. His work had been his satisfaction. But after meeting Jin and getting to know him a little through his work and interviews, his life suddenly didn’t feel as satisfying as it had before.

He felt the need for more. He wanted more from his life. Work was no longer scratching the itch for him. Jin unsettled him in a way no one else ever had, and Akin, for the life of him, couldn’t understand why. What was so special about the guy who couldn’t act without constant instruction?

When he had met him for the first time, there had been nothing remarkable about him. He had just been a pretty face, wooden, uncertain. But Akin had seen the potential beneath the surface; otherwise, he wouldn’t have been on set at all. And he had been right. Jin had needed guidance, and Akin hadn’t minded helping him. He had understood how daunting the industry was. After he had helped him cry for the tie-in ad, Jin had followed him around like a puppy. He had always been around Akin, asking for help with something or the other. And it had been so, so sincere. Akin couldn’t say no.

And he couldn’t forget how much Jin had done for him. The day the pipe had fallen, Akin had been paralysed in fear. He had known where he was standing; he had known that the pipe would have hit his head and injured him severely. But Jin, stupid, wooden, selfless Jin had protected him at the cost of injuring himself.

The pipe struck with a crack so loud it rang in his ears. Akin felt the shudder through the ground before Jin’s arm slammed into his chest, shoving him back a heartbeat of cold terror, the taste of metal in his mouth. When it was over, all he could see was Jin’s shoulder, bleeding, where the pipe had grazed him instead.

When both of them had been pulled away to be checked over, Akin had wanted to go to him to ask if he was okay, but he could barely get himself to move. He had been trembling, and Sine and Jade had both sat with him for hours till he calmed down enough to be left alone. Accidents happened on set, no denying that, but this had rocked him. He could have died. It had been a metal pipe filled with water, with exposed screws.

And if the near-death experience hadn’t been enough for him, Jin had been about to kiss him, and Akin, in that moment, hadn’t minded it. He would have welcomed it. He had lifted his head to meet him. They had already been in such a compromising position, Akin bent backwards on the hood of the car, Jin leaning over him, covering him with his body, both of his arms braced beside his head. He could feel the heat of Jin’s body. He had been so warm, and he had smelled like sunshine. If they had actually kissed, Akin was sure it wouldn’t have stopped there.

He’d caught a glimpse of Jin’s eyes then, wide, uncertain, yet burning with something raw and searching.

Akin admitted that Jin was attractive. Anyone with even half an eye could see it. But that was all it was. He was just attracted to him more than he had ever been to anyone before. It was fine. Jin was more attractive, objectively. That didn’t mean it had to matter. The accident had left him reeling, and he had resolved to stay away from Jin as much as he could to avoid saying or doing something that could have ended in a disaster. Akin never slept with his co-workers. That was a line he didn’t ever want to cross.

But, God, didn’t Jin make it so difficult? Even after Akin had very rudely shoved him into the metal rack, Jin had carried him to the hospital when he had fainted. Akin already felt guilty about pushing him like that. He had seen him wince and then, seeing the bandage peeking over his shoulder, had confirmed his suspicion that Jin had been pretty injured during the accident. Regardless of the pain he must have been in, he had carried Akin.

When he had woken up in the hospital, Sine had thoroughly yelled at him for not taking proper care and had very slyly told him how Jin had been the one to get him there and how he had stayed with him as long as he could. Akin had known exactly what he was doing.

“No. No, don’t even go there. Nothing is going on. He saw me fall; of course, he’d take me to the hospital. Did you expect him to just wait?” he had told a grinning Sine.

He had spent the next few days recuperating. And the moment he had gotten back, he had found out about Sigma wanting to sign him on. And as soon as he had refused, he found out that even Jin had been offered a place and he had accepted. Akin hated that company. They just overworked their artists without caring for their personal styles or wishes. And now Jin was going to be following Sigma’s whims. But at least it looked like he was thriving. He seemed happy.

Now, after a year of not seeing each other, Akin would be working right alongside Jin. He just hoped it wouldn’t end up becoming a disaster.

Akin’s morning did not go as he had wanted it to. He had wanted chocolate muffins before he met with Jin and the director of Legend of Gemini. And very rudely, Sine had denied him. When he pulled up to Sigma Entertainment’s building, there had been a large crowd of fans gathered there with Jin right in the middle of them, talking cheerfully. When Jin saw Akin just walk directly towards the entrance, he immediately rolled after him, constantly trying to talk to him. All the way up to the meeting room, Jin had kept peppering him with questions, then slipping in a very earnest congratulations for winning the award for ‘Sexiest Man of the Year’ five times in a row.

This was the man who challenged him. He was so pure-hearted, so genuine, like he had no bad bone in his body. Before Akin could say anything to him, Jin had been called back to sit in his place.

And of course, when things finally seemed calm, there they were, those cursed cupcakes he had been denied earlier. Akin very desperately just wanted to have one, but he had an image to uphold. He couldn’t just be the first one to do that. He looked at the tantalising plate, gulping in absolute hunger. Without hesitation, Jin reached across and plucked one off the plate. His exclamations of how delicious they were were slowly making Akin just take one too, but before he could, the director arrived.

The meeting went on for a long time. They even did a small script reading. It was intense. Very intense. It felt as if Jin was speaking to him. Trying to tell him something.

It just got worse when he found out that the director wanted to change the story. The new story would definitely be more impactful, but it would make Jin a more prominent character. It did not go the way Akin wanted. He had no issues sharing the spotlight, but lately, when his fame and work had been precarious, this decision could backfire. But Akin didn’t have a choice. He had to go with whatever the director told him to.

After the meeting ended, Akin angrily ranted to himself as he had the mini cupcakes. In between his rant, Jin showed up and presented him with a bottle of imported chocolate milk. It wasn’t even sold in Thailand, and when Akin asked him where he had got it from, Jin told him he had got it from outside. Akin tried to hide his smile, and after being teased by Jin even more, he finally walked away. He needed to get home to practice. He was going to give this drama his best performance.

At home, when Akin took a break from practising, he saw all the comments talking about how excited people were to see Jin and Akin on screen together. Everyone raved about their chemistry on screen. And Akin wholeheartedly agreed. They both looked good on screen together. He could also see the outpouring of support for him. But there were also a bunch of negative comments about how Akin was just trying to keep himself relevant by acting with Jin, how even though he was the main character in their previous drama, Jin had stolen his spotlight.

People were talking about how Akin was arrogant and never interacted with his fans. Some even said Jin’s interview had been scripted. That even if Akin treated him terribly, Jin wouldn’t be able to call out a veteran actor while he was just entering the industry.

Their words clawed at him. Each comment felt like a stone added to his chest, heavy, accusing. This showed where he stood. This proved that no matter how hard he worked, it would never be enough. He wondered if it was worth all this. Just then, Jin’s comment popped up where he clarified that he truly meant what he had said in the interview, and there hadn’t been any script.

His throat tightened. A sharp sting burned at the corners of his eyes before he could stop it. Jin’s comment sat heavy in his chest, sincere and bare. Akin stared at it for a long moment, rereading the lines over and over until they blurred. The words weren’t defensive or strategic; they were real. Honest. Jin believed every word he said about him, and despite everything, he said it again. Publicly. For the world to see.

Then, almost like fate teasing him, Jin posted a story.

A picture of the moon, low and full, floating in an inky sky. ‘Look, the moon is smiling. Bad things will pass, and good things will come. Keep fighting!’

Akin felt it pierce through the noise in his mind like a pin of light. As if Jin reached through the screen, looked straight into his soul, and whispered, I see you.

His hands trembled slightly as he set his phone down. He leaned back against the headboard, pressing the heels of his palms into his eyes. It didn’t help. The tears still fell silently at first, then messier. His chest started to shake. A dam giving way.

The comment section was brutal. People said he was irrelevant. That he was riding Jin’s coattails. That he was cold, aloof, and arrogant. That he never smiled at fans, never thanked anyone. Some said worse things he couldn’t unread, no matter how much he tried.

But Jin didn’t join the noise. Jin stood beside him. Again.

Akin felt the weight of memory rush in the crash of the pipe, Jin’s arms shielding him, the stupid chocolate milk bottle, the earnest way he had congratulated him, as if he had meant every syllable.

Akin let out a shaky breath, folding forward until his forehead touched his knees. His pulse echoed in his ears. For the first time in a long time, he didn’t feel alone in the crowd.

A whisper stirred in the back of his mind, one that sounded suspiciously like Jin: Keep fighting.

He clutched at that voice like a rope thrown to a man drifting at sea.

By the time his body calmed, his eyes were swollen and his cheeks damp, but there was something warm lingering beneath his ribs. Something he hadn’t felt in a while.

He climbed into bed and tucked himself under the blanket. His lips curved into the softest smile.

The moon was still up outside his window.

And for once, he believed it was smiling at him, too.

For the first time in years, someone had reached past the armour. And it felt like breathing again.

He went to bed with a smile on his face that night.

Chapter Text

The next few days were a blur of table readings and costume fittings. Akin kept up his daily practice and looked forward to finally stepping on set. Filming was scheduled to begin the next day.

That morning, he woke up with a quiet resolve to try being more friendly towards Jin. Jin had been doing so much for him. He deserved at least kindness in return. Akin needed to go to Channel S’ building, where they would all head to the filming location together.

In front of the building, a large crowd of reporters and fans had gathered, pestering Jade for an interview with Akin and Jin to address Jin's response to the fan’s comment. But Jade, aware of Akin’s reluctance about conducting unnecessary interviews, smoothly declined.

Akin had been absentmindedly scrolling through the comments on his Instagram, the glow of the screen soft against his face as he trailed a little behind Jade. His focus had drifted in and out, part of him registering the words, the other part quietly bracing for the day ahead. Just outside the Channel S building, a small group of fans and a couple of reporters had gathered. They hadn’t been unruly, just quietly excited, murmuring and snapping photos whenever one of them caught sight of the actors.

Then Jin had slipped into step beside him.

Akin had barely registered his presence when he glanced up and asked casually what he was doing.

Jin hadn’t answered. Instead, the bottle of chocolate milk he had been fiddling with had slipped from his fingers.

Instinct had taken over.

Before it could hit the ground, Akin had reached out and caught it, fingers closing around the chilled plastic in one smooth motion.

A few gasps and surprised squeals had risen from the fans nearby, their energy shifting from passive interest to barely contained excitement.

Akin had blinked, momentarily stunned by the sound.

Without really thinking, he had pressed the bottle lightly to Jin’s cheek.

That small act, casual and playful, had sent the onlookers into soft but unmistakable delight. Some had laughed, others had whispered animatedly among themselves. Their phones had come up like clockwork, capturing the moment as if it were something magical.

Akin hadn’t needed to look up to know it had landed. He could feel it.

Jin had turned slightly toward him, his eyes twinkling with amusement and that familiar little smile playing on his lips. It was the kind of smile that made Akin’s stomach flutter most annoyingly. There had been something about Jin’s presence, calm and aware and disarmingly sincere, that had made moments like this feel far too natural.

Their dynamic had just worked.

Even without trying, they had moved together as if they had been in sync, the chemistry between them radiating in a way Akin had never expected or prepared for.

He hadn’t wanted to admit it, not to himself and certainly not out loud, but there had been something real beneath the teasing gestures and public smiles. Something warm and steady, like a thread pulling taut between them every time they had shared space.

And it had become harder to ignore.

Because even in a quiet gathering, even in the smallest of moments, Akin had felt it. The story unfolding between them had stopped feeling like a script.

And he hadn’t been sure anymore if it was still acting or if he had already started living it.

Akin hated interviews. The lights, the questions, the constant fear of saying something career-ending, it all made his skin crawl. But with Jin next to him, it didn’t feel quite so unbearable.

“Since we’re already here, let’s do the interview quickly,” Akin suggested. Jin agreed with a small smile, and they both walked closer to where Jade was standing to give a brief interview.

The interview went pretty well. Both confirmed how excited they were to work together again and how reassuring it was for Akin to work with someone familiar, as they already had a rapport built. Akin always felt on edge during interviews purely because it always felt like he was on the verge of saying something wrong and then having his career marred by that slip. The media always had a flair for making a mountain out of an ant hill. But today, he felt at ease. Jin’s presence made him feel less frantic.

Akin couldn’t understand why Jin had such a big impact on him. What about him made Akin feel so comfortable that he agreed to an interview that wasn’t even necessary?

After the interview, on the bus to the filming location, Jin replayed the interview at least ten times. Every time Akin’s voice came on, he smiled like he was hearing it for the first time. He must have listened to it at least ten times by now. He looked at his phone with such an adorable, gentle smile whenever Akin spoke.

It was endearing. And unbelievably annoying. Akin didn’t know which feeling won out. He couldn’t keep listening to his voice, so much so that he asked Jin to use his headphones, and when Jin admitted to forgetting them, Akin pulled his out of his pocket. They were a tangled mess, but Jin accepted them immediately, and after turning them over between his fingers, he popped the earbuds in his ears and connected them to his phone. Without even bothering to untangle them.

Akin continued sneaking glances at him. Jin’s glasses rested a little lower, and he wore a constant smile. Akin couldn’t help but steal glances at him.

After filming a couple of scenes, Akin realised that his lines and scenes had been cut down even more. This wasn’t what they’d agreed on. Fury roiled in his chest, twined with the sting of doubt. Had he really been that forgettable? It made him question his own acting and feel as if his abilities were being doubted. He stormed into the dressing room to scream or cry or seethe, he didn’t know. He just knew he couldn’t sit with a straight face after learning what he did.

Behind him, Jin and Sine also entered the dressing room. Both looked equally confused and angry. Akin knew he had to think of a plan before he was just cut out. After stewing for a bit, he finally had a plan. He just needed Jade’s help.

It worked great. The director was impressed. Akin diverted from the script, interpreted his character in his own way without overshadowing Jin’s character, while remaining one of the MCs. After wrapping up the filming for the day, Jin came up to him to ask if he wanted to go out for drinks with him. After a lot of reluctance, he agreed.

Akin wasn’t very keen on going out. He knew what a lightweight he was, and he had already had a long, tiring day. But Jin was asking so nicely, and he virtually had no reason to say no. His filming for the next day was in the evening.

The last thing he remembered was taking two shots and singing karaoke with Jin. After that, blank.

Akin woke up with a phone camera pointing at his face. Jin was sitting on his knees on the bed with just a towel wrapped around his waist. And a phone camera pointed at him. Akin immediately realised his own state of undress. He was just in his underwear. As soon as his brain caught up with the situation, he got up and pulled the blanket up to cover his chest.

“Where am I?” Akin asked immediately. His head pounded in his skull.

“It’s my apartment,” Jin replied as he sat on the bed a little closer to Akin.

“How did I get here?” Akin was starting to get worried about something happening last night.

“Well, you were drunk last night, so I got you here, Kin,” Jin explained.

“Me? Drunk? Wait… who permitted you to call me that?” Akin was so confused. He couldn’t remember a thing.

“You did! Of course.” Jin moved even closer to him.

Akin still wasn’t ready to believe him, so Jin picked up his phone and showed him a video. It was of Akin. Clearly drunk, with a microphone in his hand. He was smiling, laughing, stumbling all over the place, calling Jin, ‘Jun’. Then Jin called him ‘Kin’ since now even he should be allowed to call Akin that if Akin kept calling him Jun. Then he said he would buy the rights to call Akin ‘Kin.’ And Akin accepted. Akin also accepted more money if Jin wanted more.

His face flushed as he watched his drunken self on screen, giggling, swaying, handing out naming rights like candy. He wanted to crawl into the bedsheets and disappear.

“What did you ask for?” Akin asked. His voice came out hoarse, unsure if he really wanted the answer.

“What did you think I asked for?” Jin leaned in closer.

“You already know,” Akin said, trying to save his own skin. He didn’t want Jin to know he couldn’t remember last night.

“I didn’t ask for anything. Yet.” Jin smiled cheekily.

“If you didn’t ask for anything, where are my clothes?”

After that, Jin told him how last night at the bar, Akin threw up over both his and Jin’s clothes, but wasn’t coherent enough to give Jin his address. So Jin decided to get both of them to his house to clean them off. If that wasn’t humiliating enough, Jin didn’t dress in his own clothes because Akin held on to him the whole night…

Akin couldn’t believe it. He told Jin he was sure Sigma put Jin up to this. It was Jin’s job to get Akin drunk and film him secretly so they could blackmail him later. So Akin told him he would do anything if Jin deleted the videos from last night.

Akin worried about what Jin could ask for. At this point, he was ready to do anything just so those videos didn’t fall into the wrong hands. That could have been really bad. Trading his dignity for his career was a good enough sacrifice. He just wasn’t prepared for what Jin asked for.

A hug. Just once. That was all Jin wanted. Akin was surprised. Jin really was surprising.

Akin just nodded, and Jin surged towards him and hugged him tightly. After pulling away, Jin looked intently at Akin and then slowly leaned in and pressed his lips to Akin. Akin lost himself for a second. He was still reeling from how the hug made him feel. Safe. Protected. Loved. The moment he realised Jin was kissing him, he shoved him off and ran to the bathroom with Jin’s phone.

Muttering to himself about never drinking again, he started deleting videos from Jin’s phone. There were so many of them. He had been drunkenly singing the whole night. While deleting them, he came across a video filmed in the bedroom. Both of them were shirtless, and Jin was slowly wiping him with a damp cloth. A water bowl was even kept a little to the side.

Akin paused. He couldn’t make out the look on Jin’s face, but his movements were soft and gentle and almost loving. Akin felt his stomach tighten and his heart flutter. Jin really didn’t do anything. Kindness from fellow actors was rare, almost extinct. That Jin hadn’t taken advantage, had instead cleaned him up and let him rest, left a quiet warmth in Akin’s chest.

From the corner of his eye, he saw a set of clothes hanging, with a note. They were Jin’s, and it was for him. Akin quickly pulled on the clothes and realised that while the shirt could be managed, the pants were literally falling off him. He held on to the waist and walked out.

Jin dropped another bomb on him. He would be driving them both to the set, and he confirmed it with Sine, so Sine wouldn’t be coming to pick Akin up, and Akin would need to go with Jin himself. Jin even made breakfast for Akin to have in the car. Pancakes. With honey. His favourite. Akin stared at the box. Jin had remembered.

If Jin didn’t stop being so thoughtful, Akin was going to die. Or worse, fall for him.

Akin pulled off a tie hanging on a rack before running behind him. He would have to use that as his belt now. When he tried to call Sine, due to a network error, he wasn’t able to hear anything. At least that’s what Sine claimed. Secretly, Akin thought Sine was definitely just messing around and wanted Jin to drive them both.

Akin kept looking at his phone, trying to get in touch with Sine, when Jin came up to remind him to eat, handing him a box with his breakfast. He stood so close that Akin had to look up at him.

“You look really good dressed like that. I almost forgot you’re wearing my clothes,” Jin said while looking down at Akin as he pulled him closer with the tie around his waist.

Akin felt his heart jolt at Jin’s closeness. His breath hitched, barely audible, as Jin leaned in, his face just inches away. The faint scent of Jin’s cologne, warm, clean, unmistakably hi,m washed over Akin like a wave, leaving his skin tingling. His chest tightened, unsure whether from nerves or anticipation. He couldn’t meet Jin’s eyes. It was too much, too close.

Without thinking, Akin snatched the tie out of Jin’s hand, his movements sharper than intended, turning slightly to hide the flush creeping up his neck. He cleared his throat and huffed, trying to will his heart to stop racing.

But even as he looked away, he could still feel Jin, too close, still everywhere.

Jin proceeded to hand him the phone and mentioned that Akin had missed a few videos; he could delete them from the recycle bin, too, if he wanted. Akin didn’t really want to. He couldn’t explain why, but deep down, he felt certain that even if Jin had the videos, he wouldn’t do anything with them.

“There are so many,” Akin said, avoiding his gaze. “How could I possibly delete all of them?”

He knew it was a weak excuse. Jin just smiled and nodded when Akin added, “Don’t post them anywhere, or I’ll sue you for sure.”

He wouldn’t. Jin wouldn’t. Akin wasn’t sure why he believed that, but he did.

Somehow, he just knew.

Chapter Text

Jin was riding on the high of the last few days. Ever since they met up once again after almost a year, he had been ecstatic. Being around Akin reminded him how fiercely he missed him, being in his presence. Filming together and seeing how proud Akin looked as he acted made Jin feel like he was finally worth standing beside him. Jin missed him. A lot.

Going drinking with Akin was fun. He didn’t know what a silly and happy drunk Akin was. He seemed, for once, like he didn't have the weight of his work and its expectations on his shoulders. And god, he was such a lightweight. Two shots and a beer did him in. He was loudly singing into the microphone, laughing and smiling. Jin never saw him so carefree. Then, when he started calling him ‘Jun,’ he couldn't express how cute it was. Probably shouldn't have, because Akin immediately stopped. Jin didn't even know where he got that from.

Jin flirted with him all night long. Jin hadn’t known Akin wouldn’t remember any of it. Secretly, he was glad he didn’t. He didn't think Akin would have appreciated it. Akin always, after all, maintained distance. But seeing him drunk made Jin fall even harder.

When Jin had to take him back to his apartment because Akin soiled his clothes, Jin was happy to spend more time with him. He had to carry a drunk and sleepy Akin up to his home. And before he could settle him into his bathroom, Akin threw up over his clothes, too.

Jin quickly took off both their clothes to throw them into the washing machine, then returned to lay Akin gently on his bed. When he saw Akin’s bare skin, he paused for a second, taken aback by how vulnerable he looked. It wasn’t about attraction, though it was hard to ignore how good Akin looked like this, but more about the unexpected wave of protectiveness that came over him.

Realising he was staring, Jin shook his head and went to get a bowl of warm water and a cloth. He also set up his phone in a corner of the room, camera facing them. He wanted to make sure that if Akin woke up and didn’t remember anything, there would be proof that nothing inappropriate happened. He didn’t want Akin to ever feel unsafe with him.

He wiped Akin down gently, making sure he was clean and comfortable. His movements were careful, steady, and respectful. Once done, Jin started to head toward the closet to grab fresh clothes when Akin suddenly reached out and pulled him down.

The grip was firm, and Jin could have pulled away if he wanted to. But he didn’t.

Akin was holding on to him, like he needed the contact. Like he trusted Jin, even in this half-conscious state. That trust made Jin freeze for a moment.

He hesitated, then slowly raised a hand to brush Akin’s hair out of his face. But before he could, Akin turned and buried his face in Jin’s chest. Jin felt his breath against his skin. It sent a small shiver down him, but he didn’t move.

Instead, he pulled the covers over both of them, careful not to shift too much. Akin still had his arms around him, and Jin let him stay like that. He wanted to return the gesture, to hold Akin back, but he knew he shouldn’t. Allowing even this much was already toeing the line.

Still, he stayed.

Because Akin needed the comfort.

And Jin wanted to be the one to give it.

He resolved to become Akin’s body pillow for the night.

The next morning, when Akin accused Jin of planning with Sigma and filming Akin to blackmail him, it hurt. Jin didn't think Akin could ever accuse him of something like this. But at the same time, it made him wonder about all the things he must have gone through to come to that conclusion so promptly.

After Jin reassured him, he quietly asked if he could have a hug. Akin nodded, so Jin opened his arms and leaned in. Akin met him halfway, and they sat on the edge of the bed, arms wrapped around each other. There were no words, just the silent weight of the moment, the feel of Akin’s warmth against him, and the flood of emotions Jin tried to hold back.

He didn’t expect it to hit this hard. The trust, the closeness, the quiet, it overwhelmed him. He tried to tell himself that this was enough. That being here, holding Akin, should be enough.

But it wasn’t.

He shifted slightly, loosening the hug just enough to see Akin’s face. His heart was pounding, breath was shallow. He didn’t plan it. It just happened. He leaned in and kissed him.

It was quick. Soft. Over before it had a chance to become anything more.

And then Akin kicked him. Hard. Reflexive.

Jin flinched, hand flying to his stomach as he pulled back. If Akin hadn’t stopped him, he wasn’t sure he would have stopped himself. And that was the part that unsettled him most.

Even now, he couldn’t quite bring himself to regret it.

When Akin ran off with his phone and locked himself in the bathroom, Jin just stood there, rubbing the spot where he’d been kicked and smiling like an idiot. He couldn’t believe any of it actually happened. He held him. Kissed him. Even if only for a second.

He tried to calm himself down, then went to get dressed and started preparing breakfast. His hands moved automatically, muscle memory taking over while his mind stayed stuck in the bedroom. He packed Akin’s food carefully, even choosing his favourite, pancakes with honey. He knew they didn’t have time to sit and eat together like he hoped, so he made it easy to take on the go.

Before leaving, he called Sine to let him know that Akin stayed over and that he’d be bringing both of them to the set. His voice was steady, but the nerves were still fluttering in his stomach. Sine just chuckled and agreed, making Jin even more flustered than before.

When Akin stepped out in his clothes, Jin almost forgot how to breathe. The white shirt was haphazardly tucked into the jeans, and Akin very creatively used Jin’s tie as a belt to hold the jeans up. He was going to combust.

Jin watched Akin fumble with the phone, pretending to scroll through the videos like they were nothing. His brows furrowed slightly, his lips pursed, trying to act indifferent. Jin knew better.

“I think you missed a few,” he said gently, handing over the phone. “They’re probably in the recycle bin. You can delete them too, if you want.”

He didn’t say it to tease. He meant it. If Akin wanted everything gone, Jin would let it all go.

But Akin hesitated.

Jin saw the flicker of conflict pass through his eyes, uncertainty, reluctance, maybe even trust. He didn’t reach for the phone immediately. Instead, he mumbled something about there being too many videos to delete, his voice barely convincing.

Jin smiled, not calling out the excuse. He didn’t need to. That wasn’t the point. He wasn’t keeping the videos to use them. He was keeping them because they were moments. Real ones. Moments where Akin laughed, unfiltered, leaning into Jin like he belonged there.

“If you post them anywhere,” Akin added suddenly, “I’ll sue you.”

Jin chuckled at the weak threat. “Of course,” he replied, tone light but sincere. He hadn’t needed Akin’s trust. But he had protected it anyway. Jin didn’t push. He didn’t need to. Whatever Akin decided, Jin already knew, he wouldn’t delete them. Not because he couldn’t. But because, somewhere deep down, he trusted Jin.

And that meant everything.

The shoot was exhilarating that day. Jin was enthralled and made a point to tell Akin how great he was. Just then, Touch entered the dressing tent to remind Jin about the live he had to do today for his fans. Before he could ask, Touch already went on to ask Jade if Akin could be a part of the live for just 5 minutes.

After a little convincing, Akin agreed. When they finally went live, Jin could see how uncomfortable and confused he was. Akin didn’t really go live so much. He very cutely looked into the camera and smiled, and waved whenever Jin asked him to. He could see how out of depth Akin looked, so he decided to read some comments the fans were putting on. They were coming at them at lightning speed. Jin could barely read one before he was bombarded with the next ten.

Akin too tried to read the comment. When one caught his eye, it quickly disappeared, so Jin scrolled to find it.

“If I chased Akin for 21 days straight, will I succeed?” he read out.

“Why 21 days? Is it some kind of belief?” Akin asked, confused.

Touch proceeded to explain that if someone does something for 21 days, it becomes a routine. Similarly, if you apply the same principle to love and pursue someone for 21 days, there is a chance you can win them over.

“So, can I?” Jin asked. He was asking for himself, but seeing the look on Akin’s face, he just deflected to imply he meant the fan.

Akin’s eyes flickered with something unreadable. “If you can do it, give it a try.”

There was a teasing lilt to his voice, but also a dare buried underneath. Jin’s heart soared. Akin had given him permission to pursue him.

After finishing the shoot, Jin messaged Sine that he would drop Akin off at home, and he didn't need to worry at all. Sine very happily agreed as if he knew exactly what Jin was planning to do. Jin was excited to show off his custom-made passenger seat. He made sure that there was a small carton of chocolate milk also near the passenger seat. Akin had a massive sweet tooth for chocolate, and he was going to make sure he got what he wanted.

Sine very slyly directed Akin into Jin’s car and gave a brilliant excuse of his child being sick, so he would not have much time to drop off and pick him up. Before Akin could get a word of protest in, Sine closed the door on his face and walked off.

Jin just laughed a little to himself and very proudly told Akin about his custom seats and the little treat he had for him.

Akin felt his heart flutter at the little thoughtful action. He didn’t remember ever telling Jin about his chocolate fixation. Jin clearly was paying too much attention to him. He couldn’t say that he minded it, especially after last night.

Jin clearly was someone he could trust. He wasn’t going to go spill his deepest darkest secrets to him, but at the very least, tell him his house address. He earned that much.

Over the next few days, Akin slowly let his guard down. Where he once used to hide behind a cap, sunglasses, and a mask to avoid being seen with Jin, he now sat beside him in the car without a second thought. Every morning, Jin picked him up with a homemade breakfast, and every evening they left the set with a carton of chocolate milk between them.

It became a quiet routine. Familiar. Comfortable. On some days, Akin even invited Jin over to practice lines for the upcoming scenes. He told himself it was just for the work, but the truth was Jin didn’t feel like a stranger anymore. Slowly, almost without realising it, Akin started looking forward to seeing him. To share that quiet space in the car. To hear Jin talk about the day.

Jin, on the other hand, was over the moon. The way Akin stopped hiding, the way he sat beside him like it was natural. It meant everything. What started as giving him a ride turned into a daily ritual. He started bringing breakfast just once or twice, but Akin now relied on it so much that he didn’t bother eating at home anymore. Whatever Jin packed, Akin ate while they drove.

Jin didn’t say anything about it. He didn’t want to make it a big deal. But every time Akin climbed into the passenger seat without a disguise or bit into his breakfast without complaint, Jin couldn’t help the quiet happiness that settled in his chest.

On the twentieth day, Jin came up with a little plan. He put together a tiny slideshow, the kind that looked like a child’s school project, simple, a bit clumsy, but heartfelt. He waited patiently for Akin to enter his dressing tent, then quietly slipped in after him.

Akin jumped and cursed under his breath, startled. From outside, Touch called out, asking if everything was okay.

“I’m fine!” Akin called back, adding quickly, “Just saw a lizard!”

Jin tried and failed to hide his grin as he held up his tablet. The first slide popped up: "Sorry for scaring you."

Akin narrowed his eyes, but the corner of his mouth twitched. Before he could say anything, the next slide appeared: "Do you like me yet?"

Akin let out a soft huff of laughter, shaking his head in disbelief. Jin didn’t wait for an answer. The next slide came up before Akin could respond: "It’s okay if you don’t. I’ll wait as long as it takes."

Something about it made Akin pause. His smile softened, and he could feel warmth creeping up his neck, blooming into a slow blush. Jin’s little plan was ridiculous, but sweet. The kind of silly, gentle thing Akin hadn’t realised he started to expect from him. Maybe even look forward to.

Jin flipped to another slide.

"Can I ask you one more thing?"

"Can I call you ‘Kin’?"

"If yes, blink once."

Akin stared at him, incredulous. Jin peeked from behind the screen, eyes wide and hopeful like a kid asking for extra dessert.

Akin couldn’t help it. A grin stretched across his face before he could stop it. He blinked once, very deliberately.

Jin’s face lit up like he just won something huge. He leaned in, lowering his voice like it was a secret meant just for the two of them. “P’Kin,” he whispered, eyes shining.

The sound of it made something flutter in Akin’s chest. It wasn’t just the nickname, it was the way Jin said it, full of affection and excitement, like the word itself was a gift.

“Say it again,” Akin mouthed, teasing him, unable to wipe the smile off his face.

Jin leaned in even closer, grinning. “P’Kin,” he whispered again.

It was ridiculous, but Akin’s heart felt light. He didn’t want this moment to end.

He didn’t know if 21 days could win him over. But this blink felt like the start of something real.

Chapter Text

It was the final day of their 21-day challenge, and Jin had come prepared to set. That day, he couldn’t pick Akin up since he’d had a late shoot. So Akin went with Sine. It worked out well in his favour. He got the chance to pick out a bouquet and a chocolate cake. Something to mark the end of their little 21-day challenge, something special. He had no plans to stop spoiling Akin in whatever way he could; he meant it when he’d said he could wait for him however long Akin needed. Good things came to those who waited.

Jin was no stranger to waiting or hoping things would turn out well for him. So he dressed to impress. He planned to take Akin to his favourite park. He had been going there since he was a child. Wherever he was, he always went to the park if he needed some time to himself.

After wrapping up filming for the day, Jin sat in the dressing tent getting his hair fixed. The tent buzzed with leftover chatter and the low hum of a hairdryer. Warm yellow lights bounced off folding mirrors lined against canvas walls. He didn’t want to look unkempt or messy when he saw Akin later. The thought of handing him the flowers and cake made him smile. He could already imagine the look Akin would give the cake eyes, wide, lips twitching in surprise, and the image made Jin chuckle softly. He just needed to make sure he said everything he had to before Akin spotted the cake. Otherwise, he knew Akin would be too distracted by the chocolate to hear a single word. Nothing came between Akin and sweets.

“What’s going on?” Akin asked, a sharp edge in his voice as he approached.

He’d had to endure an entire day of shooting without so much as a morning greeting from Jin. Now, drained and irritable, all he wanted was to go home and sleep through the next day. He told himself the sour mood was because of the long shoot and the cramped, awkward car ride in Sine’s vehicle. Not because he missed Jin. That wasn’t it at all.

“You’ve been smiling a lot.” He continued trying to rub the pain in the back of his neck.

Jin, that infuriatingly beautiful man, walked over to him, leaned and whispered in his ear, “It’s a secret.”

Akin looked up at him. It was unfair how good he looked. The red shirt with white splatters on it would have looked absolutely ridiculous on most people. But on Jin, it looked like sin. It complemented him and made him stand out. He looked like a star.

“Do you want to know?” Jin asked softly.

Akin just slightly nodded his head, and Jin smiled, “It’s a secret.”

Akin felt a flare of annoyance at Jin’s coyness. He knew exactly what Jin was doing—teasing him, watching closely to see how long Akin would pretend not to care. And it was working. Jin was baiting him, and Akin was just annoyed enough to let it show.

But before he could retort or do something stupid, like smile, voices at the entrance of the tent cut through the tension.

Touch stepped in, followed closely by Ford, Jin’s manager. Both looked flustered.

“Sorry, P’Jin,” Touch said quickly, slightly out of breath. “I forgot to tell you we scheduled a livestream today. The fans have been asking nonstop. We managed to squeeze in just an hour. Please?” He was already pleading, palms pressed together, eyes darting between Jin.

Akin felt another wave of irritation rising. He was exhausted and had been looking forward to heading home with Jin. Now this stupid livestream was going to delay them. He knew Jin would cave; he was too nice to say no. Jin catered to his fans in a way Akin never did.

This was exactly why Akin turned down the Sigma contract. The company would have given fans whatever they wanted within reason, sure, but never prioritised the comfort of their artists. To Sigma, their performers weren’t people chasing dreams; they were just products to sell.

Jin saw Akin’s frustration, but he also knew there was no point in dragging it out. Better to agree and get it over with than prolong the tension. Besides, he still planned to take Akin to the park afterwards. Just to be sure Akin knew he hadn’t changed their plan, Jin gently asked if he could wait for a bit.

Akin just nodded slightly. It wasn’t like he had much of a choice. It was just an hour, not so bad, he could wait.

“P’Akin, can you join the live with Jin? The fans will probably love seeing you both together,” Touch asked hesitantly.

Never mind, it could get worse. Wasn’t it enough that Jin was doing the live? Why did he need to join it, too? He was tired, and it wasn’t like he knew how to interact with them, not like Jin anyway. Where were Jade or Sine at a time like this?

Jin immediately came to his defence. He was giving him an out; Akin could say no. Touch became even more insistent, telling how it would be just for a while, not too long. Akin knew that if he didn’t agree, this would just keep stretching, and their companies were collaborating on this project. It wouldn’t reflect well on Channel S if he disagreed. The faster he agreed, the faster this live would get done with and the quicker he could get home. So he agreed.

Jin was surprised. He knew Akin hated doing lives. He hoped Akin would take the out and just make up some excuse, but he didn’t. He looked at Akin with concern. He already looked exhausted. He’d clearly had a long day and now this. Jin was just going to make sure he could minimise the time Akin had to stay on as much as possible, so he could rest a little.

The moment the live began, the differences in their demeanour became apparent. Jin was lively and interactive, while Akin just stood there waving his hands awkwardly. Jin was smiling, and Akin had a feeling his discomfort was visible on his face.

“They’re asking if you had a partner, what would you call them?” Touch read a comment out loud.

“I haven’t figured it out yet. Let P’Akin answer first.” Jin responded immediately and then looked over to Akin, waiting for a response.

Akin thought for a bit and replied, “I’d say ‘babe’ or ‘baby’.”

“What do you say, babe?” Jin smiled, leaning closer to Akin.

Akin froze. Babe? The word caught him completely off guard. His brain stuttered, trying to catch up with what had just happened. He had no idea where that came from, but he couldn’t deny the way it made something flip in his stomach. Heat crept up his neck, settling under his collar, and he was suddenly all too aware of how close Jin’s face was. Too close. Close enough to make thinking difficult.

Before he could even begin to process it, Touch’s voice cut through the haze, exclaiming how much people were loving it, how they looked like a proper couple. And just like that, Jin’s words made sense.

Akin felt a sinking realisation of how people perceived their ‘off-screen chemistry’ because of Jin. He was charming and flirtatious. Akin had no hand in their joint success, except for helping Jin break out of his shell in the beginning. It was a sobering and cruel thought.

“Everyone, P’Akin has to go back to work now. Let’s all say goodbye to him,” Jin replied after he’d had his fill of passing teasing smiles at Akin.

But Akin’s relief was short-lived. And so was his threadbare patience.

“Some fans are asking if both of you can sing a song together?” Touch really was on track to be the end of Akin.

That was the final nail in the coffin.

Touch’s voice felt like a persistent, tiny buzz in his ear, insistent, grating. Just one song. A cute moment for the live. Akin barely registered Jin’s voice, trying to deflect, to give him a way out.

The room suddenly felt too warm, the lights too bright. The murmurs in the background blurred into one long, unbearable noise. His pulse throbbed at his temple. He was tired. Hungry. Stretched too thin. And now, this?

He felt the edges of his patience beginning to fray.

Akin blinked slowly, trying to ground himself, but all he could focus on was the rushing in his ears and Touch’s incessant prodding. His chest felt tight, like there wasn’t enough air. He didn’t know if it was anger or embarrassment or both; he just knew he had to get out of there before something inside him cracked open.

“I’m going now. See you,” he muttered, and walked off without waiting for a response.

His feet moved before his thoughts could catch up. He didn’t want to make a scene. He couldn’t afford to. But he also couldn’t stay a second longer. The dressing tent, still humming with chatter and the whirr of fans, faded behind him. The night air hit his flushed skin, cool, faintly damp. Lights flickered over the lot, his shoes crunching gravel with each step toward Sine’s car. The adrenaline began to ebb, only to be replaced by something heavier.

Regret. Shame.

And beneath that, something worse.

Doubt.

If he were more like Jin, more patient, more charming, more at ease, he wouldn’t have such a hard time. He’d smile, tease the fans, maybe even sing a few lines. It would be over in minutes.

But he wasn’t like Jin.

And Jin… Jin noticed. He didn’t insist, didn’t push. Jin was soft about it, careful. The way he always was when it came to Akin. Akin’s throat tightened as he slid into the passenger seat of Sine’s car. The leather felt unfamiliar beneath him. The seatbelt tugged awkwardly against his chest. The faint hum of the engine filled the silence. Everything was wrong. Off.

He’d never noticed it before. But then, he did. The seat was different. The little comforts were missing. No custom seat. No chocolate milk waiting in the cup holder. No Jin.

The realisation stung.

Jin hadn’t known him for long, and yet, he’d gone out of his way day after day to make Akin’s days lighter. No one ever did that for him. No one ever looked after him like that. And what had Akin given him in return? An awkward livestream. His anger was gone by then. Burnt out. In its place sat a gnawing awareness.

Jin kept his promise; he’d grown, changed, risen. He stood beside Akin, just as he said he would. But the truth was, he wasn’t beside him anymore. He was ahead. Akin knew it. Felt it. He had to step up. Or he’d be left behind.

The emotional whiplash of the day was wearing Akin down. All he wanted then was to go home and rest. The day already felt stretched too thin. He knew his sudden exit probably hadn’t gone over well, but he just hoped Jin could smooth things over and that he didn’t hate him for walking out like that. He planned to apologise properly when he picked him up the day after.

When Akin left so abruptly, Jin’s first instinct was to follow. But the livestream was still running; he couldn’t just vanish. So, he did the next best thing. Turning to the camera with a calm, reassuring smile, he told the fans that Akin had had a long day on set and needed some rest to be at his best. Jin, on the other hand, had barely worked that day, which was why he still had the energy to go live.

He knew how fickle online sentiment could be, how quickly admiration could sour into criticism. He wanted to make sure Akin wouldn’t end up on the receiving end of that shift.

When the live finally ended, Jin sighed softly and set the phone down. The tent, with its empty cups and scattered scripts, felt emptier without Akin. So instead of lingering, Jin packed up quietly and headed home. With every step, the weariness of the past few days began to catch up with him, slow, deliberate, sinking into his bones.

At least the next day would be a day off. He’d finally be able to rest. Maybe if Akin was up for it, they could still go to the park. Just the two of them. He hadn’t given up on that plan yet.

But by morning, even that hope slipped out of reach.

Jin woke to a pounding head and the unmistakable weight of a fever dragging down his limbs. His throat was dry and raw, his nose clogged, and every joint in his body ached with dull, persistent heat.

He didn’t need a thermometer to confirm it; he already knew.

He was sick.

“Perfect,” he muttered under his breath, rubbing his face. He blinked up at the ceiling for a few seconds, taking in the quiet of his small apartment. Empty mugs sat on the bedside table. He mentally went over the day. No schedule that day, but the next day’s shoot was locked in. Delaying it wasn’t an option.

He sat up slowly, wincing as a wave of dizziness hit him. His body clearly demanded rest, but all Jin could think about was how fast he needed to recover. He hated that part, not being sick, but the inconvenience of it. The way it interrupted everything.

Still, that wasn’t new. He’d had colds like that before. Worse, even. He could handle it.

He pulled on a hoodie and padded over to the kitchen. The floor was cold under his socks. He reached automatically for the medicine box. Two pills, warm water, back to bed. No need to tell anyone.

It wasn’t that he was hiding it. He just didn’t see the point. People had their own problems. He didn’t want to be another thing they had to worry about.

As he shuffled back to the bedroom, he debated texting Touch or Akin. Just a heads-up. But the thought passed quickly. What would he even say? “Hey, just a cold, nothing serious”? It felt unnecessary. And he didn’t want Akin thinking he had to come over or check in. That would only make him feel guilty.

Besides, Jin always kept to himself when he was unwell. Not because he was trying to be strong, but because it was always that way. You got sick, you rested, you dealt with it. He didn’t want to get anyone else sick. He didn’t want a fuss. It was easier like that.

He curled back under the blanket with a sigh, letting the warmth soothe his aches. One day. That was all he needed. Just get through the day. Get better. Be ready. That was the only plan that mattered.

Chapter Text

Akin had expected to deal with the negativity that would come from leaving the live so abruptly when he woke up the following morning. But thankfully, Jin had clearly taken care of it. People were telling Akin to take better care of his health, rest properly, and praising Jin for making sure he looked after his senior so well.

He just quietly shook his head and went to call Jin to thank him properly. And while he was at it, he even apologised for leaving so abruptly. As he stood in his kitchen preparing his breakfast, he dialled Jin. He didn’t pick up.

“Hey, tried to call you, but no answer. Call me when you wake up.” Akin just assumed that Jin might have been sleeping in till late and sent him a text.

At around noon, he realised that Jin hadn’t even responded to his message. It was strange. Jin never missed his calls, and even if he did, he responded to his texts or called him back as soon as he could. Akin felt a pit forming in his stomach. Was Jin ignoring him? Was he upset about yesterday?

He might just be busy with something today. Yes, that was probably it. Either he would respond, and if not, Akin would see him the next day regardless.

The next morning, Akin got dressed and waited patiently for Jin’s text that would indicate he had reached Akin’s house. He had been wondering what Jin would get him for breakfast when his phone buzzed in his hand. Sine.

“I’m waiting out front. Come quick.” What? Where was Jin? Akin’s confusion only deepened.

“Where’s Jin?” he asked as soon as he sat inside.

“Jin messaged me in the morning asking me to pick you up.”

“Huh!? Why?” Akin looked even more confused. What was going on?

“I have no idea. Thought you would know.”

“No. We haven’t talked.” Akin looked away, “I haven’t eaten yet. I need to grab food.” He had started relying on Jin too much.

After reaching the set, Akin quickly got dressed. He had been informed there was a lot to shoot that day. He hadn’t even been able to find Jin. Jin had arrived a while ago, had already gotten dressed, and had been practising lines since then.

Akin walked over to where Jin had been sitting and sat beside him. He was confused as to how he could broach the subject, but decided that maybe right now work was a better icebreaker.

“Let me know if you need any help.” Akin was trying to extend an olive branch, but that snapped when Jin moved his chair further away while saying that he needed to focus.

Before Akin could respond or ask anything, Jin got up and walked away. He had no idea what was going on with Jin. Did he really piss him off that much?

The whole time they were shooting, Jin remained cordial but silent. He performed as well as usual, but after finishing the scene, he disappeared into his tent and didn’t leave till he was recalled.

Akin left it as it was and resolved to just talk to him after the shoot ended that day. They would be behind schedule if Akin wasted time trying to talk to Jin. After changing out of his costume, Akin stood outside the entrance of Jin’s tent, waiting.

“Jin,” Akin called out the moment Jin stepped out with his face pointing downwards.

“Can you drop me home today?” Akin was trying to get a read on him, but was largely unsuccessful.

“I can’t today. I came with P’Ford.” Akin could hear the exhaustion seeping out of his voice at that point. Before he could say anything else, Touch came and whisked Jin away for some work.

Akin was shocked. Jin never brushed him off like this. Seeing there was nothing else he could do now, he just decided to go home.

The following day, Akin’s phone was constantly pinging with multiple notifications. A new hashtag was trending, calling Akin smug and arrogant while supporting Jin. Akin couldn’t figure out what the fans had dug up, or if it was the livestream itself.

He knew scrolling would only upset him more, but he couldn’t stop. His need to self-sabotage kept him hooked. He had just wrapped up shooting for the day and was casually strolling in the park nearby, waiting for Jin to be done. He was hell bent on getting Jin to talk to him. He couldn’t keep this up. A seed of doubt had already been planted in his head. Jin had said he could wait for him forever. Was he done waiting? Had he taken too long to answer?

Akin sat on the bench as a barrage of hate piled up. He messaged Jade to see if he could do something about it, and in 10 minutes, a new hashtag was trending #jinakinisreal. This was not what Akin meant. At all. But it was better than the hate. With this hashtag came pictures that ‘proved’ that they were a couple. Jade was really good at what he did. Akin sighed in relief and waited till Jin was done.

Once he spotted Jin coming towards his car, he ran to sneakily stand beside his car. He wasn’t letting Jin get away again this time.

“Can you give me a ride?” Akin said the moment Jin came close enough. And when he saw that it looked as if Jin would deny him again before he could say another word, Akin just sat in the car. It was incredibly embarrassing to be acting in such a manner, but he was at his wits' end. This had gone on long enough.

“Been very busy lately?” The silence was getting awkward. Although the radio had been playing, he wasn’t very used to it. Usually, their car rides were filled with either of them talking about something or the other, trying to know more about each other. But now the radio kept droning on, and finally, when they stalled at a red light, Akin’s composure broke.

“Just a little bit.” Jin wasn’t even looking at him. He hadn’t looked at him even once all this time. “And you?” he continued after a pause.

“Very!” Akin lied as if he hadn’t spent all his free time obsessing over Jin distancing himself. It was getting increasingly frustrating how Jin kept so quiet. Usually, Akin sat quietly with Jin, talking his ear off about something or the other. While Akin pretended to be annoyed at the barrage of comments, he enjoyed it. He was so quiet. As if Akin didn’t deserve his words. And that hurt more than he wanted to admit.

“Why are you avoiding me?” There was no point in beating around the bush anymore. It was clear that Jin wasn’t going to broach the subject or even say anything to Akin.

“I’m not avoiding you. I’m just focusing on driving.” It sounded as if Jin was convincing himself instead of giving Akin a reason.

“Bullshit. What driving are you focusing on while you are stuck at a red light?” He was pissed off now. Why was Jin giving him such bullshit excuses one after the other. Akin was seething.

“You still have to be careful.” What in the world was wrong with him? Jin never really shut up, whether the light was green or red. He continued talking.

One after the other, Jin just kept giving some or the other kind of excuse. And then, as if nothing was wrong, he displayed a box of mints to Akin, asking if he wanted one. And just when Akin grabbed the hand that was holding the box, the light turned green, and Jin tugged his hand out of Akin’s grip.

Akin really didn’t want to let go, and that felt like a rejection. He had started to lose hope in finding out what was even going on. He sat in the comfortable, custom-made passenger seat, hoping that he could find a solution to whatever was going on.

“We are here, P’Kin.” He had been so lost in his thoughts that he didn’t realise when they reached the front of his house.

Akin sighed and unclipped the seat belt. He was still scrambling for a reason, unwilling to give up. They still had to see each other at work, and even if Jin hated him, at the very least, he could apologise and try to salvage whatever he could.

“Hey, wooden boy, come up to my house and let’s talk.” He decided to stop asking and just tell Jin what he wanted.

“No, I’d better not because -”

“Can you just stop. Just stop. For one minute. All I’m asking is that you come up to my house. We need to talk. I have been trying for so long, and all you are doing is ignoring and rebuffing me.” Akin was so annoyed that he could have cried. He immediately got out of the car and pulled Jin out of the car and tugged him towards his house.

Jin kept protesting along the way, but Akin didn’t let up. He kept a tight grip on Jin’s wrist and dragged him to his home. He was going to get his answer no matter what.

The moment they entered, Akin locked his door and turned towards Jin.

“It’s better if I leave.” Jin was really not letting this go.

“Why are you in such a rush to leave?” Akin could feel the pressure in his chest. His throat was tightening up slowly. He didn’t know what he would do if Jin just left him standing there. After all this, Jin just stood there, in front of him, looking around his living room.

“You’ve been avoiding me, haven’t you?” Akin said, walking up to him, his voice quiet but steady.

“I didn’t think of it like that,” Jin replied. Akin could see the sweat beading on his forehead. Normally, he would’ve asked if Jin was okay. But not now. Not when it felt like Jin had been lying to his face.

“I just-” Akin stepped in closer. He leaned up and kissed him, slow and searching.

Jin didn’t move.

Something in Akin cracked. His hands came up to cradle Jin’s face, and he kissed him again, hoping, just hoping, that this time Jin would kiss him back.

He didn’t.

Akin kissed him again. He didn’t care how it looked. He didn’t care about pride or dignity anymore. He just wanted Jin to want him, even for a moment. When Jin started to pull away, Akin only held on tighter. The movement pushed Jin back against the counter, and Akin pinned his hands down without thinking.

“P’Kin, calm down,” Jin said, trying to free himself.

“Why?” Akin asked, his voice unsteady. “You’re the one who wanted me first.”

The words came out sharp, but underneath them was a sadness he couldn’t hide. His hand thudded softly against Jin’s chest.

“Why is it always you? Why do you get to decide everything?”

His voice cracked. “Can’t things go my way, just once?”

He wasn’t yelling. He wasn’t angry. He was tired. Tired of feeling like he was chasing something that kept slipping away. He had never acted like this in front of anyone. But right now, none of that mattered. If Jin walked away now, it would break him.

Jin leaned forward like he was about to kiss him, but then gently pushed him away again.

“I’m actually sick,” Jin said.

“Huh!?” Akin was taken aback. What was that about? Clearly, Jin could see the confusion on his face, so he explained.

“I have a cold and I’m a little feverish too. I had already told P’Ford and the director, but there was a lot to shoot since the show needed to air, so I couldn’t take the time off. The best I could have done was to take strong medicines and work.”

Akin just looked up at Jin with concern and confusion. His unsteadiness and silence made more sense.

“And I distanced myself from you, because I didn’t want you to get sick because of me. I would have felt worse, incapacitating you with this, too.”

Even while being sick, Jin was trying to take care of himself. That stupid selfless idiot. He just wished he had told him.

“And the reason I didn’t tell you was because I didn’t want you to worry about me. You already had enough on your plate.”

Jin smiled at him as Akin leaned against him, and he held him closer.

“You idiot.”

Jin rubbed Akin’s back, holding him against him. Akin had his face buried in his shoulder, and he could feel Jin’s body heat seeping into his. He really was running a little warmer than usual. Akin held on to him even tighter. Small pinpricks of tears escaped his eyes and soaked into Jin’s jacket.

“Come sit. Let me make something for you. You will feel better.” He muttered as he pulled back, wiping at his eyes. Time for him to look after Jin.

Akin directed Jin to his couch and stepped into his kitchen. Akin handed Jin some warm ginger tea, and before he could take a sip, he added some honey to it from his honey pot.

“Drink it all. You will feel better.” He instructed.

He observed Jin as he took a sip.

“I thought you hated me already.” Akin couldn’t help but tell him that.

“I like you, P’Kin. No matter what others might say, I could never hate you.”

Akin’s heart shuddered in his chest. He looked down towards his lap and smiled. He couldn’t look at Jin anymore. He could feel a blush rising to his face. He stood up to keep the honey pot aside and opened his arms.

“Come on. You wanted a hug, right?” Jin just looked up at him unmoving, so he bent down and kept the half-finished tea aside. Even then, Jin didn’t move to get up, so Akin just sighed and grabbed both his wrists and pulled him up.

“Come here.” Jin looked into his eyes and smiled. Then he bent down a little and hugged Akin. He had his face pressed into Akin’s shoulder, and he could feel the wide smile Jin definitely had on his face.

Jin took a deep inhale, the scent of Akin grounding him, and Akin felt Jin finally relax against him.

Then Jin pulled back just enough to meet his eyes. There was a moment of brief hesitation before he leaned in again and kissed him. Properly, this time.

Akin held on to him, his fingers curling into the fabric of Jin’s shirt as if letting go wasn’t an option. Jin’s hands found his waist, tentative at first, but growing surer as the kiss deepened. Neither of them rushed.

There was no noise in the room except for their breathing, a quiet exchange that felt heavier than words. The weight of everything unspoken passed between them in touches, measured, slow, full of things neither of them had been brave enough to say.

Akin pulled him in closer, his lips brushing over Jin’s again and again, like he was trying to memorise the feeling. Jin didn’t resist. He only leaned in further, as his hands slowly unbuttoned Akin’s shirt.

Nothing else needed to be said.

Jin reached for Akin’s hand, lacing their fingers together as he lowered his forehead to Akin’s. He didn’t move away.

And when Akin tugged him down with him, Jin followed.

Chapter Text

Akin had woken up to warmth, not the kind that came from his bed, but the kind that wrapped around him with the quiet comfort of feeling safe and cared for. It was the kind of warmth that made him want to stay still forever. His eyes stayed closed as he lingered in that soft haze, unwilling to let go of the peace just yet.

He knew that the moment he stirred, reality would settle back in. So, for a while, he allowed himself the luxury of lying in Jin’s arms, lulled by the familiar scent and the steady rhythm of his breathing. His body ached as a dull reminder of everything that had happened; oddly enough, it felt reassuring. He was still half-asleep.

He felt Jin shift behind him, pressing his face into Akin’s hair and breathing in deeply. A moment later, Jin’s hand brushed gently against the side of his neck, then his forehead.

“No fever,” Jin murmured.

Akin smiled, eyes still closed, and pressed a soft kiss to Jin’s forearm. He was too comfortable and wanted to delay getting up as much as he could.

“You’re awake?” Jin asked softly.

Akin hummed in response, the sound low and content, before slowly sitting up.

“P’Kin, you’re not feeling feverish, right?” Jin asked, a trace of worry in his voice.

Akin looked at him and shook his head, smiling. “I’m fine.”

“Are you hungry?” he asked. As soon as he said it, he realised the dull pang in his stomach. They had skipped dinner the night before.

Jin shook his head with a sleepy smile. “I feel like I don’t have a fever anymore. Must’ve been good medicine,” he said with a teasing lilt, and Akin laughed a little in response. Jin was such a flirt.

Then, gently, Jin said, “Give me your hand.”

Akin offered it without a word. Jin took it carefully, lacing their fingers together. He rubbed the back of Akin’s hand with his thumb, then looked up, eyes soft.

“Be my boyfriend, okay?”

Akin’s breath caught in his throat. Emotion surged so suddenly, so powerfully, that words failed him. He didn’t know what to say. As if sensing his turmoil, Jin gave him a small reprieve.

“It’s okay, you don't have to give me an answer right now.”

The relief that washed over Akin made him feel guilty. He knew how Jin felt, knew that Jin could sense Akin’s own growing feelings, even if he hadn’t said anything out loud. And still, he couldn’t bring himself to say yes.

No one had ever been so thoughtful about his comfort before. All the small things Jin did, quiet, instinctive acts of care, never failed to warm Akin’s heart. It all came so naturally to Jin, like it was the most obvious thing in the world. And yet, despite all that, Akin remained silent.

They spent the first half of the day watching a series together, lounging shoulder to shoulder. The show was decent, but the acting left much to be desired. Akin scoffed, muttering how the scene lacked any emotional indulgence, then glanced at Jin with a look that lingered.

“I’d do it differently,” he said, his voice a touch lower, smoother.

Without waiting for Jin to respond, he pulled Jin to his feet and faced him, slowly reenacting the scene. His fingers brushed Jin’s nape as he mimicked a moment of tension, his gaze locked and unwavering. There was no mistaking it; it wasn’t just about acting. It was about proximity. About wanting to see how far Jin would let him go. And when he called Jin his puppy, soft, teasing, possessive, he didn’t smile like it was a joke.

Jin grinned at him. As if he understood exactly what Akin was trying to do. Akin, getting a little shy, ran out of his living room, calling out the need to get dressed to get to the set on time. Jin followed him. As always.

After their shoot was done for the day, both of them sat on the steps on the set and looked at the stars together. They hadn’t even changed out of their costumes yet. They sat there, shoulder to shoulder, in the quiet, just looking up.

“P’Kin, if you had to compare someone to a North Star in your life, who would it be?”

His grandmother, that’s what Akin wanted to say, but it felt too intimate, too vulnerable to reveal after the lighthearted day they’d had, so instead he teased him.

“Hmmm, I won’t tell you,” Akin said as he moved closer to Jin.

“But for me, it’s you.” Akin blinked, caught off guard by the softness in Jin’s voice.

“Because you’re like the light in my life. You are the one who guided me till here.”

For a second, Akin forgot how to breathe. His heart fluttered so wildly it almost hurt, and he stared at Jin like he couldn’t quite believe what he’d just heard. Akin lowered his gaze, smiling to himself like a boy with a secret, cheeks tinged pink. His chest felt too full of happiness, of disbelief, of something that had been waiting to be heard for far too long.

Jin smiled at him and then, as if he could feel the chill in the air, huddled closer to Akin, holding onto his hands.

“And…” Jin began, hesitantly, “What about us? Have you made up your mind yet?”

“I already told you. Go win the Best New Actor award first.” Akin wanted to say yes, but at the same time, labelling whatever they had felt scary. Too real. He wasn’t ready to face it yet.

“I will definitely win this year.” Jin sounded so sure of himself. Personally, Akin thought that he would win after all.

“Keep gloating,” Akin said as he pushed at Jin’s shoulder.

“P’Kin, the award of ‘Sexiest Man' will be announced tomorrow. I think you will definitely get first place.” Jin smiled at him.

Akin glowed at the confidence that Jin had, but he knew that this year, with the kind of attention Jin got and the way Akin’s standing was a little precarious, he might not win after all.

“What if you get first place?”

“Whatever happens, you are always first in my heart.” Akin had no idea how Jin knew exactly what to say to him when. “Personally, I just want to be your sexiest man.”

Jin gave him a broad smile and then quickly kissed Akin’s cheek. Akin looked down and smiled at his lap. He felt himself blush at Jin’s words. He quickly forgot what he’d been so worried about.

Akin couldn’t escape the anxiety forever. The results were going to be announced in a few minutes, and he felt the anticipation build. Both of them sat in their dressing tent on set, in front of their own mirrors. In just a few minutes, Akin would know the results.

Suddenly, sounds of loud cheering filled his ears. Touch, Ford, and a bunch of people from Jin’s company flooded the tent, loudly congratulating Jin.

After them, Jade entered. The look on his face unsettled Akin, like he felt sorry for him. He felt a crushing sense of inadequacy. At that moment, he remembered what he’d said in the interview after he first won the title, how the title felt like the physical approval of all the hard work he’d put in till that point. How it was a step towards reaching his goals. His goal of wanting to be the best actor. He’d once said he didn’t want to be called a star; that stars eventually dim. He wanted to leave a mark instead.

He’d talked about wanting to leave a lasting mark because he couldn’t guarantee that he’d win again the following year. He could be placed anywhere on the list, but his acting would last.

And now, as he saw Jin glow with praise, he reminded himself of those words. He wouldn’t take this as a setback, but as a challenge to improve himself, his acting, and his legacy.

Motivating himself amid the changing tides in public opinion was difficult. It made him feel old, unwanted, and as if he had nothing new to offer. They had a joint press conference scheduled for the same day, and Ning, his company’s CEO, expressed concerns about the press conference’s focus. They were both aware that the press would focus on Akin, and he’d have to be very careful of what he said.

After reassuring her that he’d handle it, he stepped out of the company bus into the throng of press to walk up to the podium where Jin stood with his manager.

The reporters didn’t waste time.

“How do you feel after giving up your five-year streak, Akin? Are you sad? Upset? Angry?”

The questions came sharp and fast, like tiny daggers laced with malice. Akin knew exactly what they were trying to do. They’d always done this, twisting emotion into drama, looking for blood in the water. He had never been the media darling. And as someone who avoided the spotlight unless necessary, he knew he was an easy target.

He took a breath, levelled his expression, and said calmly, “First of all, I’d like to congratulate Jin for winning the title this year. After all the work he’s put in, he truly deserves it.”

And he meant it. Akin had seen every step of Jin’s journey, how far he’d come from the uncertain boy on the set of Akina. The growth was undeniable. He was proud of him.

Another voice cut in before the applause could settle. “And does this not disappoint you at all?”

They were really out for him that day.

Akin smiled, smooth and disarming. “Disappoint? I’ve been number one long enough. Now that the view’s changed this year…” He paused deliberately, letting his words settle. “It’s not so bad from here either.”

Akin almost wanted to pat himself on the back. That was tactful, right?

But they didn’t let up.

“So does this mean you’ve stepped aside for Jin?”

“Have you talked to him about this off-camera?”

“You’re not fighting behind the scenes, are you?”

“Akin, now that you’ve passed the torch to Jin, do you have anything to say to him?”

The barrage made his head spin. They were angling hard for rivalry. Drama. Anything that could be turned into headlines.

He wanted to answer, wanted to shut it down firmly, but he hesitated. Just for a moment.

That was when Jin stepped in.

“Passing the torch?” Jin echoed, brows raised in mock confusion. “What are you talking about? Akin and I were only a few hundred votes apart, right?”

He was so smooth. So effortlessly in control. Jin had always known exactly what to say. He pulled Akin out of the line of fire again.

Jin smiled and turned to the press. “I think we both have won first place. Sharing the crown.”

He lifted his hands and mimed placing an invisible crown on Akin’s head. The crowd erupted in cheers and laughter.

Akin couldn’t help but smile. Jin was ridiculous. And brilliant.

One of the reporters turned back to him. “And what about you, Akin?”

He took a moment, this time on his own terms.

“I agree with Jin,” he said. Then he leaned over, resting a hand on Jin’s shoulder. “Congratulations on winning this year. But if you’re not careful…” His smile turned playful. “Next year, I’ll take it back for sure.”

The crowd responded with a mix of laughter and applause. But more importantly, the tension eased. With Jin beside him, Akin felt steady again.

He might have needed a few seconds to gather himself. But he’d given them an answer. And not the one they were hoping for. He wouldn’t let them paint him as someone fading behind Jin’s glow. They were in this together. And he’d make damn sure they knew it.

After concluding the interview, both Akin and Jin sat side by side in Jade’s office. Akin felt tired emotionally, mentally, and physically. It had been a long day, and all he wanted was to get back home so he could rest. Akin massaged his forehead when Jin handed him a bottle of chocolate milk. Akin smiled as he thanked him.

“The magazine N-ASH wants you on the cover of their latest issue,” Jade declared as he walked into the room.

Akin, without thinking, agreed easily, and Jin followed. Akin knew that Jade would make sure it was something he could do before even telling him about it.

“Good, it's probably because your series has been trending right now. People are also making a fuss about it. And also, you did a great job managing the press.” Jade was trying to assure Akin, but he was tired and he wanted to be alone in his bed.

Jin tried to ask if he was okay, so he just said that he was okay and that it was a good opportunity, as their series was also doing better. He knew Jin could see that something was wrong, and Jin was trying to help, but Akin didn’t want to open that can of worms.

“When is the appointment with N-ASH tomorrow?”

“We are scheduled for 7 a.m.”

“Well then, I’d better go and rest now.” With that, Akin walked out.

When Akin finally stepped into his house, silence greeted him like an old companion. He tossed his keys on the counter, peeled off his jacket, and stood still for a moment, letting the quiet settle around him.

The day pressed down on him, tight and relentless. Now that it was over, the adrenaline drained away, leaving only bone-deep fatigue. He reached for his phone, half-expecting a message from Jin, something teasing or sweet, something grounding. But there was nothing yet. He placed the phone face down and sighed.

The chocolate milk still sat unopened in his bag. He didn’t realise just how much he leaned on Jin’s presence that day, how that steady warmth softened the sharp edges of everything. Now, without him there, the quiet felt too big. Too still. Akin sat on the edge of his bed and closed his eyes. The ache behind his eyes had nothing to do with lights or cameras.

He missed Jin.

Chapter Text

Jin watched him go. There wasn’t a single word of protest from Akin, but that silence said everything. Jin saw in Akin’s eyes that something was bothering him. He wanted to ask, to press just a little, but the look on Akin’s face stopped him. Not because he was afraid of the answer, but because he knew Akin wouldn’t give one. Not right then.

So Jin let him go.

After wrapping up his conversation with Jade, Jin headed over to his company’s office. They’d called him in for a small celebration; his win brought a wave of attention, and the team was eager to mark the moment.

On the drive to the office, Jin’s thoughts swam with Akin. They’d had such a perfect day just the day before. Waking up with Akin in his arms was the highlight of his day. Waking up wrapped in Akin’s scent sent Jin’s head spinning, happiness curling warm and slow in his chest. It gave him the courage to ask Akin to be his boyfriend. Even though he didn’t get the answer he wanted, Akin didn’t push him away. He let him stay the day, teased him back. So Jin took it as a sign that Akin just wasn’t ready yet.

Jin was starting to understand Akin better by then. Akin had a hard time admitting his feelings, but he showed it through his actions, and that was enough.

But the day was heavy. Jin was happy to come first, but the look on Akin’s face worried him. He knew Akin’s congratulations were sincere. It wasn’t jealousy, it was something heavier. Something Akin wasn’t ready to share.

Jin resolved to be there for Akin as he pulled into the parking lot. He decided he’d show him he was there. Whatever Akin wanted to talk about, whenever Jin would be there.

In the foyer, his team waited with wine and cake. After cutting the cake and passing out wine glasses, Jin thanked his team. He was truly grateful. Without them, he wouldn’t have been where he was.

The celebration felt warm, but just beneath it, Jin sensed the edge of something colder.

“There’s something I want to warn you about,” Ford said once the cheers faded. His tone was low but firm. “As someone who’s been around this industry a long time… I think it’s best if you start keeping some distance from Akin.”

Jin blinked, startled. The soft clinking of wine glasses in the background felt far away. Shock gave way to confusion, then slowly, a simmering anger rose in his chest.

“I know you like Akin,” Ford continued carefully. “And I get why fans are shipping you two. But… you’re a rising star now. A superstar. And whether we like it or not, being associated with queerness even indirectly will affect how people see you. It could limit the kinds of roles you’re offered.”

He hesitated before adding, “Jin, you’re not some small-time actor anymore. You’ve come so far. Sigma genuinely believes you can go even further.”

Jin stayed silent, jaw tight. He didn’t respond, not because he had nothing to say, but because he didn’t know how to say it without sounding defiant. He understood what Ford was trying to do. It wasn’t cruel, just brutal pragmatism.

But just because he understood it didn’t mean he had to like it.

He wasn’t naïve. He knew what the industry was like. Labels, real or perceived, could follow a person, shape them, or trap them. But he also knew Akin. He knew what they had. And he wasn’t about to walk away, not when Akin was finally letting him in.

He promised himself he’d be careful. Smarter, maybe. But distance? That wasn’t something he was willing to give.

Jin showed up at the photo studio at 6:45, right alongside Akin. Akin looked tired, like he hadn’t slept well. The air inside the studio felt stale, humming with low chatter and the soft clicks of cameras being tested. Jin wanted to ask if he was okay, but before he could, they were surrounded by make-up artists. Soon, both were positioned for their pictures.

Akin stayed quiet, distant, haunted, as if he barely had the energy to stand. Jin tried again to talk to him; he needed to tell him what had happened the previous night before he found out from someone else. But Akin shut him down with a firm, “I’m working right now.” Jin had no choice but to listen. Too many people were around anyway, voices bouncing off the studio walls.

While the crew paused for touch-ups, Jade came up to reassure them. He reassured them, saying the pictures were great and would keep the concept eye-catching and fresh. Jade stayed attentive to both Jin and Akin through all the promotions for the series. He always kept their comfort and safety first.

“Can you both smoke for a close-up shot?” someone from the crew asked, holding out two unlit cigarettes. “The photographer wants a shot of you both smoking.”

“Hold on. That wasn’t what we agreed on,” Jade objected quickly.

“And P’Kin doesn’t smoke either,” Jin added.

“I understand, but the photographer requested it,” she insisted gently.

Annoyance pricked at Jin. Why change things now? Jade tried to dissuade her again, but before either could push harder, Akin reached out and grabbed a cigarette from her hand. His fingers trembled slightly.

“I’m ready now. Let’s continue the shoot,” he said.

Jin was confused. Everyone knew Akin didn’t smoke. He drank, yes, but smoking wasn’t his thing.

“Normally, you don’t smoke, so why?” Jin’s protest was cut short when Akin put the cigarette in his mouth.

“You and I have work to do,” Akin said.

Jin watched as Jade approached to light their cigarettes. He glanced at Akin with concern, like he knew something no one else did. He’d ask Akin later.

Jin’s thoughts came to a screeching halt when Akin pulled him down by the nape of his neck to light Jin’s cigarette with his own. Jin, feeling emboldened, held onto Akin’s nape, his thumb brushing Akin’s hairline. He felt the slight tremble running through Akin.

Akin kept directing Jin to different positions as if he wanted to get done with the shoot fast. The smell of smoke filled the air around them. Jin saw Akin pause, close his eyes, and try to breathe through his mouth, as if he were fighting the urge to cough.

Both drifted closer, Akin leaning into Jin, and instead of closeness, it felt like Akin needed support. Jin felt the weight of him shift, the soft brush of his breath against his collar. Akin was swaying slightly. Jin just hoped they’d wrap it up quickly.

After the photoshoot, they went straight to filming for the series. Lines read, costumes changed, scenes shot, the hours blurred by. By the time they wrapped for the day and the series Jin still hadn’t had a chance to talk. The weight of what he needed to say pressed heavier on his chest. Finally, after everything, they sat in Jin’s car. The streetlights outside flickered, washing the dashboard in cold yellow.

“What do you want to talk about?” Akin asked when he saw how intensely Jin was looking at him. “Hurry up and say it. I don’t have that much free time for you.” He didn’t even look at him. His gaze stayed fixed on the empty parking lot stretching ahead, oil stains shining under the flickering lights.

Jin had planned to tell him about the conversation with his company, but it didn’t seem like the right time, not with Akin’s tone. So he changed the subject.

“Is your next project a stage play?” he asked. His voice sounded too small in the hollow silence. It was safer that their shoot was done, and Akin had seemed off since morning.

“How did you know?” Akin’s face stayed blank. He sounded so tired that Jin almost wished he hadn’t asked.

“Because the lead actor is with Sigma. That’s how I know.” Jin turned toward him, fingers drumming lightly on the steering wheel. “It’s a pity, though. I should’ve auditioned for it, but I got caught up with Judy first.”

“It’s good to act with Judy. She’s talented, beautiful, and has a great image. Every actor wants to work with her.”

Akin’s words made Jin pause. Had someone already told Akin about what Ford said? He knew there was no way to ask without giving it away if Akin didn’t already know.

“The only downside is we might not see each other for a while,” Jin said softly. Their shooting had ended a bittersweet moment. He knew his schedule would make it harder to see Akin, so he clung to every moment.

“What do you want to say?” Akin’s tone turned sharp, but he finally turned to look at Jin. “Hurry up and say it.”

“I just want to be sure about your feelings.” Jin’s voice trembled, eyes shining with unshed tears. His knuckles went white where he gripped the wheel. “I’m scared that once the series ends… we’ll drift apart. That we won’t see each other the same way anymore.”

“It has to be that way.” Akin’s voice was low but firm. “You’re still new to this. You haven’t learned to separate your character’s feelings from your own. But don’t worry. Once we part ways, you’ll forget all this.”

Jin took a shaky breath. The hum of an air-conditioner somewhere outside filled the silence. “If that’s really how you feel, then tell me. Say it to my face. Tell me you don’t like me. If you say it, I’ll leave you alone. I promise.”

Akin’s expression twisted anger and hurt knotted together. “Seriously? Why does everyone expect so much from me?” His voice cracked, a raw edge that made Jin flinch. “Even you?”

And with that, he shoved the car door open. The slam echoed across the lot. Cold air rushed in as Akin stepped out in one swift, angry motion.

Jin scrambled after him, panic roaring in his chest. His shoes slapped against the concrete as he caught up and threw his arms around Akin from behind. The cold bit at his skin, but Akin’s warmth grounded him. Akin struggled, trying to break free, but Jin held tight, burying his face against Akin’s shoulder. He felt Akin’s shaky, uneven breaths. When Akin finally turned, his cheeks were streaked with tears glinting under the harsh streetlights.

“I don’t know…” Akin’s voice cracked, trembling under the weight of everything he’d bottled up for too long. “I don’t know why I can’t do it. I don’t even know if I really like you. When you asked me… to do something like this… I just couldn’t.”

Tears spilt down his face, helplessness breaking something in Jin’s chest. He gently took Akin’s hand and pressed it to his own cheek, grounding them both in the warmth of skin on skin.

Akin’s breath hitched, his words stumbling out like broken glass. “I’m sorry,” he whispered. “For being distant. Since the day I found out about the results… I really thought I had it. I really did. But when it didn’t turn out that way…”

He broke off, chest heaving as he tried to steady himself. “I didn’t know how to deal with it. I just… shut down.”

His hands curled into trembling fists. Everything he’d buried, fear, disappointment, guilt, spilt out in raw, unfiltered words.

Jin’s heart ached at the sight of him so broken, so real. Words wouldn’t do. Not then. He dropped Akin’s hand, cupped his face in both palms, and kissed him desperately, trying to say everything he couldn’t shape into sentences. Akin froze for a heartbeat, then melted into him, fists loosening, grabbing at Jin’s shirt like a lifeline.

When he finally pulled back, he stayed close, pressing his forehead to Akin’s. He gently wiped Akin’s tears with his thumbs, feeling the warmth of them sink into his skin.

“I’m sorry. I’m so sorry, P’Kin,” Jin whispered again and again. “I’ve been too caught up in my fear of losing you. But now that you’ve shared this, I want you to know from now on, you’re not alone. Not anymore.”

Akin took a shaky breath, a smile flickering through the storm in his chest.

“Do you know… ever since I first won ‘Sexiest Man,’ I never stopped acting.” He let out a soft, bittersweet laugh. “But tonight… with you… I feel like I’m truly myself.”

Jin pulled him into a tight embrace, grounding and full of warmth that made Akin’s shoulders finally loosen.

Later, Jin led Akin to the highest point of the building, where the night opened up above them. A soft breeze tugged at their hair. Below, the city glowed like a restless sea of lights and distant horns. Jin had something to give him. Seeing Akin gaze at the stars with wonder made Jin’s chest ache with something soft and bright.

He held out what he brought, a pendant shaped like the moon. Akin looked at it and murmured how pretty it was, the starlight catching in his eyes.

“Take it,” Jin said, holding another pendant. “It’s not just beautiful…” He placed both charms in his palm, the moon for Akin nestled perfectly into the sun for himself.

“So cute,” Akin smiled up at him.

“This is a token of our promise. If the day comes when I win the award and our feelings are still the same… let’s be together.”

Akin nodded slightly, trying to hide how happy he was, but the warmth on his face gave him away. Jin wasn’t about to let him off easy. He teased him until Akin leaned impossibly close and whispered in that low voice, “Yes. Happy now?”

Jin just smiled back at him, brushing a thumb over his cheekbone. Akin turned his gaze up, and the stars reflected in his eyes. He pointed at the North Star, his voice softer than the breeze around them.

“You still remember that?” Jin asked, blinking in surprise.

Akin shot him a mock-offended look. “Everyone has to learn at some point.”

Jin chuckled, shaking his head. “Hey, P’Kin… that night, you never told me who your North Star is.”

Akin went quiet for a beat. Then softly, he said, “She’s a woman. Beautiful and warm. I’m here today because of her.”

A pang of jealousy stabbed at Jin, sharp and sudden. He tried to hide it with a small nod, but Akin caught it anyway, eyes glinting with a knowing smile.

“It’s my grandmother,” Akin added, nudging him gently.

Jin turned to him, wide-eyed and sheepish. “Your grandmother?” he asked, needing to be sure.

When Akin nodded, they both laughed, soft and breathless. The tension dissolved like morning mist.

“Well then,” Jin said, eyes twinkling, “when you have some free time, take me to meet her.”

“Sure. If there’s a chance, I’ll take you to her.”

Jin raised his pinky finger between them, the wind catching the tips of their hair. “Promise?”

Akin laughed at the gesture but, when Jin insisted, linked their fingers together. His touch was gentle and sure. “I promise.”

Chapter Text

“Jun…”

“Jun…”

“Jun…”

Akin’s eyes fluttered open to the soft light streaming through the windows, spilling warm stripes across Jin’s bare shoulder. He was still waiting for the haze of his dream to lift. The night before had been an emotional rollercoaster. He was genuinely surprised and relieved that Jin didn’t hate him for constantly trying to push him away, despite having every right to. Akin knew just how unapproachable he had become since the results were announced.

But none of that mattered in that moment. His Jun was beside him. He stayed, even when Akin gave him no reason to. And he stayed the night too.

Akin blushed at the memory.

“P’Kin…”

“P’Kin…”

“P’Kin…”

Jin was murmuring his name in his sleep.

Akin felt a rush of pride bloom in his chest. Jin was dreaming about him.

“You’re so infatuated with me, huh?” Akin muttered under his breath.

He smiled at Jin, then gently scooped up his black cat, cradling it to his chest as he turned over. He instinctively nestled closer to the quiet warmth beside him. It was still too early to be awake.

He felt Jin stir behind him, the blanket shifting slightly as Jin shifted in his sleep. A moment later, an arm slid around his waist, pulling him in until his back was flush against Jin’s chest.

Jin sighed in his sleep, the sound soft and content, his breath fanning gently over Akin’s hair. Akin smiled to himself, the corners of his lips curling up as he relaxed fully into the embrace. He closed his eyes, letting the comfort of being held lull him back toward the quiet edge of sleep.

That peace, however, didn’t last long. The warm memory slipped through his fingers like smoke, replaced by the harsh fluorescent lights of the rehearsal room and the dull ache tightening behind his eyes.

By then, Akin was already growing irritated. He reached the theatre almost an hour and a half earlier to rehearse lines for his upcoming stage play, and his co-star was late. By a full hour and a half. He waited patiently at first, giving them fifteen minutes, but after that, his patience began to wear dangerously thin.

“It’s already been over an hour, and the lead actor still hasn’t arrived,” Akin commented.

“I’m trying to get in touch with Johnny. Maybe he got into an accident on the way,” Tom, one of the coordinators, tried to explain.

Before Akin could complain more, someone entered the set, yawning loudly, Johnny, his co-star. Tom tried to reprimand him.

“I’m only a little late, just an hour and a half,” Johnny smiled as he checked his watch.

“It’s not funny. Everyone’s time is getting wasted because of you.”

Even then, Johnny continued to smile smugly at all of them.

“What’s all this fuss? Why haven’t we started rehearsing already?” the producer decided to walk in right then.

She reprimanded all the crew members even after they tried to explain the reasons. She casually brushed it away as if it were their fault and not Johnny’s.

Akin’s annoyance grew. His co-star was an arrogant jerk. In that moment, he wished Jin had the time to audition for this. Akin stood up, dusted himself off, and went to grab a prop sword. The weight of it felt better than the ache in his jaw from clenching his teeth so long. He threw one to Johnny, got into position, and began. They didn’t have time to waste anymore.

A few lines in and Akin knew Johnny had no sense of care. He had to prompt him with dialogue and direct him where to move, and finally, they ended the scene when Johnny fell as Akin side-stepped his attack.

“You are late. You didn’t memorise your line. Your timing is off,” Akin listed his mistakes as he stood over him. “You think you’re the lead actor, so you can do anything.”

“Act like you deserve the lead,” Akin said as he pointed the prop at him. “Zero out of ten.”

Akin spent the next few weeks missing Jin and constantly correcting Johnny. That man had a cavalier attitude toward his work. If that wasn’t enough, he seemed to have no respect for his co-stars either. He showed up late, barely memorised his lines, and was perpetually off the mark.

To keep the play from falling apart, Akin started directing Johnny’s every move and cue. It wasn’t part of his job, but someone had to make it work.

The whole thing was exhausting. Johnny’s careless behaviour grated on his nerves day after day, and to make matters worse, Akin couldn’t even vent to Jin. Jin was filming out of the country, his schedule packed tight, and the time difference made communication nearly impossible. A single text from him felt like a gift. One message, and Akin’s entire day would brighten.

That evening, after enduring another long day of dragging Johnny through rehearsal, Akin finally made it home. He showered, ate, and poured himself a cold beer, the weight of the day still clinging to him. He chugged the whole thing down in one go and slammed the cup on the table.

“I miss you,” he muttered aloud, eyes lingering on his phone. They hadn’t spoken in days.

As if on cue, his screen lit up. Jin was calling.

“Hello,” Akin answered, trying to sound casual.

“Have you been thinking about me?” Jin’s voice was soft, teasing.

“Not thinking about you at all,” Akin replied, a little too quickly, like he wasn’t just doing exactly that a minute earlier.

“Who would be thinking about you?” he added, trying to sound nonchalant as he wandered along the edge of his swimming pool, the water dark and still, mirroring the scattered stars overhead. “I’m just sitting here, reading the script and sipping my beer.”

“When I saw you call, I accidentally answered it,” he added with a shrug, clearly fishing for a reaction.

Jin chuckled. “That lie’s not very convincing.”

Akin smirked. “Do you want to talk or not? If not, I’m hanging up.”

“No, don’t!” Jin rushed to say. His voice shifted, softer now. “We haven’t seen each other in weeks. I miss you so much.”

Akin felt his cheeks heat up instantly. He pressed his lips together, stubbornly quiet, no way Jin was getting the satisfaction of knowing how those words made his heart flip.

“So,” Akin asked, carefully, “when are you coming back?”

“Probably end of next week,” Jin said. “I’ll be back with Judy. Are you jealous of me?”

“I’m not jealous!” Akin replied defensively. “Who would be jealous of you?”

But he was. A little. Acting with Judy would be a dream come true. Still, he couldn’t begrudge Jin for it; he was proud of him.

“Then switch to video so I can see if you’re telling the truth,” Jin teased.

“I’m not talking to you anymore. That’s it,” Akin scowled.

“Okay, okay, no need to switch,” Jin said quickly, laughing. “I already heard what I needed. That was enough.”

Akin couldn’t help himself; he smiled. He pulled the phone slightly away so Jin wouldn’t hear the way his breath stuttered.

“Akin?” Jin asked after a beat. “You still there?”

“We can talk only a little while longer, okay?” Akin said, his voice steadier now. “I have work in the morning.”

“Okay then,” Jin said, softer. “I’ll call you again tomorrow, P’Kin.”

“Do whatever you want,” Akin replied, though the smile in his voice was impossible to miss.

There was a small pause before Jin’s voice returned, warm and fond.

“P’Kin… look up at the sky when you miss me.”

And just like that, he ended the call.

Akin looked up at the night sky, eyes finding the North Star. He missed Jin all the time.

Akin was in his dressing room, halfway through changing out of his costume, when he suddenly felt a hand glide down his back.

His body stiffened.

“What are you doing?” he asked sharply, spinning around. His voice was flat, but his eyes were cold.

Johnny stood behind him, unbothered, that same smug smile tugging at his lips. “Sorry. Didn’t expect to surprise you that much.”

Akin hated that smile. It made his skin crawl.

He stepped back, subtly adjusting his shirt. “It’s okay,” he replied, voice tight. “You should hurry up and change. We’ve got a photoshoot next, and you’re already running late.”

He turned toward his clothes rack, hoping that would be enough of a signal for Johnny to leave. But the other man lingered. Akin’s chest tightened. The dressing room suddenly felt too small, the air heavier than before.

“I heard from P’Mikey that after the shoot we’re going out for drinks,” Akin said, forcing casualness into his tone just to keep things moving. “Are you coming with us?”

“Okay, I’ll come too,” Johnny nodded, still not moving.

Akin didn’t answer. He didn’t have the energy to force a smile or make small talk. He just wanted to leave. He needed space. He needed distance. He brushed past Johnny with a little more force than necessary.

“See you at the studio,” he muttered, not bothering to look back. His skin still prickled where that hand touched him. All he wanted then was to get out, get air, and shake the feeling off.

The photoshoot was just as uncomfortable, but Johnny didn’t attempt to touch him anymore, considering the amount of lights and people present there. Akin couldn’t wait for it to be wrapped up. Normally, he didn’t like going out for drinks after a long day of work, but this was a new group of people he was working with. It would be better to just spend some time. He promised himself he would have just one or two beers and then make an excuse to leave.

Despite the discomfort lingering from the photoshoot, Akin found himself reluctantly agreeing to drinks.

The club was someplace Johnny insisted on going, something about great music, drinks, discretion, and karaoke. Everyone was enthusiastically ordering drinks, but Akin nursed the one beer he ordered in the beginning. He had to work the next day, and he was sure he could tolerate a hangover on top of Johnny.

When he had a couple of sips left in his bottle, Johnny took it upon himself to order another one.

“Come on, Akin,” Johnny said smoothly, stepping closer. “You’ve barely touched that beer. You’ll hurt my feelings if I drink alone.”

Akin forced a polite smile, the corners of his mouth twitching with restraint. He reached out for the can, but as his fingers brushed against it, Johnny’s touch lingered on his hand, grazing Akin’s wrist a second too long.

The contact was brief, but it crawled across Akin’s skin like a slow shiver. His stomach tensed. Something about it felt wrong, too intimate, too deliberate. He withdrew his hand quickly, the can now cold and sweating in his palm.

He took a few sips, the metallic tang of the drink oddly sharp against his tongue. A faint bitterness lingered on his teeth, stubborn and strange. It tasted just slightly off, not in flavour, but in feel. The carbonation felt too flat, the aftertaste strange, bitter in a way he couldn’t name.

The lights suddenly felt a little brighter. The music thrummed a little deeper in his chest. He blinked once, then again, slower this time. The edges of the room seemed to fuzz just slightly, like a lens out of focus.

His skin prickled beneath his sleeves, warm in places that shouldn’t be. He adjusted his collar, suddenly too aware of the fabric against his neck.

He shook his head lightly, brushing a hand through his hair to clear it. Maybe he was just tired. It was a long week. Still, something in his gut twisted with quiet urgency.

He took another slow sip, eyes darting to the exit. Just finish this one, he told himself. Then leave.

Akin woke to a splitting headache, nausea coiled tight in his gut like a fist. His mouth tasted stale and sour. Limbs heavy. Everything ached. His skin prickled uncomfortably against the sheets.

And then, an arm wrapped around his waist.

He stiffened.

“Isn’t it a bit too early, Jun?” he mumbled instinctively, his voice hoarse and thick.

But the second he turned his head, he saw the wrong face, Johnny’s face. His breath caught. Violently.

Panic surged. Akin jolted upright, the room spinning around him. He clutched the edge of the bed for balance, blinking against the blur. As his vision cleared, a deeper kind of dread sank in.

Their clothes were scattered across the floor. His body was covered in marks, dark bruises, and hickey on skin he didn’t remember exposing. An empty condom wrapper sat discarded near the nightstand.

Akin’s stomach churned. He couldn’t breathe. Shame hit him like a tidal wave, followed swiftly by fear.

What had he done?

What had been done to him?

He didn’t remember. Not a single clear memory. Just flashes of noise and light, and then nothing.

Scrambling out of bed, he pulled his clothes off the floor with trembling hands. He dressed quickly, his fingers fumbling with every button, trying not to look at Johnny, who still lay asleep, unbothered.

Akin didn’t say a word. He couldn’t. His throat was too tight, his chest too hollow. On his way out, he grabbed the nearest pair of sunglasses and shoved them onto his face to hide his swollen eyes, his expression, and himself, and called for a cab.

He spotted the cab he called, slumping into the backseat as the driver greeted him with a cheerful tone that made his skin crawl.

“You partied hard last night, huh?” the driver joked with a wink.

Akin said nothing. His lips pressed into a thin line, his fingers clenched in his lap. He tried turning on his phone, only to find the battery completely drained. A fresh wave of helplessness washed over him.

All he could think of was getting home. Locking the door. Scrubbing his skin raw under scalding water. And pretending, even if just for a little while, that this never happened.

But the shame clung to him like smoke. And no amount of silence could make him forget the way fear settled into his bones. For a second, he imagined Jin’s arms around him again, steady and warm.

But they were just memories now.

The present had no room for softness.

Chapter Text

The moment he stepped through the door, he dropped his keys onto the cold tile and fumbled to plug his phone in. The metal of the charger felt icy against his fingertips. When the screen flickered to life with a soft buzz, the bright light stung his eyes. 135 missed calls from Jun. A few messages. His stomach twisted tight. Jin had been nominated for Best Upcoming Actor. He was excited, and he must have been calling Akin to tell him all about it.

Akin opened his call logs, and then he saw it. The first call Jin placed had been answered, just a minute-long conversation. Akin had no memory of talking to Jin that night. What had he said? There was nothing in their messages to suggest anything, but the 135 calls after that concerned him deeply.

He had to call him.

His thumb hovered over the call button, sweat slick on his palm. The dial tone buzzed in his ear too loudly, too sharply in the silent room. He paced barefoot across the cold floor, heart thudding so hard he thought it might drown out the ring. No answer. He swallowed, throat dry, and stabbed the call button again. This time, each ring stretched longer than the last until finally the line clicked and connected.

“Hello, Jun,” Akin said, his voice cautious, barely steady.

“Is there a problem?” Jin asked, his tone gentle but concerned. “Normally, you aren’t the first one to call.”

Akin froze. The words hit harder than they should have. Jin was right; he never called first. It was always Jin who reached out, Jin who kept them connected. A sharp wave of shame cut through him.

“Nothing,” Akin said quickly, forcing his voice to stay even. He tried to sound light, casual, anything but the tight coil of dread tightening in his chest. “Actually, I saw you’ve been nominated for the award. Congratulations.”

“You just saw it?” Jin asked, something sharp slipping into his voice. “Last night… where were you?”

“Last night…” Akin repeated, then swallowed hard. “After the shoot, I went to get drinks with the crew.”

His throat burned. He didn’t know how the words still came out. Every word felt like it scraped its way out. Jin just received the best news, and Akin didn’t want to taint it. Not with this. Not over the phone. And Akin… he didn’t even know what to say. What could he say?

“Is that what happened?” Jin pressed. “Just drinks?”

It felt like Jin could see right through him, like his voice alone was enough to unravel the thread Akin desperately clung to. Panic bloomed fast and breathless. What did he say last night? Did he slip up?

Akin’s hand rose, trembling, to the side of his neck where the darkest bruise pulsed under his collar. His fingertips brushed the tender skin, heat radiating from it like a burn, and he flinched. The touch made his stomach clench. His voice scraped out, just a broken hum. “Just… drinking.”

The guilt clamped down on him like a vice. He was lying. He hated lying. Especially to Jin.

Akin’s vision blurred with the threat of tears. He needed to end the call. Jin would know. He always did.

“I’m going to read my scripts for a bit now. You focus on work, Jun. I’ll see you later.”

Jin sighed. “Hmm. You go and practice. See you later.”

The call disconnected.

Akin dropped onto the edge of his bed so hard the old frame creaked under him. The room felt too quiet, the hum of the charger loud in the dark. He buried his face in his hands, pressing his palms hard into his temples until spots danced behind his eyes. His breath caught sharply and shallowly. He slammed his palm against the side of his head, over and over, the dull smack echoing in the silent room like a drumbeat he couldn’t shut off.

But nothing came. Just flashes. Just sickening dread.

Tears slipped past his lashes, hot and silent at first, then unstoppable. He gasped between sobs, his body curling in on itself. He still felt phantom hands on him, the weight, the heat, the wrongness of it all.

His fingers clawed at his chest, nails digging into skin as if he could tear the feeling off, tear it all away. He couldn’t breathe or think. All he could feel was the shame and fear crawling under his skin.

Finally, he forced himself up, limbs weak, trembling. He dragged himself to the shower.

He had to wash it off.

He had to get to the set.

He had to keep going.

Jin finally wrapped up for the day. The ache in his limbs barely registered; he was too full of adrenaline, too eager to get back to Akin. His heart had been soaring ever since the nomination for Best Upcoming Actor came through. He couldn’t wait to tell Akin, to hear his voice, to imagine the smile that would break across his face.

As he stepped out of the building, still buzzing with joy, Judy gave him a teasing nudge, urging him to call. Jin didn’t hesitate.

“Hello, P’Kin! Did you know I’ve been nominated for Best Upcoming Actor?” he blurted the second the call connected, unable to hold the excitement in.

Silence.

There was a pause.

“Hello.”

The voice was wrong.

Cold dread sank into his gut like a stone. “Who is this?” Jin asked, his voice tightening.

“I don’t know,” the stranger said, a cruel lilt in his tone. “I just know I’m having fun with Akin right now.”

Jin stopped in his tracks. His heartbeat thundered in his ears. “Who the hell are you?”

“Exactly,” the voice drawled. “Who am I?”

Jin’s grip tightened on the phone, his knuckles white. “Where is P’Kin right now?”

“Oh, Akin? He’s lying here beside me. Is there something you need? We’re having fun.”

Jin’s blood ran cold. His breath caught in his throat. He could barely think past the terror crashing through his chest.

“I don’t care who you are,” he hissed, trying to stay steady. “But if you lay a hand on him, you’ll have to deal with me.”

There was a pause, then a sickening chuckle. “You know... Akin is really cute when he’s asleep. Sorry, don’t know if you’ve ever seen him like this. But when I see something this beautiful, I just can’t help but show it off.”

Jin felt sick. His entire body tensed, shaking. “What did you do to P’Kin?”

The stranger’s voice dipped to a whisper. “Why don’t you ask him yourself. If you get the chance?”

Then the call cut out.

Jin’s heart slammed against his ribs as he stared at the now-black screen. He called back once. Twice. Three times. No answer. The silence was deafening.

Panic clawed at his throat, tangled with rage. He wanted to scream. Wanted to destroy something. Every terrible possibility crowded into his head: What if Akin was hurt? What if he wasn’t safe? What if...?

But then came another kind of dread. The kind that whispered poison. What if Akin went willingly? What if he 

“No,” Jin muttered out loud, shaking his head violently as if the thoughts themselves could be flung out. Akin would never betray him. Never.

His hands trembled as he opened the flight app. His original flight was the day after tomorrow. That wouldn’t do. Not now. Not after that.

He booked the next earliest flight without hesitation.

The moment the confirmation hit his screen, he raced back to his room to throw things into a suitcase. His thoughts were a cyclone of terror, fury, and heartbreak. But one thing cut through them all:

He had to get to Akin. Now.

Jin barely slept on the flight.

He kept replaying the call in his mind: the stranger’s voice, the cruel laughter, the implication. His hands shook every time he remembered it. The way the man said Akin’s name, like it belonged to him. The way he spoke about his body, his sleep, and his vulnerability. Jin had never felt so helpless.

He landed the next morning with a single goal in mind: to see Akin. Make sure he was safe. Understand what happened.

Jin sat on his bed, trying to figure out what to do. Should he go to Akin’s house? Was he even there? Or should he go to the set? Jin spent hours pacing in his apartment, trying to calm himself down. Trying to find logic or sense, or just how to deal with it.

He was so distracted with pacing that he didn’t realise when his phone rang the first time. When it rang again, he saw who was calling him. Akin. His hands shook as he picked up the call, worried if it was Akin or someone else on the other side.

When he heard Akin’s voice, Jin deflated. He tried not to give away anything about the call the previous night. He wanted to see what Akin would say. Jin trusted him. He did. But something made him feel cautious.

Akin insisted it had just been drinks, but Jin knew there was more. Something Akin wasn’t telling him. Hiding from him. Jin couldn’t help the sting of betrayal pressing against him. He tried not to jump to conclusions, but Akin’s evasiveness didn’t help. He was lying. And Jin knew it. He just hoped it was for a good reason.

The way the voice talked about Akin   Jin was terrifying. Still was. But he couldn’t force Akin to talk. Jin let the call disconnect without pushing too much. He knew Akin wouldn’t talk openly on the call anyway.

Jin dropped to the floor in his living room, clutching his phone. First, he had to figure out who it was. Who had been on the call with him the previous night? Social media. The idea hit him like a freight train. Wherever Akin was, someone must have taken a video or a photo of anything.

Desperate, Jin flung his half-packed suitcase open wider, clothes spilling onto the floor as he sank to his knees, phone clutched tight in shaking hands. The charger cord tangled around his ankle as he opened Instagram and typed Akin’s name, praying for anything: a post, a photo, a clue. His finger flicked the screen too hard, breath shallow as blurry club photos slid into view. Recent. Just hours old. There weren’t many, but the few he saw were enough. Johnny. There he was, clear as day, with his arm wrapped around Akin’s waist. Akin leaned against him, but his arm was limp.

Suddenly, Jin remembered when he’d gone drinking with Akin. It hadn’t taken much for him to get drunk, then he’d become incoherent to the point of passing out. And if that wasn’t worrying enough, he remembered how the next day Akin hadn’t seemed to remember anything.

What had Johnny done to him?

Anger coiled in his stomach. He knew exactly where Johnny would be. He was going to deal with him himself. Jin barely paused long enough to grab his car keys and shoes before he was out of his apartment and into his car.

It felt like the world was against him. Jin ran into every single red light on the way to the set of the play. He hurriedly parked his car and ran to the lift.

The moment Jin stepped out of the lift, he spotted Johnny down the hallway, casually talking on the phone like he didn’t have a single care in the world. Laughing.

Jin saw red.

He stormed forward and grabbed Johnny by the collar, slamming him into the wall so hard that the nearby painting shook. One arm pressed across Johnny’s neck, holding him firm.

“You were the one who answered P’Kin’s phone last night, weren’t you?” Jin’s voice was low and razor-sharp, every syllable vibrating with fury.

Johnny didn’t flinch. He smirked, lips curling upward like he was in on a private joke. “Oh, so you’re Jun,” he said mockingly, like Jin’s rage was amusing.

Jin’s grip tightened, his forearm digging into Johnny’s throat. “Who are you, huh?”

Johnny chuckled, the sound smug and grating. “I’m Johnny. Famous. You seriously don’t know?”

“I know exactly who the hell you are.” Jin’s voice dropped to a dangerous growl. “What I’m asking is: who the fuck do you think you are?”

There was a beat of silence. Then Johnny leaned in slightly, eyes glinting with something darker.

“Someone who’s already had what you’re so desperate to catch.”

Jin froze.

The words hit like a gut punch, ugly, violating, poisonous. He didn’t even register his body moving. It was instinct.

Johnny’s eyes widened as Jin pulled his fist back.

“Not the face ”, Johnny started.

But Jin’s fist crashed into his jaw with a sickening thud, snapping his head sideways. The impact reverberated up Jin’s arm, pain blooming across his knuckles, but he barely felt it. All he felt was the heat of fury surging through him, white-hot and wild.

Johnny crumpled against the wall with a groan, clutching his cheek.

Jin stood over him, chest heaving, his bruised knuckles flexing at his side. His breath came in hard bursts, fury radiating off him like heat from pavement.

Before he could launch another blow, a hand caught his wrist.

“Jun,” Akin’s voice came low but firm.

Jin turned, and their eyes met   Akin’s wide with worry, his face pale and drawn. It cut through the noise in Jin’s head just enough to anchor him.

Jin wanted to scream, to hit something again. But one look at Akin, hollow and shaking, gutted him. This wasn’t just betrayal. This was something far darker.

He stepped back, dropping his hand.

“Let’s go,” Jin muttered, his voice still shaking with restraint. “I’ll give you a ride.”

Without waiting for a response, he took Akin by the wrist and led him away, leaving Johnny slumped and dazed on the ground, exactly where he belonged.

Akin stumbled behind Jin as he was pulled away and into Jin’s car. He could feel the anger radiating from Jin in waves. He wanted to say sorry, to beg for forgiveness, but the words stuck in his throat. It felt like Jin knew. Shame burned through him, hot and corrosive.

Jin had the steering wheel in a death grip; his knuckles, already bruising, turned white with how hard he held on. He drove fast. Recklessly. The car shot through red lights, dodged other cars by inches.

“Jun, slow down,” Akin said, panic spiking in his voice. “You’re going to kill us.” He didn’t know if Jin even heard him or cared.

By the time Jin pulled up in front of Akin’s building after what felt like an endless, breathless drive marked by near misses and sharp turns, the silence between them was suffocating. Akin’s thoughts spun louder than the hum of the engine.

He sat frozen, each breath catching like glass in his throat. He felt hollow, like something inside him had rotted and turned to ash.

He knew Jin was angry. Hurt. Maybe even disgusted. And Akin couldn’t blame him. He couldn’t even look at him. He wanted to explain, to confess, but what was he supposed to say? The worst part? He couldn’t even deny it. He didn’t remember. And that black void made him doubt his own body.

His hand hovered near the door handle, but he didn’t move. He waited. Hoping Jin would say something. Anything.

“Aren’t you going to get out?” Jin said, voice like a blade, too calm, too cold.

Akin hung his head and stepped out of the car. He felt the door close behind him, but instead of hearing the engine start, he heard Jin’s door slam shut too.

When he turned, Jin was already walking toward him. Fast.

Akin’s stomach lurched. What was Jin going to do? Scream at him here, in front of everyone? Hit him, too? He almost flinched when Jin brushed past him, but instead, Jin stopped in front of his front door.

“Well?” Jin said. “Aren’t you going to let us in?”

Akin’s hands trembled as he fumbled for his keys. His mind screamed at him to run, to hide, but his body moved on its own. He unlocked the door, pushed it open. Jin brushed past him, stepped inside like he owned the place, and dropped onto the couch.

Akin lingered in the doorway, heart hammering against his ribs.

“P’Kin. Sit down.”

Jin’s eyes pinned him where he stood. Akin’s legs moved without asking permission. He sat beside Jin, not too close, but close enough to feel the anger still rolling off him like heat.

Akin thought he might die. Whether it was from shame, fear, or the raw truth he could taste on his tongue, it didn’t matter. It would be the end of him either way.

Chapter Text

Jin spent the whole drive trying to calm himself down. All he wanted to do was turn the car around and beat the hell out of Johnny again. He didn’t need to know every detail to understand it was Johnny’s fault. But right now, making sure Akin was alright was more important.

Akin looked like a wreck: broken, beaten down, his shoulders hunched in on themselves. Jin just wanted his P’Kin to smile at him, but he knew that wouldn’t happen until Akin talked to him. Yet Akin stayed silent, withdrawn, eyes shadowed with fear.

“What happened?” Jin asked slowly, trying to soften his voice.

But Akin didn’t answer. Instead, he kept staring down at Jin’s hand. It took Jin a moment to realise what Akin was looking at, his knuckles, raw and bruised from where they’d connected with Johnny’s jaw. When Jin tried to unclench his fist, pain flared, and he winced despite himself.

Without a word, Akin suddenly pushed himself up from the couch and hurried to the bathroom. Jin watched him go, confusion knotting in his chest. Akin returned moments later with the first aid kit clutched in his trembling hands.

He knelt in front of Jin, opening the kit with careful, shaky fingers. Gently, he took Jin’s hand in his own. His touch was soft, almost apologetic, as he dabbed at the scraped skin with antiseptic, his eyes fixed on the bruises like he could will them to heal.

Jin stayed silent, watching Akin work the furrow in his brow, the way his lips pressed into a thin line to keep from trembling. The care in it struck Jin harder than any punch he could throw.

Akin finished wrapping Jin’s knuckles with gentle precision, his fingers lingering just a moment longer than they needed to. When he finally looked up, his eyes shimmered with unshed tears, but his voice stayed steady.

“Don’t hurt yourself like this,” Akin whispered.

Jin swallowed hard, his other hand rising to cup the side of Akin’s face. He didn’t care if Akin saw his own eyes burn with helplessness.

“Then tell me what happened,” Jin murmured. “Please.”

“I… I don’t know,” Akin whispered. His voice was low as it cracked.

“What do you mean?” Jin tried to sound as gentle as he could, but his anger at Johnny must have seeped in. Akin flinched, just a little. His eyes lifted to Jin’s face and dropped just as quickly to his lap.

“Phi… please… just tell me.” Jin reached out and gently held Akin’s hand.

With that, tears dripped down Akin’s face, fast and uncontrollable. His mouth opened a few times as if to answer, but instead, he let out more choked sobs. Jin felt as if someone were squeezing his heart in his chest. He couldn’t bear seeing Akin like that, so he slowly pulled him into a hug.

Akin’s tears soaked into his shoulder. Jin could feel him tremble, but he remained still. Akin’s arms stayed clenched together in his lap.

One of Jin’s hands rubbed slow circles across Akin’s back while the other gently patted his head. “Please. Tell me. I’m not going to be mad at you.” His voice stayed calm, trying to wrap Akin in steadiness and safety, but he wasn’t sure if he was doing it right. Because the moment the words left his mouth, Akin jerked away from him, like Jin’s touch burned.

“No… be mad at me. I… I really did cheat on you.” Akin’s voice came out small, childlike, so fragile it barely filled the space between them.

Jin sucked in a sharp breath, his hand falling from Akin’s waist. For a heartbeat, he just stared, torn between disbelief and the knot of dread twisting tighter in his chest.

No. He knew Akin. He knew him. The way Johnny had talked about Akin last night hadn’t sounded like a willing betrayal. It had felt sick, wrong to the bone.

“I don’t believe you,” Jin said, steady but trembling underneath. “Tell me exactly what happened. All of it.”

Akin’s shoulders hunched tighter, like he could fold in on himself and disappear. His voice cracked when he forced the words out.

“Last night we went drinking. I… I went home with Johnny. I woke up beside him. Naked.”

Akin’s voice dissolved into a whisper at the last word. Then there was only the sound of their breathing, shallow, uneven silence stretched so taut it felt like it might snap.

Jin’s fingers twitched where they rested on his knee. He wanted to reach for Akin, to pull him back in, to cradle his face and force him to see what he saw that this wasn’t his fault. But the words tangled behind his teeth.

Instead, he forced himself to breathe, slow and careful, like he was holding back something that might break the room apart if he let it loose.

“Did you want that, P’Kin?” Jin asked, his voice barely a murmur.

Akin flinched at the name, the softness of it, the ache it carried. His eyes stayed fixed on the floor, shoulders trembling.

“No,” he choked out. “I don’t know… I don’t remember. I just remember drinking and then… then I woke up and he was there and I couldn’t…” His throat closed up around the rest.

Jin shifted closer, ignoring the way Akin stiffened. He cupped Akin’s jaw, forcing him to look up. Tears clung to Akin’s lashes, catching in the dim light.

“Did he hurt you?” Jin asked, low and careful, but each word felt carved out of him. “Did he do something you didn’t say yes to?”

Akin’s mouth opened, then closed. His gaze darted away. Shame burned across his face. His fingers dug into the hem of his shirt like he could crawl inside it.

“I don’t remember saying yes,” he whispered. “I just… I know I didn’t want anything from him. I didn’t want him. But…”

A sound broke in Jin’s throat, a half-swallowed growl, helpless and raw. He tugged Akin forward, wrapping both arms around him this time, pressing him against his chest so tightly Akin almost couldn’t breathe.

“Don’t say you cheated on me,” Jin rasped into his hair. “Don’t you dare call it that.”

Akin’s hands clutched at Jin’s shirt, knuckles white. His whole body shuddered. “But I did… I… I…”

“No.” Jin pulled back just enough to press his forehead to Akin’s, their noses brushing, their breaths tangling. “No. He used you. He touched you without asking. That’s not you cheating. That’s him” His voice cracked, the words splintering apart. He couldn’t say it. Didn’t want to name it.

Akin squeezed his eyes shut, tears spilling down, warm where they hit Jin’s skin. “Are you going to leave me?” he breathed, so small it barely reached Jin’s ears.

Jin’s hands framed Akin’s face, thumbs brushing away the tears that kept coming. “Never,” he said, fierce and trembling. “I’m not leaving you. He doesn’t get to take you from me. Never.”

Akin broke then, a soft, strangled sob tearing loose from somewhere deep in his chest as he buried his face in Jin’s neck. Jin held him there, one hand cradling the back of his head, the other steady on his back, keeping him anchored.

Akin’s breathing hitched, but he didn’t pull away. He let himself fold deeper into Jin’s chest, clinging to the warmth like it was the only thing holding him together.

When Jin pulled back just enough to look at him, Akin instinctively ducked his head, hiding his face in the shadow of the high black collar hugging his throat. But Jin’s hands were gentle; they brushed his hair back, fingers ghosting along the edge of the turtleneck where it bunched at Akin’s jaw.

For a moment, Jin just watched him, then his thumb slipped under the fabric, tugging it down just a little.

The bruise was impossible to miss in the dim light. Ugly, swollen, dark against Akin’s pale skin, it sprawled from just an inch below his ear down the side of his neck, the kind of mark no scarf or collar could hide forever.

Akin felt Jin’s breath hitch, sharp enough that it made Akin flinch. He squeezed his eyes shut, shame burning hotter than the bruise ever had.

Jin didn’t say a word. He didn’t have to. His fingertips lingered at the edge of the bruise, not pressing, not tracing, just there. The silence between them felt heavier than anything they’d said.

Akin forced himself to open his eyes, meeting Jin’s. He didn’t see anger there, just something raw and protective and so heavy it made his throat close up.

He wanted to say I’m sorry, but the words stuck in his chest. Instead, he tugged the collar back up, covering the mark again, pretending it could disappear if he hid it well enough.

Jin’s hand fell away, but only to slide around Akin’s waist again, pulling him closer like he needed to feel every inch of him to be sure he was still there.

“I’m staying with you.” Jin’s voice was rough but certain. There was no question about it.

Akin almost asked, ‘Are you sure?’ but the words died on his tongue. Instead, he nodded, small and silent, pressing closer into Jin’s warmth, letting himself breathe for the first time since he’d stepped into this nightmare.

“You must be feeling uncomfortable in all that, Phi,” Jin said gently, nodding at Akin’s black turtleneck clinging to his throat like armour. “Why don’t you take a nice shower? I’ll make us something to eat.” He forced the softness into his words, hoping it would wrap around Akin like a blanket.

Akin hesitated but nodded. “Okay…” His voice was barely above a whisper as he disappeared into the bathroom.

The moment the door closed behind him, Akin caught sight of himself in the mirror. He tugged the collar down, just a little and there they were again. The dark bruises blooming along his neck and his body, stark against his skin. Angry, ugly reminders of where Johnny’s hands and mouth had been.

His stomach turned. He pressed a palm over the worst one, as if he could hide it from his reflection. But it was still there. It would always be there in his head, if not on his skin.

Under the hot spray, he scrubbed harder than he needed to, nails scraping at skin that wouldn’t come clean. The steam blurred the mirror, but he could still see the ghost of the marks every time he blinked. 

When he finally stepped out, he towel-dried quickly and rummaged through his drawers. He didn’t want to wear the turtleneck again; it felt like choking. But he couldn’t bear to leave the marks exposed either. So he pulled on a soft hoodie, the neckline high enough to hide everything, the sleeves long enough to cover the bruises blooming on his arms, too.

He lingered by the door for a moment, taking a shaky breath, then padded barefoot to the kitchen where Jin was setting two mugs on the table.

The second Jin looked up, his eyes softened, then dipped to the hoodie drawn tight around Akin’s neck. He understood immediately. The way Akin tugged at the collar, fingers fidgeting with the fabric.

“Phi,” Jin said quietly, crossing over. He didn’t reach out yet, but his voice was warm, careful. “You don’t have to cover up for me. It’s okay. I know it’s there. You don’t have to hide from me.”

Akin’s breath stuttered. He hugged his arms around himself, eyes darting away. “I… I don’t want you to see it,” he said, the words tumbling out, raw and small. “I don’t like it when you see it. I don’t want to remember.”

Something splintered behind Jin’s ribs. He reached out then, slow enough that Akin could see it coming, and laid a hand gently on his shoulder.

“Okay. Phi… okay. You don’t have to show me anything you don’t want to. Just be comfortable. Please.” His other hand curled into a tight fist at his side; the thought of Johnny, of what he’d done, burned behind his eyes like acid.

But when he looked at Akin, Jin’s anger went quiet again, tucked behind the steadiness in his voice, the soft stroke of his thumb against Akin’s shoulder.

“Just you being here… that’s enough for me.”

Akin’s eyes glistened, wide and unsure, as he searched Jin’s face for any flicker of disgust, but all he found was softness, a quiet promise that he wasn’t going anywhere.

Jin’s thumb brushed his shoulder once more before he stepped back, tilting his head toward the small dining table. “Come here. Sit. I made you ginger tea helps with your throat. And I didn’t mess up the pancakes this time.” He forced a tiny smile, hoping it would coax Akin’s lips into one too.

Akin lowered himself onto the chair, pulling the sleeves of the hoodie over his palms like a child. He watched as Jin moved around the kitchen, busy hands, calm voice, the soft clink of plates and cups grounding him.

Jin set a steaming mug in front of him and nudged it closer until it brushed Akin’s fingers. “Drink. I promise it’ll help. And eat something too. Please.”

Akin curled his fingers around the mug, letting the warmth seep into his cold skin. He took a cautious sip. The taste was sharp, a little too strong, but it reminded him he was here, that Jin was here.

When he looked up again, Jin was leaning against the counter, watching him with that same steady gaze. There was anger behind it, sharp and restless, but Jin kept it buried deep enough that Akin didn’t have to feel it pressing on him.

“You don’t have to talk more if you don’t want to,” Jin said gently. “Not tonight. Not now. Just… sit with me, okay?”

Akin nodded, a small motion that still looked too heavy on his shoulders. “Okay.”

Jin stepped closer again, this time reaching out to tuck a stray, damp strand of hair behind Akin’s ear. He let his fingers linger for just a heartbeat, a silent I’m here. I’m not leaving .

Then he sat down opposite him, picked up his own mug, and tapped it lightly against Akin’s like it was the most ordinary thing in the world.

“To staying right here,” Jin murmured, voice warm enough to make Akin’s eyes sting again.

Akin managed a tiny, tremulous laugh as he mirrored the gesture. The clink of ceramic felt like a fragile promise.

And for a moment, just for now, the bruises, the marks, the memory, stayed outside the circle of warmth they’d built at that kitchen table.

For the rest of the day, Jin made sure that he was always close to Akin. They watched whatever show they could find on the TV that was distracting enough, and Jin didn’t leave his side at all. He even ordered all of Akin’s favourite food so he wouldn’t have to leave.

Finally, after endless stretches of quiet broken only by Jin’s gentle attempts to keep Akin from sinking too deep into his thoughts, they decided to go to sleep.

The moment they lay down, Jin pulled Akin close, folding him into his chest like he could shield him from the memories still clawing at the edges of his mind. Akin curled into him willingly, seeking the warmth, the steadiness.

After a while, in the soft hush of the dark room, Akin’s voice slipped out, quiet and raw.

“You know… I liked knowing that you were the only one I’d ever slept with. It felt special. And now…” His breath caught. “Now I feel tainted.”

Jin’s arm tightened around him instantly, his lips brushing Akin’s hair. “Phi, it isn’t the same,” he murmured. “I’m still the only one.”

A beat of silence passed. Jin’s mind caught on the words. He pulled back just enough to look down at Akin’s face in the dim light.

“Wait… what do you mean, the only one?” Jin asked slowly.

Akin hesitated, eyes flicking away before drifting back. His voice was barely above a whisper. “That was… my first.”

Jin blinked, stunned. “Wait. Are you telling me… you’ve never slept with anyone before?”

Akin’s cheeks warmed as he shook his head, burrowing closer like he could hide in Jin’s shirt. “No…”

Jin let out a breathless laugh of disbelief. “How? Phi, you must have had people throwing themselves at you all the time.”

Akin rolled his eyes and gave Jin’s arm a weak swat. “I just… wanted it to be someone special.”

Jin couldn’t help the grin tugging at his lips despite everything. “Were you waiting for marriage, Phi?” he teased softly.

Akin pushed at his chest with a muffled groan. “Shut up. I’m not a child. I’m just… a one-person kind of guy.”

Jin’s chest shook with a quiet laugh. “Thirty-three years, Phi… how…?”

Akin narrowed his eyes at him, voice half-annoyed but mostly shy. “Are you prude-shaming me right now? Because it’s making me scared to even ask about your past.”

Jin pressed a quick, reassuring kiss to his temple. “No, no, I’m not. I promise. I’m just… surprised. I wish you’d told me before, though. I would have been more gentle, less intense.”

Akin’s fingers twisted in Jin’s shirt, holding him close. “No. I… I liked it.”

The admission fell between them like a fragile truth. Jin’s heart squeezed with something sharp and protective all at once. He pressed a kiss to Akin’s hair and held him tighter.

Chapter Text

Jin had tried all morning to dissuade Akin from going to work the next day. He couldn't bear the thought of Akin being around Johnny’s till he had been able to confront him himself. That part Akin didn't need to know.

Jin knew exactly what he would say.

‘It’s not worth it.’

‘It might drag you into a scandal’ 

‘I will be fine’

Each of the reasons was more stupid than the last. And Jin wasnt going to let Johnny get away with it so easily. So after he dropped Akin at work, he dedicated himself to finding out more about Johnny.

-

After a long afternoon of digging through every whisper and rumour, Jin finally found the crack he was looking for.

It started with a few old gossip threads buried in anonymous forums, scraps about Johnny’s sudden rise a few years ago, odd coincidences about who cast him and when, the same producers whose names kept coming up at parties Jin had never bothered to care about before.

A single text, ‘Got anything on Johnny?’ to one of Jin’s coworkers turned into a half-hour phone call that made Jin’s blood run cold.

Apparently, Johnny was a well-guarded secret in the industry. He slept with whoever held the keys to the biggest roles: producers, investors, and sometimes even directors who liked to think they were untouchable. He’d charm them, take them out, slide into their beds and slip back out with signed contracts and hush-hush endorsements. A trail of favours traded behind locked doors.

It wasn’t news to half the industry, but no one ever said it aloud. Not when Johnny made money for everyone who looked the other way.

Jin sat back in his car, phone clutched so tightly it might crack. Outside, the studio lot was calm, humming with activity. Akin was somewhere inside, probably pretending everything was normal.

Jin’s jaw clenched. He could see it so clearly now, Johnny thought he could have anything he wanted. He thought he could just add Akin to his list and wipe his mouth clean after.

A sick heat flooded Jin’s chest. He wanted to storm inside, drag Johnny out by the throat, and show every producer exactly what they were protecting.

Instead, he forced himself to breathe. One step at a time. He needed proof. He needed it solid enough that when he blew this open, no one could spin it back on Akin.

His phone buzzed again, a message from the same contact: Check your inbox. Sending you what I found. Don’t say I didn’t warn you.

Attached was a grainy but unmistakable shot: Johnny slipping out of a well-known producer’s hotel room at dawn, hair a mess, shirt half-buttoned, grin smug and lazy.

There were dates, too matched up exactly with when Johnny had snagged certain lead roles. Roles that were supposed to have gone to other people. People who, Jin realised bitterly, never stood a chance.

He stared at the screen until his eyes burned. A nasty, righteous calm settled over him. He had had enough. Enough to destroy Johnny’s game.

But first, Jin thought grimly, pushing the car door open, he was going to make sure Johnny knew exactly who he’d messed with.

And this time, Jin wasn’t pulling his punches.

He quickly pulled his phone out and texted Akin. “Phi, do you think you can find a ride home today? I have some work at the studio.”

Ideally, Jin would have picked him up and dropped him back home, but he couldn't rely on Johnny not disappearing again. 

After getting a quick confirmation from Akin, Jin sneaked back into the building and waited in the foyer where he knew Johnny would pass through.

The moment he saw Johnny walking towards him, Jin had to reel in all the anger that flared up back inside at the smug look on Johnny’s face.

“Johnny, come, let's go grab drinks together.” 

Johnny had smiled at him as if he had the upper hand and began to lead them towards a bar. The moment they reached the bar, Jin recognised it as the one in the photos of Akin and Johnny. 

While sitting down at the bar, Jin switched on the voice recorder on his phone and kept it between them, facing down. He needed his admission. 

The bartender greeted Johnny with an easy grin the second he stepped in, like he was a regular, someone who tipped well and caused trouble just interesting enough to be entertaining.

Johnny slid onto the barstool with that lazy confidence of his, one elbow braced on the counter as he glanced at Jin. “Two glasses of ‘Johnny’. Make it special for him. It’s my recipe. Stronger than you’d think. Think you can handle it?”

Jin only gave him a slight nod, letting his eyes flick to the bartender, then back. He didn’t plan to say more than he needed to. Not yet.

Johnny drummed his fingers against the polished wood. “What mood is it that you’re asking me out for drinks tonight, huh?”

The bartender placed the glasses down, amber liquid catching the low light, smelling sharp and sweet with a bite underneath. Jin picked it up and downed the whole thing in one steady tilt. Johnny tapped twice on the counter, signalling for a refill.

When the second glass landed in front of Jin, he finally spoke, voice calm enough to make Johnny lean in to catch every word. “Did you sleep with him?”

Johnny barked out a short laugh, but his eyes gleamed, testing. “Starting with something serious, huh? I don’t know. Really can’t remember. So what do you think?”

Jin’s fingers drummed once against the glass. “So not yet, huh?”

“Why would you think that?” Johnny asked, amusement curling at the corner of his mouth.

Jin tipped the glass back halfway, then set it down, eyes steady. “Well, he’s mine. Why wouldn’t I know?” He finished the drink in one swallow, the heat sliding down his throat doing nothing to cool the fire in his chest.

Johnny clicked his tongue, shaking his head like he was disappointed but delighted all the same. “Yeah, I wouldn’t go for it. His voice sounds so harsh when he cries like a stray dog. Can’t get off to someone mumbling someone else’s name. I’m not that shameless.” He leaned back, shoulders loose. “But if I left without doing something, wouldn’t that be boring? So I made a scene. Pretended. And he bought every word. Seriously, if I’d actually slept with him, he wouldn’t have bolted out like that. Poor thing, did you two have a nice big fight after?”

He tapped the counter again, and another glass slid across to Jin like clockwork. Jin ignored the bartender’s sympathetic glance.

“But you know,” Johnny went on, swirling his own drink lazily, “be careful. Looks like the agency’s trying to push you. If they find out you’re tangled up with someone outside, you’re done for. But that’s between you two.” He flashed a grin, sharp as a blade. “If you ever break up, though, let me know. I’m always ready. He’s exactly my type.”

Jin’s mouth curved into a smile with no warmth at all. He tipped his head, letting the next words land cold between them. “I heard you’re selling your body for that part. True, isn’t it?”

Johnny’s grin twitched, just slightly, before he barked out another laugh. “Did your homework, huh? So what? You planning to blackmail me with that?”

Jin leaned forward, elbows on the bar. “With that face of yours, you look scared enough already.” His voice stayed calm, almost amused. “I’m just curious how someone with acting that pathetic gets a lead role?”

Johnny didn’t flinch. If anything, he looked entertained, eyes glittering with something meaner than arrogance. “You really think this would hurt me?” He leaned in too, their faces inches apart. “Let me tell you something. Every role I’ve ever landed, I’ve sold myself for it. Every producer who wanted a taste. They’re all too high up for you to touch. Expose me? Go ahead. I’ll still be working tomorrow.”

He paused just long enough to let the venom sink in, then smiled wider. “Although, you know… getting Akin drunk and into my room was even easier than I thought it’d be.”

Jin lifted the third glass to his lips. Drank it down like water. The glass hit the bar with a dull clink as he straightened up, pulling back just enough to loom over Johnny’s shoulder.

“You’re lucky you got to play the lead in his drama,” he murmured, voice dropping low enough that the bartender pretended not to hear. “But if you ever try to take another chance like that.” He leaned in close, their foreheads nearly brushing. “I won’t let you walk away next time.”

Johnny’s smile flickered a tiny crack in his mask, but Jin was already reaching for his wallet. He tossed a few crisp thousands onto the bar, notes fanning out under Johnny’s drink.

He took one last step back, rolling his shoulders as if shaking off the whole filthy place. “I should thank you, though. For taking the time to talk.” He cast a glance at the last empty glass. “But you should know that little trick you poured? You won’t be drugging me tonight.”

He turned without waiting for an answer, leaving Johnny sitting there stewing in his incompetence. All he could feel was relief that Johnny had, in fact, not gone too far and vindication for actually scaring him. All he wanted was to get back home to Akin to tell him about what he had found. 

“I have something of yours to return. Come soon.” Akin’s text had come just minutes before.

Any relief he had felt evaporated; he had to get back home as soon as possible.

—--

Ever since Jin had dropped him off at the studio that morning, Akin felt like he’d been holding his breath inside a glass cage. Jin had tried so gently to keep him home. Just rest today, Phi. You shouldn’t be near him yet. But Akin had insisted. He’d forced a smile so Jin wouldn’t see how brittle he felt underneath.

In the end, Jin had sighed and relented. Alright, but I have work at the agency later, so I can’t pick you up. You’ll be okay to get home by yourself, right?

The words had seemed harmless enough, practical, even. But they’d landed like a dull blade pressed against Akin’s ribs. Can you find your way back home?   The subtext is clear in Akin’s mind: Can you stand on your own now that you’ve broken us?

So he’d nodded, lied right back with another smile, and stepped out of the car. Jin had reached out, brushing his thumb across Akin’s jaw in that soft way that always made him feel small and safe. But this time, the warmth didn’t reach as deep. Akin had held his breath the whole walk to the studio door, terrified he’d turn back and see Jin driving away for good.

At work, the hours crawled by. Akin stumbled through lines he could normally do in his sleep, voice cracking in the wrong places, his director’s mild frown slicing deeper than it should have. The crew pretended not to see him flinch every time someone mentioned Johnny’s name.

All day, he’d felt the necklace against his skin, the moon half Jin had given him. It had always made him feel tethered: two halves, his and Jin’s, fitting together like a promise. He’d reached for it more times than he could count, pressing the cool metal into his palm, trying to remember how Jin’s warmth had felt wrapped around him last night when he’d promised, I’m not leaving you .

But now, hours later, sitting on the edge of their bed, Akin couldn’t stop hearing all the ugly whispers in his own head: He lied about work. He didn’t want to pick you up. He didn’t want to see you.

He checked his phone again, blank, no message from Jin. Not I’m running late, not I’m almost home, nothing. His mind spiralled faster than he could catch it: Maybe Jin went to see Johnny. Maybe he found out more. Maybe he realised he doesn’t want you after all.

He pulled the moon pendant free from under his shirt, letting it dangle between his fingers. His chest hurt. He’d worn Jin’s gift every day, right over the bruises Johnny had left behind. But maybe Jin didn’t want that connection anymore. Maybe Jin was regretting even giving it to him in the first place.

He wanted to call Jin. He wanted to hear his voice say, I’m coming home, Phi. But the silence in his head was so loud he could hardly breathe.

Instead, his fingers typed before his heart could stop them: I have something of yours to return. Come and get it.

A simple text. So short. But the weight behind it sank like a stone in his chest, an invitation, but also a confession. If you don’t want me anymore, take my half back.

He hit send. Then he pulled his knees up to his chest and wrapped his arms around himself, the chain still pressed between his fingers.

If Jin didn’t come home tonight, maybe it was better to know for sure. Maybe it was better than pretending.

He shut his eyes tight against the thought, against the part of him that still hoped, desperately, that Jin would fling the door open and remind him that not even all this could break the pieces they still held together.

Chapter Text

Jin barely remembered the drive home. The city lights blurred past, and every stoplight felt like an insult. He kept replaying Johnny’s smirk, the filth dripping off his words ‘Getting Akin drunk and into my bed was so easy.’

He’d wanted to hit him. He’d wanted to smash that mask off his face and spit the truth back at him in front of every producer that had ever bought a piece of him. But that could wait. For now, there was only one thing that mattered: Akin, alone in their apartment, sending him that text like a final quiet plea.

The second Jin pushed the door open, the weight of the day slammed down all at once, stale smoke from the bar still clinging to his hair, the echo of Johnny’s laugh lodged in his throat. He kicked his shoes off too hard, keys hitting the hallway table with a sharp clatter that made the silence in the apartment feel even louder.

“P’kin?” His voice cracked from disuse, from too much anger swallowed and not enough sleep.

There was no answer, but Jin didn’t need one. He could see the shape of him in their bedroom doorway, curled small, half-hidden by the doorframe, like he wasn’t sure if he was allowed to be seen.

The sight of him, knees pulled up, knuckles white around the necklace chain, twisted something ugly and tender in Jin’s chest at the same time. He crossed the space between them in three strides, words tangling in his mouth. He should say I’m sorry . He should say I’m here . He should say None of this is yours to carry . But instead, what slipped out was stripped to the bone:

“Phi… What does this mean?”

Akin didn’t look up at first. He just sat there, shoulders trembling under a shirt two sizes too big, Jin’s shirt, moon pendant pressed to his lips like a prayer he didn’t believe would be answered.

When he finally lifted his head, his eyes were wet, lashes sticking together, mouth parted like he’d been about to say something and swallowed it down.

“Take it back,” Akin whispered, a voice so small Jin almost missed it. “I don't think I’m the right person for it.”

“No...” Jin’s hand hovered in the air between them, unsure if he was allowed to touch.

Akin’s eyes flicked down to the necklace. He pressed it into Jin’s palm as it burned him, words tripping out on a broken breath. “I betrayed you… I don't deserve this”

Before he could finish, Jin’s hand closed over his. Akin flinched at the sudden warmth, but he didn’t pull away. He let Jin bend down and press his forehead to his, their noses bumping clumsily as Jin dragged in a shuddering breath that tasted like ash and regret.

“Don’t,” Jin rasped. “Don’t you dare say that…”

Akin’s lips trembled. He looked at Jin like he didn’t know whether to believe him if he was terrified to.

Jin cupped his face with both hands, brushing away the damp heat under his eyes. “I’m not letting you go. Not over him. Not over any of this. Do you hear me?”

And Jin pulled him in and pressed his lips to his, as if trying to comfort him, to tell him he wasnt going anywhere. Akin kept trying to push him away as if he was trying to keep Jin away from the filth marring his skin, but Jin held him close.

“P’Kin, calm down first. Listen to me.” Jin’s voice was raw, pleading now, softer than he meant it to be but firm enough to break through the fog spinning Akin’s thoughts into knots. He cupped Akin’s face in both hands, thumbs brushing the hot, damp tracks under his eyes. “You didn’t sleep with him. You didn’t do anything wrong. Here. Listen.”

He pulled his phone out, thumb trembling as he queued up the recording. Johnny’s voice slithering out, every foul word a stake through the lie Akin was drowning in.

When it ended, Akin’s shoulders caved in all at once. He broke apart in a soundless sob first, then it ripped out of him so loud that Jin thought for a second his chest might split open just hearing it.

“Hey, hey”, Jin pulled him in close and crushed him to his chest so hard Akin could feel Jin’s heartbeat hammering against his ribs. He pressed his lips into Akin’s hair, whispering into the heat of it. “You didn’t do anything wrong, Phi. Nothing. Do you hear me?”

Akin’s hands fisted into Jin’s shirt like he was scared he’d vanish if he let go. “I’m sorry,” he gasped out between ragged breaths.

Jin pressed another kiss to his temple, fierce and clumsy. “No. None of that. You don’t have to apologise for anything.” He rocked him gently, nose buried in Akin’s hair. “Come here.” He pulled him even closer, like he could hide him in his arms and keep the whole world out.

When the sobs finally ebbed into hiccups and damp sniffles, Jin guided him over to the couch. He sank beside him, their knees brushing, and pressed play again, this time on Johnny’s slick confession about trading his body for lead roles.

Akin let out a soft, disbelieving laugh through the last of his tears, voice still thick and raw. “Jun is really evil.”

Jin turned his head, mouth twisting into a wry grin. “He came to mess with you first, didn’t he? You think I’d just let him get away with that?”

Akin’s eyes shone wet under the low light. He leaned in and pressed his forehead to Jin’s shoulder. “I love you, Jun,” he murmured, so quiet it almost disappeared into the space between them. “I never thought I could love someone this much.”

Jin exhaled a shaky laugh, throat tight. He reached into his pocket and pulled out the moon pendant, chain cool and glinting between his fingers. He pressed it into Akin’s palm, folding his fingers over it gently. “Here. Next time, no matter what, don’t take it off.”

Akin clutched it to his chest like it was a promise stitched back into place. He didn’t protest when Jin pulled him up by the wrist, steady but insistent.

“Come on,” Jin murmured a soft command that brooked no argument.

Akin blinked at him, confusion furrowing his brow as he let Jin tug him down the hallway. “Where are we going?”

Jin squeezed his hand tighter, just once. “Bathroom. You need a bath. And you’re not doing it alone tonight.”

He didn’t look back to see if Akin was following; he didn’t need to. Akin’s hand in his said enough.

The shower filled with steam almost instantly, heat misting the glass as the water pounded down in a steady hiss. Jin stood behind Akin under the spray, his hands gentle but insistent as he guided him in, letting the water wash over both of them.

Akin shivered a little when the first burst of heat hit his skin. He could feel Jin’s chest warm against his back, steady like an anchor. Jin pressed a kiss just below his ear, voice low over the rush of water. “Stay still for me, Phi.”

Akin nodded, eyes fluttering shut. He felt Jin’s fingers brush over his shoulders, soft, careful, tracing the bruises Johnny had left behind. The sight of them made Jin’s chest tighten, but he kept his touch steady and calm, like he could wash the memory off with his hands alone.

He squeezed a bit of shower gel into his palm and smoothed it across Akin’s chest and shoulders. His hands moved in slow circles, fingertips pressing just firmly enough to make Akin’s breath catch. Every place where a mark bloomed dark against pale skin, Jin lingered, thumbs brushing over it, then his mouth following, warm kisses pressed to damp skin under the spray.

Akin leaned back against him, the water running down his face, mixing with tears he couldn’t hold in anymore. “Don’t look at them,” he whispered, voice hoarse.

But Jin just pressed another kiss to the side of his throat, right over a bruise that made his jaw clench. “I’m going to look,” he murmured against Akin’s skin. “I’m going to cover every single one.”

His hands drifted lower, finding the dark spots on Akin’s ribs, his hips, and the tender curve of his waist. Each time, he pressed closer, mouth tracing the wet skin, lips claiming every mark as if he could rewrite the memory with warmth and something that belonged only to them.

Akin’s hands came up, fingers gripping Jin’s forearms where they circled his waist. He trembled under the water, but it wasn’t from the cold. “Jun,” he breathed, voice breaking. “I don’t want them anymore.”

“You won’t have them anymore.” Jin’s voice was low, fierce in the quiet. He mouthed at the back of Akin’s neck, teeth scraping lightly where a bruise peeked out from under wet hair. “You’re mine, Phi. All of you.”

Akin turned in his arms then, water cascading down his shoulders as he faced Jin fully. His eyes were wide, lashes heavy with tears and water. “I love you,” he said, voice raw. “I love you so much.”

Jin cupped his face, thumbs brushing over his wet cheeks. “I know. I know, baby.” He bent to kiss him, slow and deep under the spray, water streaming between their mouths. Akin’s fingers tangled in Jin’s hair, tugging him closer like he couldn’t bear to let go.

When they parted for air, Jin rested his forehead against Akin’s, breath warm and steady. He pressed another kiss to Akin’s lips, then his jaw, then lower, trailing down his neck, shoulders, chest, replacing every shadow with heat until Akin could barely stand on his own.

When Akin’s knees buckled slightly, Jin caught him, one arm strong around his waist, the other braced against the cool tile. “Lean on me,” he whispered. “Just you and me now. No one else.”

And in that small space, with water drumming around them and the world shut out by glass and steam, Akin finally let the memory wash away, leaving only Jin’s mouth, Jin’s hands, and the promise in every touch that he’d never let anyone stain him like that again.

When the water finally ran lukewarm, Jin reached past Akin to shut it off. He pressed one last kiss to the side of Akin’s throat, right over a mark that was already starting to fade under the heat of his mouth.

“Come here,” Jin murmured, his voice rough but gentle as he guided Akin out of the shower. He grabbed a soft towel and wrapped it around Akin’s shoulders first, rubbing small circles into his damp skin like he couldn’t stand the thought of him shivering for even a second.

Akin just stood there, blinking up at him, hair dripping into his lashes. He looked small, but there was something softer in his eyes, now a quiet trust that made Jin’s chest ache.

He tugged another towel from the rack and gently wrapped it around Akin’s hair, drying it as best as he could. The little strands stuck up messily, and Akin let out a faint, broken laugh when Jin tried to flatten them down with his palm.

“You’re fussing,” Akin whispered, voice still hoarse from all the crying.

“Let me fuss,” Jin said, brushing his thumb under Akin’s eye where a stray tear clung. “You deserve it.”

He reached for his own towel, quickly drying his hair with one hand while his other stayed firm at Akin’s waist, keeping him close. When he was done, he pulled Akin in again, wrapping both arms around his damp shoulders and pressing their foreheads together.

“Next time,” Jin murmured, voice soft but iron underneath, “no matter what happens, you wait for me. You hear me? No more hiding. No more trying to protect me by yourself.”

Akin’s fingers curled into the edge of Jin’s towel, clutching him close. “I promise,” he breathed. “Just… don’t go so far away next time. I don’t want to wonder if you’re coming back.”

Jin kissed him for that, not rushed, not desperate, just steady and warm. He slipped his hand under the towel at Akin’s neck and felt the chain of the pendant still resting there, cool against flushed skin.

He leaned back just enough to look him in the eye. “Keep it on,” he whispered. “Always.”

Akin nodded, the smallest smile breaking through as he glanced down at the silver half-moon resting just above his collarbone. “Always.”

Jin’s hands ghosted down Akin’s bare arms, thumbs brushing the skin where the bruises had been. “Mine now,” he murmured, more to himself than Akin. “All mine.”

Akin’s breath hitched not from fear this time, but something softer, steadier. He let Jin guide him gently out of the bathroom and into their bedroom. The towels slipped off, and Jin pulled one of Akin’s soft sleep shirts from the dresser, helping him slip it over damp shoulders. He tugged on his own shirt next, then found Akin’s favourite loose shorts and helped him into those too, fingers brushing warm over his hips like a quiet promise that he’d cover every part of him in warmth instead.

When they were done, Jin draped the comforter over Akin’s shoulders, pressing him down onto the edge of the bed like he was something precious that needed sheltering from the whole world.

Then Jin slipped in behind him, arms wrapping around his chest, nose buried in damp hair that still smelled faintly of soap. Akin could feel his heartbeat thumping steadily against his back, a silent promise that every ghost of Johnny’s hands had been replaced by his.

“You’re tired,” Jin murmured into his hair. “Sleep.”

Akin turned his head just enough to press a soft kiss to the inside of Jin’s wrist where it curled protectively over his heart. “Stay,” he whispered.

“Always,” Jin breathed, tightening his hold until there was no space left between them, just warmth and soft breath and the slow, quiet truth that whatever had been taken, they’d reclaimed it all together.

Chapter Text

Akin woke up the next morning wrapped in the warmth of his comforter and Jin’s arms. 

“Jun… Jun”, Akin muttered out slowly, moving his head against Jin’s chest.

“Are you sleeping?” He didn't get any response: “Hey, how about moving in together?” His face broke out into a big smile just thinking about how wonderful it would be to wake up to this: the warmth, the comfort, the safety. 

“Did you mean what you said?” Came Jin’s response right next to his ear. Akin felt himself flush with embarrassment at being caught. 

“Were you pretending to be asleep?” Akin yelled out as he threw himself under the comforter, trying to hide. 

Jin didn't wait for a second longer as he dove underneath, holding Akin down. “Come live with me, Phi.” 

“No, I don't want to anymore,” Akin mumbled out, trying to get out of Jin’s hold. He had turned red in embarrassment, and with Jin looking at him with those eyes, it didn't make it any better.

“Please. I will make you chocolate pancakes daily. Promise.” Jin grinned at him, and when Akin tried to turn his head away, Jin lowered himself and pressed his lips to Akin's.

“Mnnn, I haven't even brushed.” Akin tried to move his head away.

“Doesn’t matter.” Jin kissed him again, harder this time, swallowing the small gasp that slipped from Akin’s lips. He felt Akin melt under him, pliant and warm, before kissing him back with a desperate, shivery hunger. Jin’s hands slid under Akin’s shirt, fingers splaying over his waist, thumbs stroking slow circles into sleep-warm skin.

Akin let out a soft, broken sound in his throat, mouth parting wider as Jin’s tongue brushed his, tasting him deeper, claiming every corner of him. It sparked through Akin like a live wire, every inch awake and trembling as Jin’s touch drifted lower, slow but certain, until Akin arched up, breath hitching against his mouth.

He barely had time to think before Jin pulled back just enough to whisper against his lips, voice low and steady, “Mine. Only mine.” Then he kissed him again, deeper, slower, until the tension in Akin’s shoulders unravelled, until all the ghosts of Johnny’s hands dissolved under Jin’s steady warmth.

When they finally parted, their breaths tangled softly in the hush of the room, Akin’s forehead pressed against Jin’s. He could feel Jin’s thumb brushing along the edge of his jaw, slow and grounding, as if he needed to remind them both that they were really here, whole, together.

Akin let out a small laugh that caught at the edge, more fragile than it sounded. “You’ll get tired of me,” he murmured, voice hoarse but edged with something shy, a flicker of hope peeking through the cracks.

Jin huffed out a soft, disbelieving sound and tipped his head forward, nudging their noses together. “Never,” he breathed. He kissed him again, just once, gently. “Stay with me. Every night. Every morning. I want you with me.”

Akin went quiet, eyes flicking down to where Jin’s hand rested warm and steady against his ribs. For a heartbeat, he just breathed, in and out, feeling every bit of Jin’s warmth sinking into him like an answer.

Then, barely more than a whisper, he said it: “Okay. I’ll come to live with you. But you haven't forgotten your promise yet, right?”

Jin’s breath stilled against his skin, then a quiet laugh, rough with relief, rumbled in his chest. He pressed his mouth to Akin’s temple, lingering there like a promise. “You just wait for the announcement. I’ll get both the award and you as my boyfriend. Then we’ll live together.”

Akin’s hands curled behind Jin’s neck, pulling him closer until there was no space left. The conviction with which Jin said it was enough for him to be sure. “You'd better wait till it happens.”

“Shall I put the deposit down now?” Jin leaned closer, voice soft against his ear. “So I can be sure you won’t back out and run away from me again.”

“What else?” Akin was baiting him.

“Can you tell me that you love me again?” Jin’s face softened, almost shy.

“I love you, Jun.”

The way Jin’s eyes brightened even more than before made Akin blush at his own words. To escape him, he gently pushed him away, grumbling about needing to shower again, and darted to the bathroom.

The next few days felt like bliss. While they hadn't moved in together, they were spending more and more time together at each other's places. Having to deal with Johnny when Akin was at work felt easier when Jin would always drop and pick him up, and wherever he could, he would stay around for rehearsals. 

It amused Akin to no end the way Jin had a constant glare fixed on Johnny, just waiting for him to take a toe out of the line. It eased Akin’s discomfort knowing that his Jun was close enough, and thankfully, Johnny didn't try anything else. 

When they had finally finished staging the play, the relief and the sense of accomplishment he felt for getting through it all with so much appreciation for his role felt like a perfect end to the drama. 

Backstage, Johnny was hilariously awarded with a sash for making the most mistakes, for which he was punished to head towards the stage and sell the merchandise they had for the play.

Akin stuck his hand out to congratulate Johnny, and before his hand touched his, Jin was coming in between them.

“You acted really well today, Johnny. Especially the scene where Gopo stabs a knife into Monte’s heart. I was so into it, I felt like stabbing you, too.” Jin’s grip tightened on Johnny’s hand.

“Thank but you don't have to congratulate me that much.” Johnny gritted out through his teeth, trying not to let the pain show.

Finally, after a little bit of back and forth, it was decided that Jin would be joining them for a celebration dinner. Much to Johnny’s displeasure, who had tried to protest Jin’s coming.

Akin walked off to change into his own clothes. He had just slipped his costume jacket off when he felt a warm hand brush the back of his neck.

“Let me help change you, Phi,” Jin murmured against his ear, voice so soft it made Akin’s skin prickle.

“You… why are you following me in here?” Akin whispered back, peeking behind Jin to see if anyone was still around.

“Come here. Let me help you,” Jin said, ignoring the question entirely.

Akin turned around, a smile tugging at his mouth as Jin’s fingers carefully worked at the buttons and folds of his costume.

“I just wanted to see you for myself,” Jin said, voice low.

Akin looked at him over his shoulder, eyes playful.

“What you did just now…” Jin’s words fell even softer. “It was amazing.”

Akin turned fully, warmth creeping up his neck at how earnestly Jin looked at him.

“I couldn’t take my eyes off you,” Jin went on. “When you were on that stage, I wanted to keep looking at you like that forever.”

“I know that already,” Akin teased, letting the words hang between them like a secret.

Jin let out a quiet laugh and leaned in, catching his mouth in a quick kiss.

“Hey- what are you doing?” Akin murmured against his lips, half protesting, half giving in.

Jin kissed him again, deeper this time, fingertips brushing Akin’s jaw.

“Enough now,” Akin breathed out, but his hands were already tugging Jin closer by the waistband.

Jin only pressed in once more, stealing another soft kiss.

“Where did you come from, starving for affection like this?” Akin teased when he finally pulled back for air.

“I’ll be working out of town soon,” Jin said, nose brushing Akin’s cheek as if to keep the closeness. “Can’t I take something for myself before I go?”

“Three days,” Akin scoffed gently. “You’re acting like you’ll be gone for months.”

Jin’s hands slipped up to rest on Akin’s shoulders, drawing him in until there was no space left. Akin’s arms looped around his waist, the touch so easy, so sure.

“Even three hours without you feels like a month,” Jin murmured against his temple.

“Really…” Akin whispered, tilting his head to catch Jin’s mouth in a slow kiss that lingered warm and quiet.

When they parted, Jin hugged him close, letting the silence stretch soft and safe between them.

Akin sighed against his chest, voice muffled. “You want to come for dinner tonight with us?”

Jin’s answering hum vibrated against his hair. “Of course. I’m not leaving you alone at all.”

Akin leaned back just enough to see his face, eyes bright with something unspoken. “Good. Then, hurry up and help me change. If someone catches us like this…”

Jin just laughed, pressing another quick kiss to his forehead before tugging gently at the next button. 

After they stepped out of the changing room, Jin’s hand slipped easily into Akin’s, their fingers lacing like they belonged there. Akin was chatting about what he wanted to eat at dinner, his free hand moving animatedly while Jin just nodded along, half-listening, fully there.

But behind the easy smile he kept pressed to his lips, Jin’s thoughts drifted somewhere he rarely let himself go.

He’d loved people before, or maybe he’d tried to. Most of them had been shallow flings, half-formed connections drowned in late-night drinks, cold beds that felt emptier when he left than when he’d come in. He’d never stayed the night. Never cared if they did. There’d been no whispered promises pressed to damp skin, no soft ‘I’ll wait for you’, no quiet mornings tangled up in the warmth of another heartbeat.

He’d thought he liked it that way. He’d told himself it suited him, no ties, no expectations, no weakness. A grin, a tease, a polite lie that he didn’t get attached to. That was the image, and he’d kept it sharp and neat. But the truth was, underneath all that, it had always been lonely.

A few had been serious, where he had tried to give his all. As much as he could, but it never felt as if he was enough for them. Sometimes it was he was too apathetic, too busy or too distant.

Then Akin had happened. Too soft for the sharp edges Jin wore. Too sincere for all the practised distance. And somehow, instead of pushing him away, Jin had found himself craving it. Craving him.

He felt it in moments like this: Akin’s hand warm in his own, his gentle chatter about nothing at all. It made Jin feel embarrassingly exposed, all the versions of himself he’d tucked away now hovering just under the skin.

Part of him wanted to tell Akin everything, the nights he couldn’t remember names, the times he’d said I love you and felt nothing, the desperate, quiet shame that always came after. But then he’d see Akin’s bright eyes and feel that tiny, irrational fear flicker up: What if this soft, good thing thought less of him for it?

Akin was the best thing that had ever happened to him. From the moment he’d stepped into his life, Jin’s entire path had tilted upwards. Akin brought with him all the hope and luck Jin had sorely lacked until then.

Just thinking about being away from Akin even for a day unsettled him, let alone three. He’d become addicted to his presence, to the way Akin made him feel grounded and needed. And after the whole Johnny fiasco, Jin didn’t dare trust that snake not to try something again. 

Johnny had definitely been spooked lately. Jin’s constant presence on set, glaring holes through him at every chance, had been enough to keep him in line. But now, with Jin having to leave town for a few days, he knew Akin and Johnny still had some promotions lined up together. He could bet money Johnny would pull something to make Akin uncomfortable.

He wished he could just keep Akin beside him forever, but they both had responsibilities. And if nothing else, Jin trusted Akin to tell him if anything happened.

So he squeezed Akin’s hand tighter, grounding himself in the warmth that asked for nothing but truth when he was ready.

One day, he promised himself. He’d tell Akin everything, all the things he felt too embarrassed to lay bare now. And he trusted Akin would hold even those shadows gently. But for now, he let it rest, a quiet secret he’d share when the time was right.

Akin’s voice pulled him back, soft and teasing. “You’re not listening to a word I’m saying, are you?”

Jin dipped down and pressed a quick kiss to his temple just before they reached the hallway door. “I am. I just like the sound of your voice too much to interrupt.”

Akin laughed, rolling his eyes, but his fingers squeezed back, like he already knew exactly what Jin meant even if he hadn’t said a word.

And just like that, Jin knew: whatever he’d been before, whatever shadows clung to him, this was different. This was real. This was his. And he’d hold onto it with everything he had.

Chapter Text

He was addicted.

It had been three days since Jin had left for his out-of-town shoot, and Akin still felt like he hadn’t figured out how to function properly in his absence.

The apartment felt quieter. Not just in sound, but in energy, like something essential had been drained from the air. There was no quiet humming from the kitchen, no socks strewn across the floor, no sleepy laughter echoing down the hallway. Just muted light, stale silence, and the ghost of Jin’s cologne on Akin’s pillows.

He sat at the edge of the bed, barefoot and unmoving, the sheets still tangled around his legs from where he’d spent an extra hour that morning pretending to sleep, pretending Jin’s warmth still lingered.

The last few days had felt like a dream. A dream he hadn’t known he’d been waiting for until it was already over. Waking up tangled in Jin’s arms, cooking together without saying much, that one afternoon, they fell asleep on the couch mid-episode with the volume still playing at a soft hum. It had all been so stupidly domestic. So gentle. So unlike anything Akin had ever believed someone like him would get to have.

He’d never felt like anything was missing from his life before. He’d taught himself not to need anyone. And he’d been fine, comfortable, even until Jin had looked at him like he was more than just a body or a performance. Now, without that look anchoring him, Akin felt slightly off-balance. Hollow, in a way he couldn’t quite explain.

He leaned forward, elbows on his knees, rubbing his hands over his face.

He remembered Jin lying next to him in the stillness of the night, listening to him talk about his childhood and the grandmother who raised him like her own son. Those were the moments that stuck with him.

She was the reason he’d always been grounded, the woman who stitched his first stage costume, taught him to laugh at rejection, and reminded him after every failure that love wasn’t something you had to earn. It was given and kept. She had been his foundation, the one person he never hid from, no matter what.

That morning, before getting ready for the interview, he’d sat down and written her a letter.

He hadn’t meant to write much. Just a quick update, maybe a mention of work. But the moment he’d picked up the pen, the words had poured out messy, uneven, and true.

I think you’d really like him, he wrote, smiling faintly to himself. He teases me constantly, but he listens, too. Really listens. He makes me feel like I’m not too much, or not enough. Just… me. And it’s enough.

He told her how Jin had helped him prep for the upcoming interview, fussing over his outfit, fixing his collar, pretending not to look smug when he caught Akin blushing.

He calls me his lucky charm. Can you believe that? he added, underlining the words. I just wanted you to know that you don’t need to worry so much anymore. I’m okay. I’m happy. Really happy.

He sealed the envelope carefully, running a thumb over the edges like it might carry some of the warmth back home to her. If anyone deserved to know the truth of his heart, it was her.

He placed the letter on the side table, set a reminder to drop it off with his manager, then stood up to get ready.

Akin’s phone buzzed, then a calendar reminder flashed across the screen: Radio Interview – 1 PM. The one with Johnny.

He sighed heavily, pushing himself upright and walking to the wardrobe. He tugged out a shirt and slacks, crisp, dark, and camera-friendly. Jin had helped him pick the outfit before he left.

“Because you look too good in this not to make everyone fall in love with you,” Jin had said, grinning as he ran his hands down the lapels and smoothed the collar with that warm, possessive pride in his eyes.

Just remembering that made Akin pause. His fingers rested on the shirt’s fabric a moment longer than necessary.

Pull it together.

He moved mechanically as he dressed, buttoning up the shirt with practised precision. His reflection in the mirror stared back at him: neat, clean, composed. He looked ready.

But he didn’t feel ready. Not for Johnny’s smug face. Not for the fake laughs or the public charade.

Johnny hadn’t tried anything since that night, mostly because Jin’s presence on set had been a constant deterrent. But with Jin out of town, Akin couldn’t shake the gnawing unease in his gut. Johnny wasn’t dumb. He’d wait until the moment suited him just long enough to catch Akin alone, with no witnesses, no defence.

Akin clenched his jaw, forcing the thought out of his head as he touched the silver moon pendant hanging just a little below his throat. It didn’t make the anxiety go away, but it gave him something to hold onto. Akin tried to comfort himself with the thought that Jin would be back home today. 

He slipped on his shoes, grabbed his phone and keys, and lingered at the door for just a beat. Long enough to take one last breath. The interview wasn’t about Jin. It wasn’t about Johnny either. It was about work, the thing he’d always been good at, the one thing no one could take away from him.

And yet, everything felt more complicated now that he had someone to come home to.

The interview went exactly as expected. The host was energetic, the studio was freezing, and the fans outside were deafening. Akin sat beside Johnny, smiling for the cameras, answering questions with a careful balance of sincerity and polish. He knew how to play the part. That was never the problem.

The problem was Johnny.

He didn’t miss a beat, leaning into Akin’s space, brushing his hand across his shoulder, slinging an arm too casually behind his chair. None of it crossed a boundary outright. Not enough to stop the show. But it was constant, calculated.

Akin didn’t react. Couldn’t. He smiled. He laughed at the right cues. He didn’t flinch when Johnny’s thigh pressed a little too close beneath the table. He didn’t let it show that every time Johnny touched him, his skin crawled.

Johnny had that look on his face again, the smirk that said, I know you can’t stop me here.

It made Akin want to peel off his skin and walk out.

As they were exiting the radio station, the fans surged forward. Akin braced himself, used to the chaos by now. But one girl got too close, her hands gripping his wrists in a way that might have been harmless on any other day. But after enduring Johnny’s suffocating nearness for an entire hour, the sudden touch sent a jolt through him. He flinched instinctively, stepping back too fast, nearly knocking into a signboard.

Thankfully, the security was able to escort them away and into the car. Akin took a small sigh of relief before Johnny joined him in the backseat. Akin pressed himself as close to the door as he could before pulling his phone out so he could ignore Johnny.

The plan had worked perfectly until they got back to the Sigma Company building.

The moment Akin stepped out of the elevator, Johnny’s games started again.

“Since we’re done for today, should we go find something fun to do?”

Akin froze mid-step. The rage hit him so fast it eclipsed thought. Before he could stop himself, he grabbed Johnny by the front of his shirt and shoved him hard against the wall.

“I still haven’t settled the score for that night,” he hissed, his grip tight. A warning. Back off, now, while you still can.

Johnny smirked, even pinned against the wall. “Oh, so now we have a score to settle? Funny… you’re not nearly as cute sober.”

Akin’s knee shot up fast, straight into Johnny’s crotch.

Johnny doubled over with a strangled gasp, collapsing to his knees, breath knocked out of him.

“That’s for messing with me,” Akin said coldly.

He pulled his fist back, ready to punch.

Click.

The sound sliced through the hallway.

Akin froze.

His head jerked in the direction it came from, but he saw nothing. No movement, no flash, just the usual hum of the floor’s overhead lights. The corridor was empty.

Was it real?

He scanned the corners. Empty. Silent. But the sound had been sharp and distinct. A camera shutter, he was sure of it. At least he thought he was

His heartbeat picked up. For a second, he stood frozen in place, the fire in his limbs gone cold with doubt.

“P’Kin”

Jin’s voice sliced through the noise in his head. Akin felt lighter, knowing that Jin was here. His gaze had been fixed on Johnny, who had pulled himself up to his feet, glaring, as if trying to figure out if he had something stupid again.

After Jin had introduced his junior to the team and managed to embarrass Johnny so thoroughly that the man all but fled the room, Akin finally allowed himself to relax.

“I missed you,” he said, his voice quiet but steady.

Jin’s face broke into a grin that made Akin’s chest ache. “I missed you, too, Phi.”

Akin wanted nothing more than to close the distance between them, to reach out and hold him. But this wasn’t the place. Not with so many eyes around. So he kept his hands to himself and maintained a measured distance, even as everything inside him leaned toward Jin.

“What are you doing here?” he asked. “I thought you were heading home directly.”

“I did go home,” Jin said, tugging lightly at the strap of his bag. “But then Naru called, and he didn’t have a ride. I brought him here for his auditions.”

Akin glanced toward the boy, still in uniform, and smiled faintly. “Seeing that uniform makes me think about the old days.”

“Oh, yeah,” Jin nodded, eyes lighting up. “You were in that school drama series, right? Wore a uniform like Naru’s.”

“Yes. I was very hot back then,” Akin said, smirking. “Just saying.”

“I believe it,” Jin replied without missing a beat.

He turned to Naru for a second, then looked back at Akin, and something in his gaze shifted warmth, mischief, and longing, all tangled together. Akin narrowed his eyes.

“Hey. Don’t even think about it.”

Later that day, Jin messaged Akin to meet him in one of the classroom sets in the building. Akin walked in, expecting maybe an impromptu rehearsal or a last-minute script run-through with the remake cast. What he did not expect was to see Jin standing there with a pressed school uniform folded neatly in his arms and that same damn mischievous glint in his eyes.

“What…?” Akin started.

Jin grinned. “I brought this for you.”

“Why? Are we doing promo pics?”

“Nope. Just us here,” Jin said, stepping forward. “No cameras, no crew. Just you and me.”

Akin crossed his arms. “Then why the uniform?”

“Because,” Jin said, voice dropping to a coaxing tone, “I want to see you in it again. Just once.”

“You’re ridiculous.”

“Please?” Jin stepped closer. “Come on. Just put it on for a minute.”

Akin gave him a flat look. “Why?”

Jin pouted. “Because I want to see how you looked back then. In person. Not through a screen.”

Akin turned to walk away, but Jin suddenly dropped to his knees in front of him.

“What the hell, get up?”

“I’m serious,” Jin said, his eyes locking onto Akin’s, all teasing gone. “Back in high school, a drama troupe came to perform at our school. They asked for volunteers, and I didn’t raise my hand. I thought it wasn’t for me. But sometimes I wonder if I had said yes that day… maybe I would’ve met you sooner.”

Akin’s breath caught.

“There’s nothing great about me back then,” he muttered, trying to brush it off.

Jin didn’t move from his knees. “That’s not true. I regret not meeting you earlier. Every second I didn’t know you feels like wasted time. Ten years of just… floating. Saying no that day meant saying no to everything that could’ve mattered. I didn’t even realise I was living without purpose until you showed up and everything finally made sense.”

Akin looked down at him, stunned into silence.

“I want to know everything about you,” Jin continued. “I want to be a part of every moment of your life, past, present, and future. I’m jealous of everyone who got to see the younger you. Your classmates, your directors, your co-actors. They all got to be there when you were becoming you. And I… I missed it.”

Akin knelt slowly in front of him. “You didn’t miss anything,” he said, voice softer now. “They saw parts of me. But you? You’re the only one who knows me. The real me.”

Jin blinked at him.

“They may have met me first,” Akin said with a small smile, “but you found me.”

Jin smiled, then reached for his hand, fingers threading through his slowly. “So… will you wear it for me?”

Akin rolled his eyes and sighed, but there was a hint of a smile tugging at his lips. “You’re unbelievable.”

“You like me that way.”

Akin sighed again, louder this time, as if to make it very clear how much he was indulging Jin. “You owe me for this,” he muttered, grabbing the neatly folded uniform out of Jin’s hands. Jin beamed like a kid handed a treasure chest. “Anything you want.” “Careful,” Akin warned. “I might hold you to that.”

He disappeared behind the classroom divider, a mock partition used for set dressing, and Jin stood there, waiting, hands clasped behind his back, bouncing on his heels. He heard the rustling of clothes, the soft thud of shoes kicked aside, and a low curse under Akin’s breath. It was a few minutes, but it felt like hours.

Then 

“Okay. You happy now?”

Jin turned.

And his breath caught.

Akin stood there, backlit by the warm overhead lights, wearing the dark blue blazer, white shirt, and striped tie of his old character’s school uniform. The fit wasn’t perfect; it was a size too snug at the shoulders and slightly loose at the waist, but somehow, it made Akin look even more like a memory come to life. His hair was longer now, his frame sharper with time, but there was something disarmingly boyish in the way he shifted his weight, one brow arched in quiet challenge.

Jin’s smile faded slowly, not from disappointment, but from the weight of something deeper settling over him.

He stepped forward, quiet, reverent. “You really wore it.”

Akin looked away, rubbing the back of his neck. “You begged.”

“I didn’t think you’d actually do it.”

“You think I’m that heartless?”

“I think,” Jin said, his voice softening as he came to a stop in front of him, “that you’re more generous than you let on.”

He reached out and straightened Akin’s tie, fingers brushing the edge of his collar. His touch lingered, too long to be casual. Akin didn’t move away.

“You wore this and made millions of people fall in love,” Jin said, looking up into his eyes. “But I don’t care about any of them. I just wanted to see this for myself.”

Akin let out a slow breath, tension bleeding out of his shoulders. “You’ve seen it now. Happy?”

Jin didn’t answer.

He just stepped close enough for their breath to mingle, close enough for Akin to feel the heat rolling off him in slow, unbearable waves.

The silence stretched, thick with everything neither of them could say out loud. Akin's eyes flicked to Jin’s mouth, then away, jaw tight. His heartbeat felt too loud in the stillness.

Without thinking, he reached behind and unscrewed the cap of the water bottle on the desk. He took a small sip, cool, sharp against the heat in his throat and was about to set it down when Jin moved.

He leaned in. His gaze dropped to Akin’s lips.

And then he licked the droplet at the corner of Akin’s mouth.

Not hurried. Not careful. Just a slow, deliberate drag of tongue that sent a shiver straight down Akin’s spine.

Akin inhaled sharply, but Jin was already closer, close enough to blur the line between restraint and hunger.

The kiss landed with no warning. Harder this time. Deeper. No hesitation, no space left between them. Akin’s hand curled into the front of Jin’s shirt, anchoring himself as their mouths collided again and again, mouths greedy and breathless.

They moved together without a thought, driven by instinct. Jin pushed forward until Akin’s thighs hit the desk behind him. Akin didn’t resist. He let himself be lifted, seated, legs parting to let Jin slot in. The edge of the desk bit into the backs of his thighs, but he barely noticed.

Clothes shifted, fingers tugged and pulled. Jin’s hands slid beneath the blazer, pushing it off Akin’s shoulders. His tie was loosened next, shirt half-untucked, the fabric crushed between them.

Akin heard a soft clicking again. Right went Jin’s face buried itself in his neck. He had turned his head, trying to see where it was coming from, but when Jin’s mouth opened and his tongue swiped at the juncture of his shoulder, Akin’s eyes flustered closed, and his head leaned back. Akin had quickly forgotten what had distracted him when Jin’s hand gripped his waist tightly.

Heat built under skin, under breath. There was no need for words anymore. Everything they felt was there in the way their bodies met, in the desperation of hands not wanting to let go.

The classroom around them faded, walls, lights, and air all falling away as Jin pressed him down. Akin pulled him with, until wood creaked beneath them.

Chapter Text

“You know my first kiss was on the set of ‘Boys Over Whiteboards.’” Akin stated as he leaned against one of the desks with the uniform neatly draped over his arm after he had redressed into his clothes.

“Really. How was it?” The surprise in Jin’s eyes had shifted into a hint of jealousy.

“Fishy.” 

“Huh. What do you mean?”

“The female lead had eaten som tam right before, so when she kissed me, all I could taste was fish sauce.” Akin grimaced a little at the memory. He felt as if he could taste it all over again.

Jin laughed, feeling oddly comforted that his P’Kin’s first kiss wasnt that nice.

“Now whenever someone asks me about my first kiss, I tell them that it was with a cat back home.”

Jin had surged towards him and gently pressed his lips to Akin’s. It was soft, chaste, very unlike those shared literally minutes ago. Akin felt his heart stutter in his chest. 

“How about that? Is that better?” Jin’s fingers gently swiped over Akin’s cheek.

“Now that's more like it.” Akin wished that really had been his first case. But with the limited list of 3 people that he had ever kissed, it was as good as his first.

“So I will take that as your first kiss.” Jin’s occasional comments that always toed the line of possession had no right to make Akin feel the way they did. He felt wanted. He would have gladly let Jin do anything he wanted. 

Clearly, he had. Akin hadn't thought that voyeurism would be his forte. Jin had been bringing a lot of sides of himself to the surface. Akin felt his face heat up at the thought of what they had been doing barely five minutes ago.

Jin smiled at him, as if he knew exactly what he had been thinking about when a soft buzz interrupted the moment. Jin leaned back and pulled his phone out from his pocket. With a soft ‘I will be right back’ Jin picked up the call as he walked out of the classroom.

Akin just shook his head a little and went about collecting the discarded jacket from the floor. He had picked up the jacket, but he felt as if the gold stag brooch that had been pinned on it was missing. He was sure that it had been there. He remembered fixing it when it had become crooked while he was putting the jacket on. 

Akin felt unsettled. Had someone picked it up? Or did it simply fall off when Jin had carelessly tossed it on the floor? The latter was more likely. Akin remembered the number of times the brooch had fallen off while they had been filming all those years ago. On multiple occasions in some scenes, the broach would have disappeared because it had fallen and no one had realised.

He knew it had been flimsy, and with Jin so roughly tugging it off of him, it could have just fallen. Akin felt his cheek heat up at the memory, but he shook it out of his head to look for the brooch. He had barely started looking around for it when Jin reentered the room.

“Phi, I'm so sorry, I need to stay here. My manager has some work he wants me to go over with him.” Jin looked sheepish and apologetic as he rubbed the back of his neck. 

“Oh. So you won't come back home today?” Akin tried to keep his voice unaffected, but he was sure he had failed miserably.

“I will be right behind you. I promise. I will wrap it up as soon as I can. You can even take a shower without me bothering you. We will have dinner together.” Jin rushed his words out, trying to assure Akin.

“It's okay. Take your time. I will wait for you.” Akin had walked closer to him. He leaned up and pressed a quick kiss and let himself linger for a few moments before he walked out. The last thing he wanted to do was be away from Jin. But work was work. He knew that; he knew what they had signed up for. Work would always come first. The best that Akin could do was to assure Jin he would be okay. 

While leaving the building, he quickly called a cab. Looking at the long wait time, he stepped towards the nearby grocery store. If he couldn't have his Jun close, at least he could get his chocolate milk. 

The moment he entered the store, he beelined towards the chillers to grab the small cartons. He told himself to stop at the second one, then the fifth, but after he dropped the 6th one in his basket, he gave up on any semblance of restraint and cleaned out the entire shelf. Sue him. He liked chocolate, and till Jin could be back, they were his company.

As he turned around, his basket bumped into someone else’s basket.

“Sorry.” He rushed out the apology, hoping he didn't hurt the girl accidentally.

“Be confident in yourself.” She had her hair covering a lot of her face, but she steadily looked into his eyes. The intensity of them sent a line of shiver down his spine.

“Saw you again? What a coincidence.” That's when Akin recognised her face. She had been the one who had grabbed both his hands in the morning after the radio interview.

The strange feeling of discomfort clouded his thoughts again. After that, it got worse. She asked intrusive questions like what he was doing after work, and when he refused to answer, she slowly pushed her hair back from one side to reveal a golden stag brooch, as he asked if he was doing anything he shouldn't.

She had continued talking after that, but Akin couldn't take his eyes off the brooch. His voice went into the background as he felt a slow panic settle in. Had she been there? Outside. When Jin and he were… No. No. That wasn’t possible. They wouldn't let anyone into the building like this. Just then, a notification lit his screen. The car was here.

He quickly turned to walk away and pay for his purchase so he could leave, when he called out to him.

“I will always follow you through every moment of your life.” 

That was the final nail in the coffin.

Akin dropped the basket and rushed out of the store, chest tight with unease. He didn’t want to wait even a second longer. He just needed to be home, with Jin, where everything made sense.

As the cab pulled away from the curb, Akin stared down at his phone, quickly typing in a search for the brooch. When the screen filled with listings from multiple sellers, a shaky breath escaped him. It was common. Mass-produced. Just a stupid coincidence.

At least, that’s what he told himself.

But the reassurance didn’t stick.

Even after he got home, the feeling wouldn’t leave him. It clung to his skin like smoke.

The sense of being watched of something just out of sight, just out of reach, followed him into every room. The silence in the house felt unnatural, like a held breath. He tried to distract himself: folding laundry, laying out Jin’s clothes, letting the shower run far longer than necessary. But the quiet only made it worse.

The house felt too big. Too still. Too exposed.

Every creak of the floor, every shadow thrown by passing headlights outside the window, made him flinch.

He sat on the couch with the television on, volume low, staring at the screen instead of watching it. His hand stayed close to his phone. Jin hadn’t messaged yet. The longer it took, the more Akin’s thoughts spiralled.

He tried to brush it off. Just fatigue. But when he glanced toward the hallway, he could swear he saw something shift in the corner of his eye.

He stood immediately, heart thudding, and flicked on every light in the apartment. It didn’t help. The brightness only made the shadows feel bolder.

Akin didn’t even realise he’d been holding his breath until he heard the key in the door.

Then Jin stepped inside.

And the air returned to Akin’s lungs.

“Hey,” Jin greeted softly, toeing off his shoes, his voice low, like he sensed something was off but didn’t want to push. He looked a little tired, a little wrinkled from the day, but to Akin, he looked like relief. Like home.

“You look exhausted, Phi,” Jin murmured.

He had barely taken his jacket off when Akin crossed the room and folded himself into him. He pressed his face into Jin’s chest, breathing in the faint mix of cologne and city air, and held him tightly like touch was the only thing keeping his thoughts from spiralling.

Jin didn’t hesitate. His arms came around Akin, steady and warm.

“Phi, is everything okay? Did something happen?”

“Does something need to happen for me to hug you?” Akin mumbled, his voice caught somewhere between deflection and need.

Jin chuckled softly. The sound was warm against Akin’s hair. “No, no. I was just surprised. I missed you.”

He tucked his face into Akin’s damp curls and inhaled deeply, fingers brushing lightly against the small of his back.

“You always smell so good, P’Kin. Good enough to eat.”

Jin’s smile was dazed, content, like he was grounding himself in the shape of Akin’s body.

Akin’s chest tightened. He pulled back just enough to meet his eyes.

“You’re crazy,” he said, but his voice was softer now. Fond.

“Crazy for you.”

Akin’s lips twitched. He touched Jin’s face lightly, fingers tracing the faint line of exhaustion beneath his eye, the curve of his jaw, before letting his hand fall.

“Okay, enough. Go wash up. I ordered food a while ago; it should be here any minute.”

Jin’s arms were still loose around him. “Join me.”

“No. I already showered.”

“Still,” Jin murmured, leaning forward to kiss Akin’s temple. “I just want you close.”

Akin stood there for a moment longer, letting himself lean into it.

Then he stepped back with a small smile. “Then don’t take too long.”

By the time Jin stepped out of the shower, hair damp and skin flushed from the heat, Akin had already set the coffee table plates, utensils, and the warm bag of takeout waiting between them like a quiet offering. The soft glow of the living room light bathed everything in gold.

Jin smiled to himself at the simple domesticity the scene portrayed. He felt complete, happy, and satisfied. For once in his life, he didn’t feel as if something was missing.

Akin sat cross-legged on the floor, already unboxing the food. He glanced up as Jin walked over, the tension from earlier now seemingly gone from his shoulders. He looked relaxed and peaceful, even as he handed Jin a pair of chopsticks.

“Hope you’re hungry,” Akin said lightly. “I might’ve gone a little overboard with the order.”

Jin sat down beside him, knees touching. “You always do. And I always finish it anyway.”

They started eating slowly, comfortably, the clinking of utensils filling the room. Between bites, Jin snuck glances at him at the way Akin’s eyes crinkled just a little when he chewed, how his shoulders no longer seemed so tense.

“You okay now?” Jin asked gently.

Akin nodded, his gaze fixed on the half-eaten food in front of him. “Yeah. Just… needed you here.”

The words were quiet, almost offhand. But Jin didn’t miss their weight. Akin wasn’t someone who said things like that lightly. He had always carried himself like someone who didn’t ask for much, who had learned, somewhere along the line, that needing people came with risks. So for him to admit that, even in a whisper… Jin felt it like a thread pulling tight around his heart.

“I’m here,” Jin murmured, almost to himself.

He didn’t reach for Akin, didn’t push. Just sat there with him present, steady, exactly where Akin needed him to be.

They ate in silence after that, but it wasn’t empty. It was the kind of silence that wrapped around them like a blanket, warm and familiar. Outside, the city hummed with distant life, but here, in their little corner of the world, everything had slowed down.

Every so often, their feet brushed under the table. Neither pulled away. The touches were subtle, unconscious, but grounding, like reminders that they were not alone. That they had each other.

Akin’s shoulders had loosened. The tension that had coiled in his body earlier, whatever had unsettled him, seemed to have faded, replaced by a quiet calm. Jin noticed the way his jaw wasn’t clenched anymore, the way his eyes no longer darted toward shadows. He looked present. He looked safe.

Just as Jin allowed himself to sink into that peace, his phone buzzed once.

Then again.

And in the next breath, it practically vibrated off the table, its frantic buzzing cutting through the calm like a blade.

Akin blinked at it, then raised an eyebrow. “Is that thing about to grow legs and walk away?”

Jin let out a soft laugh, already reaching for it. “Wouldn’t put it past it at this point.”

“Two of my childhood friends are getting married to each other. They sent an invite.”

Akin blinked, a little thrown. “Childhood friends?”

Jin nodded, setting his phone down on the table, but he didn’t quite meet Akin’s eyes.

It took Akin a second to place what felt off.

Jin never talked about his past. Not about school, not about his hometown, not even about his childhood. It had always been just the two of them, wrapped in the now acting, auditions, the industry, quiet nights like these. Never anything from before.

“I didn’t know you kept in touch with anyone from back then,” Akin said softly, trying not to make it sound like an accusation.

Jin finally looked up. There was something unreadable in his gaze, something that flickered and then settled. “I don’t. Not most of them. Just a few… the ones who mattered.”

Akin studied him for a beat. “And they invited you to the wedding?”

Jin gave a faint smile. “Yeah. It’s weird, right?”

“No,” Akin murmured. “It’s… nice.” Akin had barely any connections like that. His entire being felt as if it had been consumed by acting in some capacity or another.

Jin looked at him, then truly looked, and something unspoken passed between them. A quiet acknowledgement. That this was a part of Jin he had never offered before. A fragment of a life Akin hadn’t been invited into until now.

And somehow, that meant more than Jin probably realised.

Akin didn’t press. He just reached out, rested his hand gently over Jin’s, and gave it a light squeeze.

“Tell me about them sometime,” he said, voice low.

Jin’s smile deepened, something softer blooming behind his eyes.

“Yeah,” he said. “I will.”

Chapter Text

Jin had always been good at compartmentalising.

Put things in neat little boxes. Lock them up. Smile. Move on.

It was easier that way, cleaner. The past stayed where it belonged, and the present remained manageable. Predictable.

But as he lay beside Akin that night, warm from the food, the shower, and the way Akin had squeezed his hand like it meant something, like he meant something, Jin found that some boxes didn’t stay closed forever.

The room was dim, quiet except for the soft whir of the fan and the steady rhythm of Akin’s breathing. It was the kind of silence that left too much room for memory. Jin stared up at the ceiling, Akin’s hand draped over his stomach, and felt the weight of something old stirring in his chest. He hadn't told Akin anything. It never came to him to tell Akin anything.

For years, he had carefully pared down his life to the essentials: his work, his image, the roles he played, and the version of himself he could survive within. There wasn’t space for childhood memories or old friends who knew a Jin he barely remembered being. There hadn’t been space for feelings, or longing, or a person like Akin.

And now, here he was. Pulled into a quiet domestic orbit, he was asked to talk about his past like it was a story worth telling.

Like he was someone worth knowing.

Jin exhaled slowly, dragging a hand across his face.

He wasn’t sure what scared him more, the idea of opening that door, or how badly some part of him wanted to.

For now, he had replied that he was happy for them and would try to make it. That he wasnt sure what his schedule was, so he would check and tell them. It felt entitled, but he truly had no idea if he would be able to make it. 

He didn't have a problem going. Not really. Honestly, he wanted to go. It had been so long since he had seen the people he had gone through all of his formative experiences with. He had met one or two in the past few years, but not the whole group. This would be nice. They could all catch up. It had been so long already. 

He wished he could ask Akin to go with him. The invite left room for a plus one. With a teasing dialogue attached, “need to see who you distract yourself with.” It was all in good fun. He knew that. That’s how he had been before meeting Akin. But it still stung. It reminded him of his past. While he wasn't running away from it, he wasn't proud either.

He knew he couldn’t invite Akin.

The thought alone carried a quiet weight. Any famous person attending weddings drew attention, especially the media’s attention, and this one would be no different. Cameras, whispers, old classmates eager to reconnect… it would be impossible to keep their faces out of someone’s lens.

Jin had always been careful about what the world got to see. He could smile, pose, laugh, and still keep entire parts of himself locked away. But bringing Akin there… even if they were subtle, even if they stood at opposite ends of the room, there would always be a risk. A photo. A careless comment. A moment caught in the wrong frame.

And once speculation started, it wouldn’t stop.

He wouldn’t have minded, not really. Let them talk. Let them guess. But Akin… Jin knew him well enough now to see how that would close him off, how the constant noise would grate at him. And Jin wasn’t willing to risk that. Not for one night. Not even for the chance to see Akin standing beside him in a room full of people from his past.

He wondered if Akin would judge him if he knew the way Jin had acted in his teenage years. Would he feel as if he were Jin's next fleeting fancy? He hoped not. He hoped that he had at least tried to show how much Akin meant to him. 

The next morning came with a storm. Jin had overslept, and now he was running out the door to get to the studio in time. Akin had already left earlier in the morning. Jin had haphazardly thrown on his clothes and hoped that he wouldn't have to stay back too late.

He had asked his manager if there was anything lined up for the wedding date, which couldn't be rescheduled. He did have a photoshoot, but Ford had assured him that they would conclude it by late morning. Jin felt a rush of happiness knowing that now he had a chance to meet all his old friends. It had been so long since they had caught up with each other.

He remembered the last time he’d gone to something like this, a high school reunion, a few months before that fateful delivery. He hadn’t wanted to, but a couple of friends had cornered him, teasing that he never seemed busy anyway. He showed up, but the night had left him hollow. Surrounded by laughter and bright futures, he felt like the only one still stuck at the starting line.

He just didn’t have the energy for it anymore. Back then, every invitation felt like salt rubbed into a wound he couldn’t quite name. His life had been standing still, nothing significant, nothing worth talking about. While his classmates traded stories of promotions, relationships, and new beginnings, he had been drifting from one odd job to another, scraping by, delivering pizzas and wondering if this was all there would be for him.

Now, he could finally tell them something. For the first time in years, he wasn’t walking into a room with empty hands and a hollow smile. He wanted to tell them about Akin about the quiet steadiness he’d found in him, about the way life no longer felt like a string of meaningless hours tied together. But he knew he would have to be careful.

Akin wasn’t just another story to pass around like gossip. He was private, guarded, someone who had been navigating this industry for over a decade, long before Jin had even stepped into his first audition. He knew better than anyone how merciless the spotlight could be. While Jin had always kept parts of himself hidden, Akin had mastered the art of silence. For ten years, he had walked red carpets and faced interviews without ever letting the world glimpse what was his alone.

Saying too much, even to people Jin trusted, carried weight. This wasn’t just about protecting himself anymore. If a whisper escaped, it wouldn’t only be Jin’s reputation caught in the fire, it would be Akin’s, too. And Akin, who had worked so hard to keep his private life sealed away from cameras and questions, deserved better than to have his world cracked open by Jin’s careless longing to share.

Still, the urge to tell someone pressed heavily against his chest. To let the truth out, even a sliver of it, would be like finally unclenching a fist he hadn’t realised was tight. But he would have to be careful, deliberate. Only with those who had known him before all of this, the kind of people who could understand not just what Akin meant to him, but what it would cost if it ever got out.

Akin was exhausted. Jade had spent the entire day dragging Johnny and him through promotional events for the play. They had managed to get it recorded, something he knew was important, as it meant people who couldn’t make it to the theatre could still see their work. He didn’t mind the recording. What he minded was the endless cycle of press with Johnny, smiling for cameras when all he wanted was a moment of quiet.

Thankfully, Johnny had been less insufferable than usual. He’d still made his little digs, a few half-jokes about how exhausted Akin looked, about how he must have been up to something he shouldn’t. But one sharp look from Jade had been enough to shut him up, the kind that clipped his smirk mid-curve and left him fidgeting with his notes instead.

Akin didn’t miss the way Johnny’s eyes lingered on him after that, curious and needling, but at least for once, he knew better than to press.

His phone buzzed.

“I’m so sorry, Phi. I’m going to be late tonight. Overslept, and now I’ve got to catch up on everything.”

Akin exhaled, rubbing his hand over his face. He had been hoping tonight would be different, that maybe they could slip away somewhere private, somewhere the world couldn’t follow. Just one evening to breathe together.

But instead of letting the ache settle in, he typed back: “You’re ditching me for work again? I see how it is. Guess I’ll have to settle for Johnny’s charming company a little longer.”

He smirked faintly at his own words, though the weight in his chest didn’t fully ease. Teasing was easier than saying he missed him.

Akin exhaled, rubbing his hand over his face. He had been hoping tonight would be different, that maybe they could slip away somewhere private, somewhere the world couldn’t follow. Just one evening to breathe together.

But instead of letting the ache settle in, he typed back:

“You’re ditching me for work again? I see how it is. Guess I’ll have to settle for Johnny’s charming company a little longer.”

He smirked faintly at his own words, though the weight in his chest didn’t fully ease. Teasing was easier than saying he missed him.

The reply came quickly, almost too quickly.

“I know, I’m sorry. I really wanted to be with you tonight. I’ll make it up to you, Phi. I promise.”

Akin stared at the screen a little longer than he meant to, the corners of his smirk softening. He could practically hear Jin’s guilt in the way the words pressed close together, like he was trying to make up for the distance already stretching between them.

Akin let the screen glow in his hand, thumb hovering over the keyboard. He could answer the guilt head-on, reassure Jin right away, tell him it was fine, that he understood. And part of him did understand this was the life they both lived, the current they kept being dragged along by.

But another part of him, the quieter, more selfish part, wanted Jin to sit with it. To know that Akin wasn’t always unshakable, that sometimes he wanted to be chosen over the stage, over the schedule, over everything else.

In the end, his thumb moved almost without thinking.

“Don’t overwork yourself. Just… don’t forget to save some of you for me, too.”

He hit send before he could take it back.

Then, after a pause, almost as if to soften the weight of it, he added another message:

“And fine, I’ll forgive you if you bring me dessert when you’re done.”

The smirk returned, but this time it lingered with a little warmth he couldn’t quite chase away.

Akin let out a long sigh. “P’Jade, are we done for the day? Or is there anything else?”

He just wanted to go home. Knowing he wouldn’t be seeing Jin tonight only made the exhaustion sink deeper.

“That’s all. I’ll send you the full schedule later,” Jade said gently. He’d already noticed how distracted and tired Akin had been.

“Well then, since we’re finished… want me to give you a ride, Akin?” Johnny asked with a small smirk.

“No. P’Jade is taking me home.” Akin hadn’t actually asked him, but he sure as hell wasn’t going to hand Johnny his address.

“Next time then,” Johnny muttered, finally walking off.

“You don’t need to take me home,” Akin said after a moment. “I’ll just call a cab.” He didn’t want to trouble Jade, and Sine was out of the question; he’d taken the day off to be with family.

Jade gave him a steady look. “Akin, it’ll take forever to get a cab right now. And you already look done for the day. Let me drop you off, it’s on my way anyway.”

Akin opened his mouth to argue, then stopped. Jade wasn’t pushing, just… making it easier.

“Alright,” he murmured. “Thanks, P’Jade.”

In the car, Akin rested his head against the car window and stared at the road ahead. 

“Did my grandmother write back yet?” He had been wondering why it was taking her longer this time. Maybe it was a delivery issue.

“No. I haven't received anything yet. Maybe ask Sine. He could have it.”

Akin just hummed under his agreement. They spent the rest of the car ride in silence. Akin remained lost in his thoughts, and Jade had started humming a song. When they finally pulled up to his house, Akin, with a quick “see you tomorrow” to Jade, got out of the car. He desperately wanted to shower. With the molasses speed of the day, that was the only thing that would have made him feel refreshed.

The hot water washed some of the fatigue from his body, loosening his shoulders and clearing the fog in his head. By the time he stepped out, towel slung around his waist, he felt lighter until the sharp clatter of something hitting the floor snapped through the quiet.

He froze, water still dripping from his hair. Heart kicking against his ribs, Akin grabbed the nearest thing, his phone and pushed the bathroom door open in a rush.

Nothing. The apartment was silent, still.

But at his feet, lying neatly by the threshold as if it had been placed there on purpose, was the golden stag brooch.

Akin crouched slowly, staring at it. He knew it wasnt there when he walked into the bathroom. So how the hell had it ended up there?

A cold prickle ran down his spine. He scanned the house again, every shadow suddenly too deep, every corner too quiet. No broken locks. No open windows. Yet the unease wouldn’t let go.

He picked up the brooch carefully, fingers tightening around the cold metal.

Lately, he couldn’t shake the feeling that someone had been watching him. Always at the edges, just far enough to doubt himself. Tonight, though, it felt closer.

Much closer.

He turned the brooch over in his hand, the antlers catching the faint light. He could almost swear it was warmer than it should’ve been, as if it had just been handled.

The silence of the apartment pressed against his ears. It was the kind of quiet that didn’t soothe, but sharpened. He padded barefoot through the living room, checking the locks, the balcony, the kitchen. Everything was as it should be, neat and undisturbed.

Still, the unease wouldn’t fade.

He caught himself glancing toward the windows, the corners where the light didn’t reach. For a moment, he even imagined the faintest sense of someone having just been there, a presence stepping back into shadow the second he looked.

By the time he returned to the bathroom, his hair had half dried on its own. He picked the brooch up again, slipping it into the drawer beside the sink. Out of sight, at least.

But as he shut the drawer, he realised his pulse hadn’t slowed.

His phone had been tightly clutched in his fist, screen dark, but he kept glancing toward it. Finally, with a sigh, he unlocked it, fingers hovering before they began typing almost of their own accord:

“Something weird just happened. I think someone was in my apartment.”

He stared at the words, thumb frozen above the send button.

Jin would drop everything if he saw this. He’d worry, he’d blame himself for not being here, for choosing work over him tonight. Akin could almost hear his voice, low and guilty, telling him to wait, that he was on his way.

And Akin wanted that. God, he wanted it.

But Jin was already stretched too thin. He didn’t need another weight dragging at him.

Slowly, Akin deleted the message. The screen dimmed again, leaving him alone with the silence.

And beneath it all, the certainty thrummed steady in his veins. The brooch hadn’t ended up at his bathroom door by accident. Someone had been here. Right outside. While he was alone. Showering.

He towelled off his hair in silence; every small noise of the house magnified the hum of the fridge, the creak of a pipe, the faint shift of wood as if settling under a weight.

He told himself it was nothing, that it had to be nothing.

Still, as he moved through the house, switching off lights and closing doors, he found his eyes darting toward corners, his ears straining for a sound that didn’t belong. Each shadow seemed to stretch a little longer, each pause between sounds just a little too deep.

By the time he sank onto the couch, phone on the table beside him, the weight of the silence pressed close, heavy enough to feel against his ribs. He thought of Jin still at work, still hours away. The thought should have comforted him, but instead it sharpened the space between now and later, as if he were holding his breath until the key finally turned in the lock.

He leaned back, forcing himself to close his eyes, to breathe, to act as though nothing was wrong. Because if he let himself believe otherwise, he wasn’t sure he’d be able to stop.

Chapter Text

When Jin finally walked into the house, Akin was slumped over the couch, a damp towel sliding off his shoulder. He looked like he had been waiting, only to doze off under the weight of his exhaustion. Jin’s lips curved softly. Cute, but if he left him there, Akin would wake up with his neck screaming.

Quietly, he slipped off his shoes, dropped his keys in the bowl, and bent down to lift him. Akin stirred faintly, murmuring something incoherent, but Jin only hushed him, sliding an arm under his back and another beneath his knees. He carried him to the bedroom, careful with each step.

Just as Jin lowered him onto the bed, Akin startled awake, his body jerking, breath ragged, hands shooting up as though to defend himself. His wide, disoriented eyes darted around the dim room, chest rising too fast, panic raw and unguarded.

“P’Kin!” Jin froze, crouching by the bed so he wasn’t looming. “It’s me. It’s just me.”

For a moment, Akin looked like he didn’t even recognise him, his eyes unfocused, fists knotting into the blanket, shoulders trembling as if he were bracing for a blow.

Jin’s chest tightened. This wasn’t just fatigue. He reached for Akin’s hand, deliberately slow, as though approaching something fragile. “Hey, Phi. It’s me. You’re safe. I’ve got you.”

The words seemed to finally reach him. Akin blinked hard, his gaze latching onto Jin at last, the wild panic in his breathing easing only slightly. The sound he let out wasn’t the sigh of someone worn down from work; it was the sharp, unsteady exhale of someone shaken to their core.

Jin brushed the damp hair from his forehead, studying him closely. He knew exhaustion when he saw it. This was something else. “What’s wrong?” he asked softly, though Akin only shook his head.

He swallowed, almost as if the words hovered on his tongue before retreating. Instead, he let Jin settle the blanket over him and whispered, “Sorry.”

“No need for that. Just give me 5 minutes. I will change out of my clothes and wash up.” Jin didn’t press yet. He lowered his forehead to Akin’s, grounding him, though his own thoughts were far from calm. Whatever this was, it wasn’t just overwork. Something had rattled Akin, and Jin would find out what.

When Jin slipped into bed, Akin immediately curled against his shoulder, fitting into the space like he always did. Jin lifted his arm to let him settle, fingers brushing absently along Akin’s hair.

“Phi,” he murmured after a moment, softer now, “are you okay? Did something happen?” His voice carried the quiet insistence of someone who already knew the answer.

Akin hesitated, his body taut in Jin’s arms. For a moment, Jin thought he might deflect again, but then Akin’s voice, hushed and raw, broke the silence.

“I… I don’t know. When I got out of the shower, I heard something drop. I thought maybe someone broke in. But…” He swallowed hard, his hand curling into the fabric of Jin’s shirt. “All I found was that brooch. The golden stag. Right outside the bathroom door.”

Jin stilled, his hand pausing mid-stroke in Akin’s hair. “The one you told me about before?”

Akin nodded against his shoulder, breath shaky. “I keep feeling like someone’s been… watching me. Following me. And tonight it didn’t feel like my imagination anymore.”

Jin’s jaw tightened, his eyes narrowing in the dim light. His voice was steady, but there was an edge to it now, the tone he used when he’d already decided something. “Okay. We’re not brushing this off. Tomorrow, I’m changing the locks, and I’ll get someone to check the place; windows, cameras, everything.”

Akin shifted, uneasy. “Jin, maybe it’s nothing. I don’t want you-”

“It’s not nothing,” Jin cut in, gentle but firm. “You were shaken up enough to think someone was inside. That’s all I need to know.” He cupped the back of Akin’s head, forcing him to meet his gaze. “I don’t care if it turns out to be a false alarm. I’m not taking chances with you, Phi.”

Akin’s throat worked, the protest dying before it left his lips. The tension in his body remained, but beneath it was a flicker of relief like maybe, just maybe, he didn’t have to carry this fear alone.

Jin lay back against the headboard, one arm curled protectively around Akin as he shifted closer, resting against his chest. Akin’s eyes felt impossibly heavy, the pull of sleep stronger now that Jin was here, his warmth grounding him in a way nothing else could. For a moment, the dread that had been eating at him dulled to a quiet ache.

But even as his breathing slowed, Akin could sense it; Jin’s body wasn’t fully at rest. His chest didn’t rise and fall in the steady rhythm of sleep, his muscles still faintly taut beneath the surface. After a pause, Akin tilted his head just enough to glance up.

Jin’s eyes were open, staring into the dim room, alert even in the quiet. He wasn’t just holding him; he was keeping watch.

“You’re not sleeping,” Akin murmured, his voice husky with drowsiness.

Jin’s gaze shifted down at once, softer now but unwavering. “Go back to sleep, Phi. I’ll stay up.”

Akin’s throat tightened, a mixture of guilt and gratitude pressing against his chest. “You don’t have to-”

“I do,” Jin cut in gently, brushing his thumb along Akin’s shoulder. “Until I know you’re safe, I do.”

Akin swallowed hard, unable to argue, not when he could hear the quiet conviction in Jin’s voice. He burrowed closer, letting the steady beat of Jin’s heart drown out the echo of his own unease.

“How was your day? Did you find out if you could go to the wedding?” So what if Jin wasn’t falling asleep? Akin would stay up with him, too. They hadn’t really gotten a chance to talk; now, clearly, neither of them could.

Jin blinked at him, a little surprised, before his mouth curved into a small smile. “It was fine. And yes, I don’t have anything hindering the day. There’s one photoshoot, but I can finish it in the morning and then go to the wedding.”

“Oh, that’s good.” Akin hesitated for a beat, curiosity slipping through his fear. “Are they your school friends?” He wasn’t sure why he asked it now, of all times, maybe because the dread of the brooch still pressed at the back of his mind, and he needed something else to focus on. Something more human, more grounding.

“Kind of,” Jin said after a moment. His tone was light, but something in his eyes shifted, turning quieter. “I grew up with them.”

Akin frowned, not quite catching the weight behind those words. “You mean… like neighbours? Childhood friends?”

“No.” Jin’s gaze dropped, a flicker of tension tightening his jaw. “The orphanage.”

For a long second, Akin could only stare. The word sank in slowly, reshaping everything he thought he knew. “Wait, you grew up in… an orphanage?”

Jin glanced back at him, the faintest confusion knitting his brow. “You didn’t know?” There was no accusation in his voice, only mild surprise as though this fact had been so openly documented, so casually spoken about by strangers, that he couldn’t quite imagine someone close to him not knowing.

Akin shook his head, throat tightening. “No, I… I didn’t. I never looked you up online.”

That made Jin pause. The faint crease in his brow deepened, and for once, he looked unsure. “You didn’t?”

“I didn’t want to,” Akin admitted, words rushing out, softer than he intended. “I wanted to know you the way you wanted to be known, not through headlines or gossip. Just… you. What you tell me. What you choose to share.” He swallowed, guilt prickling at the edges of his voice. “Maybe I should have asked more, but I thought… it wasn’t my place to dig.”

The silence stretched. Jin stared at him, something unreadable flickering in his expression. He had lived his whole life under the weight of people already knowing too much about his childhood, summarised in articles, his life reduced to public knowledge. Yet here Akin was, sitting across from him, admitting he’d deliberately chosen not to pry. It was so foreign it almost felt unreal.

“…That’s new,” Jin said finally, his voice a low murmur. He tried for a smile, but it came out faint, a dialogue.

Akin’s chest clenched. He reached for Jin’s hand without thinking, squeezing gently. “Did you ever… try to look for them?”

“My parents?” Jin’s lips pressed together. For a moment, he didn’t answer, his eyes drifting toward the ceiling as though searching for words that wouldn’t come. “…No. I thought about it a couple of times. But the truth is… It’s complicated. And maybe I don’t want to know. If they left me, maybe it’s better not to dig into why. The orphanage was home. The kids there, the caretakers that was my family. The rest…” He trailed off, voice thinning into quiet. “The rest is just a blank I don’t need to fill.”

Akin could feel the heaviness settling over him, pressing close, as if Jin had cracked open a door he usually kept bolted shut. He hated the thought of Jin carrying that weight alone. Shaking his head, he shifted closer, grounding himself with the simplest truth he knew. “You’re not alone now. You don’t have to carry all of that by yourself anymore. I don’t care where you came from. I care about you right here, right now. That’s what matters. That’s what I know.”

The intensity in his voice seemed to still Jin. For a heartbeat, Jin only stared at him, eyes flickering with something raw, almost disbelieving. Akin’s words hung between them, soft but unwavering, like a promise.

The room fell into quiet. Akin could feel his own pulse thrumming, feel the ghost of the brooch still lingering at the edge of his thoughts, but for the first time since he’d seen it, he wasn’t drowning in paranoia. Jin’s presence, solid, steady, and so very here, made the fear bearable. He could breathe.

Then Jin exhaled, the corner of his mouth twitching, and he leaned closer, cutting through the heaviness with a teasing lilt. “You know, for someone who claims he’s not curious, you ask a lot of questions.”

Akin blinked, thrown by the sudden shift. “I wasn’t-, I’m not-”

Jin chuckled, low and warm, cutting him off. “Sure, you’re not. Next, you’ll be asking what size shirt I wear, what kind of toothpaste I use…” He leaned in closer, voice dropping to a teasing whisper, “…how many times I wake up at night just to make sure you’re still here.”

“Jun!” Akin sputtered, heat rushing into his cheeks.

Jin only laughed softly, brushing his thumb across Akin’s face. “See? I knew you were curious.”

Akin scowled weakly at him, but the heaviness from before had already lightened, replaced by the flutter of something warmer. Even with the shadows of the brooch still lurking at the back of his mind, Jin had found a way to make him feel safe, and for now, that was enough.

Akin tried to protest again, but Jin’s quiet laughter smoothed the edges of his words, leaving only the warmth of it between them. He felt the thumb still brushing across his cheek, steady and reassuring, grounding him in a way no explanation ever could. The memory of the brooch, the prickle of fear in his chest, it all dimmed beneath the simple fact of Jin’s nearness.

He shifted closer, tucking himself into the curve of Jin’s body, the fabric of his shirt cool against his temple. Jin didn’t move away, only adjusted to hold him more securely, his breathing calm and unhurried. For the first time that night, Akin’s own heartbeat began to settle, syncing to the rhythm pressed against his ear.

His eyelids grew heavier despite his best efforts to stay awake. The dread was still there, lurking in the corners of his mind, but it couldn’t reach him here. Not with Jin’s arm looped around him, not with that steady heartbeat anchoring him to the present.

“I’m not curious,” he mumbled one last time, though it came out softer now, blurred at the edges by drowsiness.

Jin’s quiet hum was the only reply, warm and indulgent. And with that, Akin finally let the dark draw him under, not into restless unease, but into the kind of sleep that came only when he felt safe.

For a long while after, Jin lay still, feeling the weight of Akin against him. The quiet in the room was deep, yet his own mind stirred restlessly. He thought of the brooch, the strange, intrusive echo in Akin’s voice when he’d spoken of it. He didn’t believe in ghosts, but something about it was off, enough to coil unease low in his chest. He couldn’t dismiss it as nothing. No matter what Akin thought, Jin would be watching. He would find out what had unsettled him, and he would deal with it. That was not up for debate.

But beneath that sharper resolve lay another, quieter current, the weight of the conversation they had brushed against earlier. About his past. About the orphanage. He had never minded that the world knew; it was just a fact, one that followed him in every article, every interview. Yet speaking it aloud to Akin had been different. It wasn’t the telling itself; it was the way Akin had listened, without pity, without distance, with only a soft and genuine curiosity.

It left Jin both exposed and strangely lighter, as though an old wound had been touched not to reopen it, but to remind him it was seen. And that, perhaps, it didn’t have to be carried in silence.

He glanced down at the man in his arms, taking in the softened features, the faint crease still lingering between his brows even in sleep. He brushed a thumb lightly across Akin’s temple, a gesture so careful it wouldn’t wake him.

Akin had trusted him enough to confess his fear. Jin, in turn, had trusted him with pieces of his past. That mattered. More than he could put into words in this dark, quiet moment.

So he stayed awake, eyes on the window and the shifting shadows, his arm firm around Akin. Whatever threatened his peace, be it an intruder, a memory, or an echo from the past, Jin would not let it touch him. Not tonight.

Chapter Text

Akin had finally caved in and told Sine about the strange things that had happened over the past few days. After last night’s conversation with Jin and the way he had promptly decided to secure his house, Akin realised how important it was for his company to know about this too.

Being in the public eye always came with scrutiny and the danger of being stalked. Before Jin, there hadn’t been much to unearth about him, but now, while the stalking itself would still be an issue, the danger ran deeper. It wasn’t just about his safety anymore. If the wrong information slipped into the world, it could threaten both of their careers, and worse, Jin’s peace.

Someone had been in his house last night. He was sure of it now; he hadn’t imagined the brooch outside the bathroom door. And the thought twisted his stomach until he could barely breathe: what if Jin had been there with him? In the house. In the shower. What if the stalker’s motives hadn’t stopped at watching?

Fans already dissected every accidental brush of their hands in a photo, every angle in which they seemed too close. Both of them had become careful, almost painfully so. Tinted car windows. No public dates. Maintaining measured distances even when they ached to close them.

Akin hated it, but he understood why it was necessary. Even if their fans might one day accept them, Jin’s company would not. Even Jade, who often teased him mercilessly, had warned him in a rare moment of seriousness to be careful. Their careers would change if the truth spilt, and not in the way either of them wanted.

After Jin’s confession about his past, Akin dreaded the thought of anyone digging deeper into him. Jin had seemed almost resigned to it, the way his personal history was always within reach of strangers’ curiosity. But to Akin, it had felt like a knife. Jin gave so much of himself away already to his work, to his fans, and to Akin himself. He shouldn’t have to surrender more.

Akin had made a silent promise: he would be the one person Jin never had to perform for. He would guard that trust, guard him. More than ever, he wanted Jin to meet his grandmother. She was the one person whose opinion had always grounded him, the one whose blessing mattered above all else. And she would see what he already knew: Jin made him happy in an undeniable way. That Jin was family.

The thought comforted him as he walked beside Sine out of the building, the air cooler against his flushed skin after a long day.

“Has my grandmother sent a letter back?” he asked suddenly, the question slipping out as naturally as a sigh.

“No, not yet.” Sine shot him a look as they stepped into the street. “You should really just buy her a phone, you know.”

“She won’t accept it,” Akin said with a small laugh. “She says letters feel more like having a real conversation.”

“Both you and your grandmother are so artistic.” Sine smiled, shaking his head in fond exasperation. “If you miss her too much, let me know when you’re going to meet her. I’ll clear the schedule for you.”

Akin only nodded, warmth tightening in his chest. He missed her terribly. As soon as there was even a sliver of free time, he would take Jin to meet her. Jun deserved that small corner of peace.

But then, just as his foot touched the curb, a girl in a baseball cap stepped directly into his path.

“Do you remember me?” she asked, her voice deceptively casual.

At first, Akin only blinked, thrown by her sudden presence. But then her face. He knew her face. Too well. It flickered across his memory like snapshots: outside his events, lingering at stage doors, loitering near the grocery store a few days ago. Always just on the periphery, like a shadow he couldn’t quite shake.

And then another memory slid sharp and cold into place, her fingers playing absently with a pin. A golden stag brooch. His brooch.

His throat closed.

Before he could take a step back, she grabbed his hands. Her grip was startlingly firm, her fingers pressing into his skin as if she’d rehearsed this moment over and over. She tilted her face up at him, her eyes bright with a strange kind of devotion.

“Your hands are so soft,” she whispered, almost reverently. “Softer than I imagined.”

Akin’s chest locked, his instinct screaming at him to pull away, but the pressure of her grip rooted him in place. He tried to wrench his hands free, but she clung on, nails digging faintly into his skin.

Sine stepped forward sharply. “Let go,” he snapped, already reaching to pry her fingers off.

But she didn’t budge. She only smiled, eyes flicking up at Akin’s with a familiarity that made his stomach turn.

“I have a letter for you, Akin,” she murmured, her voice almost singsong. “Your grandma would be so happy for you.”

The words detonated inside him. For a moment, all sound drained from the world, the city traffic, Sine’s muttered curses, even the rush of his own breath. His grandmother. His letter.

The one where he had written about Jin.

About how happy he was. About how he wanted them to meet.

His vision blurred, white at the edges, nausea sweeping through him in a sudden, choking wave. His most private confession words meant only for her eyes had been violated.

Before his body could react, Sine had already yanked a brown envelope out of her grip, his movements brisk and edged with fury. “What the hell is this?” he growled, tearing the flap open.

The girl only tilted her head, her smile widening like she was sharing a secret. “I’ve been keeping everything safe for you. Things you didn’t even know you’d lost.”

Akin’s pulse hammered.

From the envelope, Sine pulled a stack of glossy photographs.

Akin’s heart lurched violently in his chest.

The first image shows Jin’s head buried in his neck, his own face turned up, eyes closed, mouth slack with trust and intimacy.

A memory he had cherished like a secret. The night in the classroom. The night Jin had held him so close, he could almost believe nothing outside that room existed.

And now it was here, in someone else’s hands. Cheaply printed. Tainted.

Sine’s curse cut sharply through the thick silence. His grip on the photos crumpled the edges, his jaw hard enough to crack. He turned to the girl, voice seething. “Where did you get these?”

But Akin barely heard him. He couldn’t tear his eyes away from the picture, the grotesque violation of what had been theirs alone.

For the first time in a long time, he felt truly exposed.

Sine had to drag him back inside the building physically. His grip on Akin’s arm was firm, grounding, but Akin barely registered it. His feet moved only because Sine pulled them forward, one step at a time. The world around him blurred into muted noise and vague colour, like he was moving through water.

All he could feel was the sharp, acidic, crawling violation under his skin.

The photographs.

The brooch.

His letter.

Things he had held so close to his heart, things that belonged only to him, to Jin, to his grandmother. Now torn out of his hands, touched, tainted and left in the grasp of a stranger who smiled as she owned them.

It was as though the walls between his private life and the public eye had collapsed in one brutal strike.

He barely noticed when they entered the company’s conference room. The scrape of the door shutting, the sudden quiet, chairs shifting, none of it seemed real. He let himself be pushed into a chair, his body heavy and stiff, his eyes unfocused on the polished wood of the table.

Jade’s voice, sharp with urgency, cut through the fog. “We need to know how many photos she has. Whether she’s already distributed them. If the press-”

“Her obsession wasn’t random,” the publicist was saying, words clipped, rehearsed. “The brooch, the letter, it’s escalation. She’s been planning this for a while.”

But Akin couldn’t keep up. The words scattered the moment they reached him, breaking apart before they formed sense.

What he saw instead was her face, smiling as she clung to his hands. The way she had spoken about his grandmother, as though she had any right to even breathe that word. And then his own face in those photographs. Tilted back. Exposed. Trusting Jin so deeply that night that he hadn’t once thought of the world beyond the classroom door.

She had been there. Watching.

Akin’s breath faltered. His stomach twisted violently, and for a terrifying second, he thought he might actually be sick right there at the table. A sour, crawling heat crept up his neck, over his scalp.

He pressed his palm to his chest as though he could push the panic back down, but it didn’t stop the images from flashing, jagged and raw. Her fingers were on the brooch. Her voice whispers about his hands. Her camera catches Jin’s mouth against his skin, his own body undone.

He felt stripped. Defiled.

“Akin.” Jade’s voice cracked suddenly, breaking through the suffocating silence in his head. He hadn’t even realised the room had gone quiet until then.

His eyes lifted slowly, but they didn’t quite focus. Jade leaned forward, brows furrowed so tightly that it carved deep lines in his face. He looked scared.

“Hey. Look at me.” Jade’s hand tapped sharply against the table, trying to call him back. “Akin. Stay here with me. Don’t. Don’t drift off, okay?”

But Akin’s gaze slipped right past him, hazy and faraway. The conference room, Jade, the table, they were all dissolving at the edges, unreal compared to the razor-sharp clarity of what he’d lost.

Jade swore under his breath, pushing his chair back with a scrape. He crouched in front of Akin, forcing himself into his line of sight. “I’m right here. It’s fine, we’ll handle this. But you need to breathe, Akin. You’re not-” 

He stopped, his throat tightening. His hand twitched like he wanted to grab Akin’s but didn’t dare. “Shit. He’s not even hearing me.”

For someone who was rarely rattled, Jade’s voice carried real fear now.

Akin blinked, slow, his chest heaving, but it was clear he wasn’t really seeing Jade. His eyes were glassy, locked somewhere no one else in the room could follow.

Sine glanced over, jaw tight, and muttered, “This isn’t working.”

Jade hesitated only a second before pulling his phone from his pocket. His hand shook faintly as he scrolled, then pressed the call button.

When the line connected, Jade didn’t waste time. His voice dropped, urgent and raw.

“Jin. You need to come to the company. Now. It’s about Akin.”

There was a pause on the other end, then Jin’s voice came fast, sharp. “What happened? Is he hurt?”

Jade closed his eyes, fighting for calm. “Not physically. But he’s… shaken. Really shaken. He’s barely responsive.”

“What do you mean, shaken? What happened to him?” Jin pressed, his tone already fraying with alarm.

Jade swallowed, glancing back at Akin, who sat staring blankly at the table, knuckles white against his knees. His chest tightened. “A stalker. She confronted him outside the building. She had photos. Personal ones. It looks like a classroom.”

The silence on the other end was brutal.

Then Jin’s voice came, low and lethal. “She was in the building that night?”

Akin had been right after all. Someone had been in his home. As soon as he can, he will change all the locks in Akin’s house. Or better yet, he will take him back to his apartment. It was safer. But first, he needed to get to his P’Kin.

“Yes. We don’t know how long or how many pictures she has, but-” Jade exhaled sharply, pinching the bridge of his nose. “That doesn’t matter right now. What matters is Akin. He’s not… he’s not himself. He’s gone quiet in a way that scares me.”

Jin’s voice softened, but the steel underneath didn’t waver. “I’m on my way. Don’t let him be alone until I get there.”

“You think I’d leave him like this?” Jade snapped, but his voice cracked halfway through.

There was no response, just the sound of movement keys, a door slamming, Jin already moving.

“Ten minutes,” Jin said finally. “Stay with him. I’ll handle the rest when I get there.”

The call cut, but Jade let out a shaky breath of relief. He turned to look at Akin again, whose gaze remained distant, body stiff, the storm still swallowing him whole.

Jade was sure that, if no one else, Jin would be able to bring Akin back.

Chapter Text

Jin barely remembered leaving his apartment. One moment, Jade’s words had cut through the phone: “he’s barely responsive”, and the next, he was tearing through the city, headlights flashing across his windshield as the car ate up the streets. His hands were welded to the steering wheel, his knuckles pale, every muscle in his body pulled taut as though sheer force could drag him to Akin faster.

Akin had been right. Someone had been in the building that night. Someone had touched what was theirs, his and Akin’s, and taken it. And now Akin was left carrying the weight of that violation alone. The thought made Jin’s chest tighten until he could barely breathe.

The traffic blurred past, meaningless. He barely registered the red lights he skimmed too close to, the horns that chased his back bumper. His mind kept circling Jade’s voice, sharp with fear: He’s gone quiet in a way that scares me.

Jin knew exactly what that meant. He’d seen glimpses of it before, moments where Akin retreated so deep inside himself that the world couldn’t reach him. But Jade wasn’t exaggerating; he had sounded shaken, almost desperate.

And that terrified Jin more than anything else.

The image of Akin’s smile that morning rose unbidden: soft, teasing, the way his eyes had lit when Jin had leaned in too close to hear him laugh. Now that same man was sitting somewhere in a sterile conference room, drowning in silence. Jin slammed his palm against the wheel, the sound sharp in the confined space.

“No,” he muttered under his breath, voice raw. “Not alone. Not like this.”

He would not let Akin face this violation as though it were his shame to carry. He would not let him disappear into that quiet, unreachable place. If Akin couldn’t speak, Jin would sit beside him until he did. If Akin couldn’t breathe, Jin would breathe with him until his chest loosened. Whatever it took, he’d drag him back.

The company building loomed into view, its glass windows glowing against the night. Jin didn’t slow until he screeched into the front drive, ignoring the startled guard’s shout as he flung the car door open. His shoes slapped against the pavement, each step pounding with the same frantic beat as his heart.

Inside, the fluorescent lights were harsh, the halls too white and clinical. They smelled like polish and cold air, nothing of comfort. He hated the thought of Akin sitting in this place, stripped raw and surrounded by people who only saw the problem, not the person.

His strides lengthened. He didn’t bother with courtesy; whoever tried to stop him, he brushed past with clipped apologies, his eyes fixed forward. He had one destination.

When he reached the conference room, he paused only long enough to pull a breath into his lungs, steeling himself. He needed to be steady when he walked through that door, for Akin’s sake.

Jin pushed it open.

The door swung open with a soft thud, and the low hum of voices inside faltered. Heads turned. But Jin didn’t see them.

He saw him.

Akin sat at the far end of the table, shoulders hunched, body rigid as though he’d been carved from stone. His hands gripped his knees so tightly his knuckles gleamed white, and his eyes, God, his eyes, were vacant, fixed on some faraway point Jin couldn’t follow.

It was wrong. So wrong.

This wasn’t his P’Kin, who always sparkled with quick wit and quiet steadiness, who teased him with arched brows and grounding touches. This was someone hollowed out, untethered, as though the person Jin loved had been peeled away and left raw, exposed.

The sight knocked the air from his lungs. For one horrifying heartbeat, Jin couldn’t move. His pulse roared in his ears, a single word pounding in time with it: Mine. Mine. Mine.

Jade rose from his crouch by Akin’s chair, relief flashing in his face the instant he saw Jin. “Thank God,” he muttered, stepping aside without hesitation.

Jin crossed the room in three strides. He didn’t even notice the publicist, didn’t care about the stack of photos scattered like poison across the table. His whole focus tunnelled to the man in front of him.

“Akin.” His voice was low, urgent, rough with emotion. He crouched down so they were level, his knees protesting against the hard floor, but his body steady, anchoring. “P’Kin, it’s me. I’m here.”

No flicker. No recognition. Just that distant stare.

Jin’s chest constricted. He reached out carefully, his hand hovering for a breath before brushing lightly against Akin’s arm. The heat of his skin felt feverish under Jin’s fingertips, tense and trembling.

“It’s me,” he whispered again, softer now, the words almost breaking. “Jun’s here. You’re not alone.”

For a moment, the silence pressed down like a weight. Then Akin blinked, slow, heavy, but real. His gaze shifted, the faintest crack in that blank distance. Jin caught it like a lifeline, his breath catching.

“That’s it,” Jin murmured, thumb stroking over Akin’s sleeve. “Stay with me. Just look at me.”

Jade swallowed audibly behind him, the room holding still, no one daring to speak. He forced himself to step back, giving Jin and Akin a sliver of privacy, though his eyes kept flicking to Akin’s pale face. The three of them, Jade,  Meek, and Sine, huddled toward the far end of the table, voices low but urgent.

And Jin, crouched in front of Akin, didn’t let go for a second. He swore silently: whatever needed to be done, he would do it. Akin would not need to think about this longer than necessary.

“Based on the CCTV footage, we can report her for trespassing and assault,” Sine said first, his voice clipped with anger.

Jade exhaled hard through his nose, flipping his lighter open with a sharp click. The flame flared, and he drew in the first drag of his cigarette like it was oxygen. “Yeah. But what if she gets pissed and releases those photos? What then?”

 Meek folded her arms, frowning. “That’s the risk. If they go public, we’re worse off than we are now. It’s not just about Akin’s safety anymore; it’s reputational damage. Both careers.”

Jade tapped the ash into an empty coffee mug, his jaw tight. “If we let her off the hook, she escalates. Or worse, she uses the photos to dangle us on a string. We have to fight back somehow.” He dragged again, the smoke curling around his face. “I might have an idea, but it’s a gamble.”

“You should really quit that habit,”  Meek muttered, waving a hand at the haze forming around them.

Jade ignored her, already flicking open the lighter again as his first cigarette dwindled to the filter. The second stick flared to life. His nerves weren’t settling; if anything, they wound tighter with every breath.

“She’s vanished for now,”  Meek continued, tone steady, “probably hiding. Fans online already pieced together that she’s been showing up at multiple events, stalking Akin. Some of them are posting photos of her, calling her out. She’s radioactive in the fandom; no one will defend her.”

“At least that buys us time,” Sine said, arms crossed. His voice was calmer, but his expression wasn’t. “We need to use it. Let’s prepare a press conference, get ahead of this story before she can twist it.”

Jade lit a third cigarette before the second was even out. His fingers shook faintly as he exhaled, smoke clouding the room. The sharp smell stung in the back of his throat, but he kept going, his thoughts spiralling through possible headlines, hashtags, disaster control.

At the other end of the table, Jin was still murmuring to Akin, steady and grounding, a hand never leaving his arm. And slowly, so slowly, Akin’s eyes began to focus again.

The world didn’t feel so far away anymore. He was aware of Jin’s presence first, that unwavering warmth anchoring him. Then, gradually, the room around him sharpened the low voices, the scrape of chairs, and most of all, the acrid, suffocating smell of smoke.

He coughed suddenly, harsh and jarring in the silence. His throat burned.

Jin immediately leaned closer. “P’Kin?”

Akin shook his head, voice hoarse but firm. “The smoke… Jade, could you… Open a window? Blow it outside?”

For a moment, Jade froze, cigarette halfway to his lips. The request landed like a slap. He had forgotten how the hell he could forget-

“Shit,” Jade muttered, already crushing the cigarette into the mug and striding toward the windows. He shoved one open with more force than necessary, leaning out to fan the smoke away. “Sorry, Akin. I wasn’t thinking.”

The cold night air rushed in, chasing out the haze.

Akin coughed once more, then let his eyes flutter shut briefly, breathing in the cleaner air. When he opened them again, he turned to Jin.

For the first time since it began, he was fully here.

The smoke thinned as Jade scrambled to crack the window open. For the first time since stepping into the building, the air felt lighter, less suffocating.

Jin hadn’t looked away once. His thumb brushed slowly over Akin’s knuckles, a steady, quiet reminder: I’m here.

Akin blinked, lashes fluttering as if surfacing from underwater. His gaze, once unfocused and glassy, shifted slowly, heavily, but deliberately until it found Jin’s face.

“Jun. Why are you here? Finished your shoot already?” he whispered, voice hoarse and trembling.

Jin leaned closer, his chest tightening at the sound. “You still have energy to worry about someone else?” he murmured back.

For the first time that night, Akin exhaled. Not fully, not freely, but enough. Slowly, the pressure gave way to tears as they dripped down his face. 

Jin dragged a chair close and sat, his knees brushing against Akin’s. He didn’t let go of his hand, clutching it as if the only thing anchoring him in that moment was the warmth of Akin’s skin. His voice cracked when he spoke, thick with guilt.

“I’m sorry…” He swallowed hard, pressing his forehead briefly against the back of Akin’s hand. “If I hadn’t come up with that stupid idea, none of this would have happened.”

Akin’s eyes, still hazy and bruised with exhaustion, softened. His free hand twitched as if it wanted to rise, but didn’t quite make it. Instead, his voice, thin but steady, carried across the quiet room.

“It’s okay.” He breathed the words, like he was trying to reassure not just Jin but himself. “No one wanted this to happen. You couldn’t have known.”

But Jin shook his head, jaw tight, grief twisting in his chest. He leaned closer, his grip trembling. “I will fix this myself, Akin. You don’t have to be afraid. I’ll protect you, whatever it takes, I swear it.”

Something fragile shifted in Akin at those words, his lips parting as though the promise itself reached deep into the hollow place where fear had made its home. His chest rose with a shaky inhale, and before he could crumble further, Jin pulled him into his arms.

Akin went stiff for a moment, startled, then slowly melted into the embrace. His forehead pressed against Jin’s shoulder, his breathing uneven but steadier than it had been minutes ago.

Across the room, Jade paused mid-drag on his cigarette and turned his back quickly, shoulders loosening with the smallest sigh of relief. Sine glanced over, her lips curving in something halfway between a smile and a release of long-held worry. Even Meek, who was always calculating, allowed a fleeting warmth to flicker across her face.

They all knew after so long carrying everything alone, after so long being admired yet untouchable, Akin finally had someone he could lean on.

Jin’s arms wrapped around him like a fortress, steady and unyielding, and for a long moment, Akin just let himself be held. The sharp edges of everything that had happened, the stolen photographs, the eyes of a stranger intruding into the most private corners of his life, still pressed in on him, suffocating and raw. He could almost see it when he closed his eyes: the camera’s lens, cold and unfeeling, capturing what was never meant for anyone but him and Jin. It made his skin crawl, made him want to scrub every inch of himself until the memory washed away.

But here, in Jin’s hold, the panic began to thin, like mist burning under the first light of dawn.

Jin’s heartbeat was strong against his ear, steady and grounding, a rhythm that cut through the chaos in his chest. The warmth of Jin’s hand against his back told him that he wasn’t alone, that the body he wanted to hide away had not been taken from him; it was still his, and it was being shielded now, not exposed.

Akin let out a shuddering breath he hadn’t realised he was holding. His fingers curled into the fabric of Jin’s shirt, clutching not just at the man but at the reassurance he offered without even meaning to. For the first time since the nightmare began, he wasn’t floating above his own body, watching someone else’s gaze violate it. He was here, present, anchored by Jin’s touch.

And Akin, still trembling, still bruised by fear, let himself believe, if only for this moment, that he was safe.

Chapter Text

Jin had refused to let Akin go back to his own house that night. The memory of the broken lock, of someone else’s hands touching what was meant to be Akin’s private sanctuary, was too fresh, too raw. The thought of him stepping back into those walls made Jin’s chest tighten with dread. So instead, he guided him quietly into his car and drove them both to his apartment.

“Just for tonight,” Jin murmured, though his tone made it clear it was non-negotiable. “Until I can get everything at your place fixed.”

Akin hadn’t protested. His silence said enough. He simply leaned back into the seat, staring out of the window with a vacant expression, his fingers loosely curled in his lap. Jin kept glancing at him at every red light, his hand aching to reach out and hold him the entire way home.

At the apartment, Jin slipped into caretaker mode. He coaxed Akin into eating something warm, nothing elaborate, just rice and soup, easy and soothing. Then he pressed a towel into his hands and urged him toward the shower. “It’ll help,” he said gently, brushing his thumb against the back of Akin’s knuckles. “I’ll wait right here.”

When Akin finally emerged, with damp hair falling into his eyes and the exhaustion etched deep into his face, Jin couldn’t stop himself from stepping forward and pulling him close. He guided him to the bedroom, tucking them both into bed without a word.

Now, with the lights dimmed and the quiet settling around them, Jin held him. His arms were firm around Akin’s waist, his chin tucked against his shoulder. He could feel the faint tremors still running through Akin’s body, even in the safety of this space, and it carved a deep ache into him. He wanted to fix it all to erase the photos, to crush the fear, to make the stalker vanish from existence. Whatever it took, he would do it.

But then another thought returned, sharp and unwelcome, the image of Akin coughing earlier in the conference room when Jade’s smoke had filled the air. The memory of him swaying unsteadily on set months ago, when they’d been asked to pose with cigarettes. Jin had never pressed at the time, distracted by the chaos of schedules and scripts, but now… now he couldn’t let it pass again.

He hesitated, his voice low, careful not to break the fragile quiet.

“Akin,” he murmured, brushing his thumb against the back of his hand. “The smoke earlier… it really affected you, didn’t it?” He paused, not wanting to push too hard. “You don’t have to tell me if it’s too much. I just… I want to understand.”

For a long while, he thought Akin wouldn’t answer. His breathing was steady, but there was a heaviness to it, as though he was weighing something against the silence. Then Akin exhaled, long and slow, and spoke so softly Jin almost didn’t hear it.

“My brother used to smoke.”

Jin’s chest tightened instantly. Brother? He didn’t even know Akin had one.

Akin’s voice carried that same faraway quality from earlier, as if his mind was walking back through years. “He was five years older than me. I used to sit with him while he played his guitar… he always had a cigarette in his hand. I thought he was invincible. My best friend.” His voice cracked, the words pulling jaggedly from his throat. “He died when he was seventeen. Cancer.”

Jin’s arms instinctively tightened around him, his breath catching.

Akin swallowed, his eyes fixed on the ceiling as though seeing something only he could. “That night, I lost him. And my parents too. They couldn’t handle it; they pulled away. Stopped seeing me.” His tone was flat, but underneath it was a raw wound Jin had never glimpsed before. “That’s why I can’t stand the smell. It’s like he’s still there, sitting with his guitar… and then I remember he’s not. That I lost them all in one night.”

Jin’s throat burned. He had no words, only the swell of heartbreak pressing against his ribs. He had thought Akin was an only child. He had never imagined this history of loss, this loneliness hidden beneath Akin’s quiet smiles and carefully measured boundaries.

When Akin finally turned his head, his eyes were glistening, though he wasn’t crying. “My grandmother took me in. She’s the reason I’m not completely… lost. She’s the only one who stayed.”

Jin’s chest clenched so tight it hurt. He leaned down and pressed his lips to Akin’s hair, holding him as if he could shield him from a past that still haunted him. “I didn’t know,” he whispered, his voice trembling. “But I’m here now. I’m not going anywhere.”

Jin had frozen at Akin’s words, his pulse hammering in his ears. Brother. The word echoed in his head like a sharp crack. How had he not known? How could he have shared nights and mornings, laughter and arguments, endless rehearsals and quiet silences with Akin, yet missed something this monumental?

A hollow ache opened in his chest, one part grief for the boy Akin had once been, one part shame for himself for not asking, for not noticing, for assuming he knew enough. He had been so focused on the present they were building together, on the future he dreamed of, that he hadn’t thought about the shadows in the past that might still cling to Akin’s steps.

He pressed his lips to Akin’s temple, his breath shuddering against his skin. “I didn’t know,” he whispered, guilt thickening every syllable. “I should have asked, I should have seen…”

Akin gave the smallest shake of his head, as if to tell him it wasn’t his fault, but that only twisted the knife deeper. Because Jin knew Akin had carried this alone. The smell of cigarette smoke wasn’t just irritation; it was loss, it was memory, it was pain, and Jin hadn’t been there to catch it.

What else have you hidden just to keep breathing? How many times have you swallowed the ache because no one thought to ask?

A fierce protectiveness flared inside him, hot and unyielding. He wanted to go back in time and pull the younger Akin out of that house, shield him from neglect, from grief too heavy for a child to bear. He wanted to find every moment Akin had felt unseen and rewrite it with his presence. He couldn’t, and the helplessness nearly broke him.

So all he had now, all he could cling to, was the promise that it wouldn’t happen again. That as long as he was here, Akin would never sit in silence with his pain, never believe he had to carry it alone.

“I swear to you,” Jin murmured against his hair, voice low and rough, “I won’t let you go through something like that alone ever again. Whatever comes, memories, stalkers, fans, fear, I’ll take it with you. You won’t have to hide from me.”

Akin’s fingers curled in the fabric of his shirt, gripping tighter as if those words were lifelines.

Jin held him through it, even as his own chest ached with the weight of promises he could only hope he was strong enough to keep. Because beneath all his determination, fear whispered still, what if I fail him? What if one day I’m not enough to protect him from this world, or from himself?

But when Akin’s breathing slowly evened, the trust in that simple, unconscious surrender quieted the fear. Jin kissed the crown of his head softly, reverently. I’ll fight harder. For you. Always for you.

The press conference took place a few days after the incident. It was meant to reassure the public, address the rumours about the stalker case, and control the spreading speculation about Akin and Jin’s relationship.

Akin had been sitting at a long table beside Mek and a few company representatives. The atmosphere was heavy with tension; cameras were flashing, reporters were murmuring, and the weight of a dozen unasked questions was hanging thick in the air.

Akin was visibly uncomfortable throughout. He tried to maintain a professional posture and a polite expression, but his hands trembled slightly under the table. Every question felt invasive, yet he was forcing himself to answer carefully, measured, respectfully, and emotionally detached. Mek had warned him earlier to stay neutral about the stalker, to avoid sounding angry or victimised, so as not to antagonise her or fuel further rumours.

When reporters brought up Jin, the air in the room tightened immediately. They were hinting at the older photos circulating online, implying there was more between the two than friendship. Akin’s pulse had spiked; he was glancing briefly toward the cameras, thinking of Jin’s arms around him just that morning. But he could remember Mek’s warnings and choose the only answer that could keep them both safe.

Brother. He called Jin his brother, someone he trusted deeply, someone he admired as a colleague. It made him nauseous to reduce their relationship like this, but he knew that needed to be done. On the surface, it sounded like a perfectly diplomatic statement. Inside, it was feeling like a betrayal of everything real between them.

The conference continued with more questions about the stalker. Akin was responding carefully. He was avoiding giving any specific details, though the memory of that girl’s voice, her grip, and the stolen photos was still replaying in his head.

By the end of the conference, the flashes, noise, and tension were leaving him completely drained. His shoulders were stiffening, his throat was dry, and his mind was spinning. Every polite answer felt like another layer of distance between his public image and his private reality.

Off-camera, Jin was watching, tense, protective, and furious beneath his calm exterior. He knew exactly how hard this was for Akin, how much each word was costing him. When Akin said, “like brothers,” Jin flinched, understanding but still hurt.

When the conference was finally ending, Akin was stepping off the stage with a carefully maintained smile. But the moment the cameras were gone, the mask was beginning to crack.

Akin fell into Jin’s arms the moment he stepped into the office, his composure finally giving way. He clutched Jin’s jacket tightly, his breath coming out in shaky bursts that he had been holding back all afternoon. The silence between them felt heavier than the noise of the conference hall; a silence filled with exhaustion, relief, and the ache of everything unsaid.

Jin held him close without saying a word at first. His hands are trembling slightly as they are pressing against Akin’s back, steadying him, grounding him. He had been watching Akin keep himself together for hours, and now, feeling him collapse like this broke something inside him, too.

Akin mumbled an apology into his chest, something incoherent, something about the things he had said, about calling him a brother. Jin shook his head immediately, his voice coming out low and steady, as if he was afraid that if he spoke too loudly, Akin might fall apart completely.

“It’s okay,” he said softly. “You’re doing what you have to.”

Akin shook, his fingers gripping tighter. “I hate this,” he whispered. “I hate pretending like you don’t matter more than anyone.”

Jin closed his eyes, resting his forehead against Akin’s. “I know,” he murmured. “But I’m right here. You don’t have to pretend now.”

The words wrapped around Akin like a safety net, pulling him back from the chaos of flashing cameras and murmured questions. He breathes slower now, the tension in his shoulders easing little by little. Jin wasn’t letting go; he just held him, one hand at the back of his neck, the other tracing small, grounding circles against his spine.

For the first time that day, Akin finally allowed himself to feel everything he had been holding back: the fear, the anger, the exhaustion, and the fragile relief of still having Jin beside him when it was over.

“Come, Phi, let’s go home. You’ve done enough for one day. I already have someone looking for her. Nothing to worry about. You just rest,” Jin murmured, brushing his thumb lightly along Akin’s jaw. His voice was calm, patient, the kind of calm that came from forcing down his own storm just to give Akin something solid to hold onto.

Akin only nodded faintly. The fatigue in his eyes wasn’t just from the flashing lights or the endless questions; it was the exhaustion of holding himself together in front of a world that refused to see him as anything but a headline.

Jin guided him toward the car without another word, his hand never leaving Akin’s back. The city outside was still buzzing, but inside the car, it felt like a fragile bubble of quiet had wrapped around them. Akin leaned his head against the window, eyes half-lidded, watching the streaks of neon lights blur into the night.

By the time they reached Jin’s apartment, the exhaustion had turned heavy, pulling at Akin’s movements. Jin helped him out of the car, guided him upstairs, and let him sink into the couch while he set down their things. For a while, neither spoke. The silence between them wasn’t awkward anymore; it was simply full. Full of everything they didn’t need to say aloud.

Jin disappeared briefly into the kitchen and returned with two mugs of chamomile tea, setting one down beside Akin. “Drink,” he said gently. “You’ll sleep easier.”

Akin wrapped his hands around the mug, the warmth seeping slowly into his skin. “You didn’t have to do all this,” he whispered, his voice hoarse from the day.

Jin sat beside him, their shoulders brushing. “I know,” he said simply. “But I wanted to.”

They stayed that way for a long time, Akin sipping slowly, Jin watching the city lights spill faintly through the curtains. Eventually, Jin reached over and took the empty mug from Akin’s hands, setting it aside. “Come on,” he said softly, standing and offering his hand.

Akin took it.

In the quiet of Jin’s bedroom, the world outside seemed distant, a different universe entirely. They lay down together, the air between them warm and still. Akin’s breathing soon grew slower, his head resting against Jin’s chest, the steady rhythm of Jin’s heartbeat lulling him into calm.

Jin stayed awake, tracing small circles against Akin’s shoulder, his mind restless. He kept thinking of Akin’s words from before, the story of his brother, the grief tucked between every quiet smile he’d ever seen, the stalker situation, everything. He wanted to do right by him to make up for all the times no one had stayed, no one had listened.

He looked down at the man sleeping in his arms, the faint light painting soft shadows across his face. “You’re safe,” he whispered into the dark. “You’re not alone anymore.”

The words weren’t just a promise; they were a vow. One he intended to keep, no matter what the world tried to take from them next.

Chapter Text

Morning came slowly.

The faint light filtering through the curtains painted the room in muted gold, gentle and hesitant, as if even the sun knew to tread softly around them. Jin was already awake, lying still, his arm draped loosely across Akin’s waist. He had barely slept every time Akin shifted or murmured in his sleep, he’d stirred, his mind replaying the press conference, the trembling in Akin’s hands, the weight of that single word: brother.

Now, in the quiet morning air, Akin was sleeping soundly for the first time in days. His breathing was even, his face relaxed, and some of the tension had finally melted away from his brow. Jin let out a slow breath he hadn’t realised he’d been holding. This, at least, felt right. Safe.

He brushed a strand of hair from Akin’s forehead, his touch feather-light, careful not to wake him. The bruised exhaustion beneath Akin’s eyes seemed softer now, still there, but dulled by rest. Jin’s heart clenched at the sight, a strange mix of tenderness and guilt.

He slipped out of bed quietly, padding barefoot into the kitchen. The apartment was hushed, only the faint hum of the refrigerator and the low rustle of city life outside. He brewed coffee for himself and warmed some milk for Akin, setting out toast and a small bowl of fruit. It wasn’t much, but it was familiar, grounding, something ordinary to hold onto when everything else was spiralling.

By the time Akin stirred awake, Jin was setting the mugs on the table.

“Morning,” Jin said softly, turning as Akin blinked against the light, his voice rough with sleep.

Akin’s eyes found him across the room, lingering there for a moment as if trying to make sense of being here in the safety, the quiet. 

“Morning,” he murmured, his voice low. Then, after a pause, “You didn’t sleep much, did you?”

Jin offered a faint smile, sitting beside him. “Didn’t want to.”

Akin frowned slightly. “You should’ve.”

“I couldn’t,” Jin admitted. “Not after yesterday.”

Silence settled between them again, soft but heavy with unspoken understanding. Akin reached for the mug, warming his hands around it before taking a small sip. He looked at Jin for a long moment, his expression unreadable, then whispered, “Thank you. For everything.”

“You don’t have to thank me,” Jin replied. “You just have to let me be here.”

That drew a small, tired smile from Akin, the kind that didn’t quite reach his eyes but still felt like a step forward. “You already are,” he said quietly.

For a moment, they just sat there, two people clinging to normalcy after the world had tried to pull it from under them. Jin wanted to freeze that moment, hold it, but the sharp vibration of his phone broke the fragile calm.

He glanced at the screen. Jade.

Jin’s stomach tightened. He hesitated, then answered, keeping his tone level. “Jade?”

His voice came through the receiver, sharp and low. “You both need to see this. Right now.”

Jin’s gaze flicked instinctively to Akin, who was watching him closely, the faint peace in his face already starting to dissolve.

“What happened?” Jin asked, though part of him already knew that fragile sense of safety had never lasted long for them.

Jade’s next words confirmed it.

“We found her, Jin. The stalker. She’s here, at the company building.”

Jin went still, his breath catching in his throat. For a second, all he could hear was the faint hum of the apartment, the coffee machine cooling, the city outside, and Akin’s quiet breathing beside him.

Jade continued, his tone urgent but controlled. “I have her in a secure room. She’s not resisting, but we need to decide what to do next, whether to press charges, involve the police, or handle it internally. I thought you and Akin should be the first to know.”

Jin’s fingers tightened around the phone. His heart was pounding, not from fear this time, but from a cold, focused rush of adrenaline. He looked up to meet Akin’s eyes.

“She’s been found,” Jin said quietly, carefully. “Jade has her at the company.”

Akin froze. The mug in his hands trembled slightly, and his expression flickered shock, fear, disbelief, then something else beneath it all: exhaustion. He had spent so long being haunted by her shadow that hearing she was real, contained, almost didn’t register.

Jin reached across the table, covering Akin’s hand with his own. “Jade wants to talk to us both there.”

Akin swallowed hard, staring down at their hands. For a long moment, he didn’t say anything. Then, with a shaky breath, he nodded. “Okay.”

Jin squeezed gently, steadying him. “You don’t have to face her if you don’t want to.”

“I know,” Akin murmured, his voice quiet but resolute. “But I need to. I can’t keep being afraid of her.”

Jin’s chest tightened with a mix of pride and worry. He wanted to protect him, shield him, but he also knew  Akin needed this closure.

“Alright,” Jin said finally, his tone softening. “We’ll go together.”

He hung up, exhaling slowly as he brushed his thumb over Akin’s knuckles. The fragile calm of the morning was gone, replaced by a quiet determination between them.

The conference room felt smaller than usual, its clean lines and glass walls holding too much tension in too little space.

Jade stood near the table, broad-shouldered and still in his blazer, arms crossed as he watched Akin with a careful, measured gaze. Jin leaned against the far wall, his silence heavy and deliberate. Akin sat opposite them, elbows on his knees, fingers clasped together, eyes lowered to the table’s smooth surface.

It had been hours since Jade had called.

They found her.

Now, she was being kept in another room down the hall under quiet supervision from the company’s security. Akin could feel her presence through the walls, that unsettling awareness that had shadowed him for months. Knowing she was a real person, not just a face behind a lens, made his skin crawl.

Jade spoke first, his voice low but hard-edged. “We can’t brush this off, Akin. She’s been tracking your every move for months. Photos, your letter, following you to sets and public appearances, this isn’t a mistake. It’s a pattern.”

Jin exhaled through his nose, his tone calm but firm. “If we make this public, it sets a precedent. People need to know there are consequences for this kind of behaviour.”

Akin nodded, but his gaze didn’t lift. He could feel their concern, heavy and justified, yet none of it reached him properly. There was a ringing in his ears, a faint echo of months’ worth of tension that refused to quiet.

“She’s not dangerous now,” he murmured, almost to himself. “Just… scared.”

“That doesn’t erase what she did,” Jin said. “You don’t get to invade someone’s life and call it devotion.”

Akin looked up, finally meeting his eyes. “I know. But before we do anything, before we take this to the police or the press, I need to talk to her. Alone.”

Jade’s brows drew together. “Akin, that’s not smart. You don’t owe her that.”

“It’s not about what I owe,” Akin said, voice steady but distant. “I just… need to understand why.”

The pause that followed was long and heavy. Jade sighed, glancing toward Jin in a silent exchange of worry, resignation, and trust. “Fine,” he said at last, his tone clipped. “But before you go in there, I’m wiping everything she’s got. I don’t want a single trace of you left on her phone.”

He didn’t wait for an answer. The door closed behind him with a soft but decisive click.

The corridor was dim, washed in sterile white light. When Jade entered the holding room, the woman flinched like she’d been struck. Her wrists twisted nervously in her lap, knuckles pale. The phone lay on the table between them, its screen glowing faintly.

“Unlock it,” Jade said, his tone quiet but absolute.

Her fingers shook as she obeyed. The sound of her swiping through galleries filled the silence, hundreds of images disappearing one by one, each click of deletion echoing like the snap of a thread. Jade watched her face, the guilt written there, the hollow look of someone who’d been living in delusion for too long.

“Everything,” he said again. “Every copy, from the cloud, drives and the recycle bin. Don’t stop until I say.”

When the last image vanished, Jade reached forward, checking the device himself for folders, hidden files, and storage. Clean. He exhaled through his nose, then set the phone face down on the table.

“He wants to speak to you,” he said, voice clipped. “Don’t try anything.”

She nodded mutely, tears pooling in her eyes.

Jade left without another word. In the hallway, he met Akin halfway and gave a small nod. “It’s done. She’s calm.”

Akin didn’t answer, only drew in a slow breath before stepping past him.

The air inside the room felt heavy, stale. The hum of the lights filled the silence, steady and unyielding. The woman sat still, her shoulders hunched, head bowed as if she were waiting for judgment.

Akin stopped a few feet away. For months, she had been nothing but a shadow glimpsed in the crowd, a flicker in the corner of his eye, the silent dread of knowing he was being watched. Seeing her now, fragile and hollow, he felt a strange dissonance. The fear that had ruled his life didn’t fit her anymore.

When she finally spoke, her voice broke. “I didn’t mean to hurt you.”

He didn’t reply. His pulse thudded in his ears, each beat echoing the months of anxiety and sleeplessness she had caused.

“You were the only light,” she whispered, voice trembling. “I just wanted to be near you. To protect you. You made me feel like I existed.”

The words hit him like a dull blow. They weren’t comforting; they were suffocating.

Akin wanted to hate her. To let the anger swallow the exhaustion. But looking at her, all he could see was someone who had fractured her obsession built on loneliness and delusion so deep it warped her world.

When he spoke, his voice was steady, though it felt like it was holding back everything he couldn’t let out.

“You scared me,” he said simply. “You took pieces of my life I didn’t give you. You made me afraid of just living my life.”

She sobbed quietly, but he didn’t move closer. He couldn’t.

“I don’t hate you,” he said finally. “But this can’t happen again. You need help, not me.”

The silence that followed was almost tender in its stillness, the kind that came after something broke. He turned before she could say anything more and walked out, the door clicking shut behind him.

When he stepped back into the conference room, the lights felt too bright.

Jade stood near the window now, his arms still folded, while Jin watched from the table. Both looked up as Akin entered.

He sank into the chair, elbows on his knees again, staring down at his hands.

“She said I was the only light in her life,” he murmured. “But she’s not well. None of this came from something sane.”

Neither man spoke. The silence stretched, filling the spaces between them like fog.

Finally, Akin exhaled. “We’ll file for a restraining order. Keep it quiet. No press. I don’t want her dragged through the news cycle; she won’t survive it.”

Jade frowned slightly. “You’re sure?”

Akin nodded. “I just want it to stop. I want to stop waiting for shadows to move.”

The words were soft, but final.

Jade studied him for a long moment, then gave a slow nod. “Alright.”

Jin’s gaze softened, a trace of quiet relief flickering in his expression.

Akin leaned back, closing his eyes for a breath. The image of her face, the trembling, broken kind of love that had crossed every line, lingered in his mind.

You were the only light.

He didn’t forgive her. He didn’t pity her. He only chose to let it end quietly, completely, because some endings didn’t need noise.

They just needed distance.

When they both finally got home, Akin sat down heavily on the couch, rubbing his hands over his face. He felt exhausted more emotionally than physically. All the months of looking over his shoulder and the constant feeling of unease were finally put to rest. 

Jin had asked Akin to go shower while he cooked something simple for them both. It had been a long day as it is. Akin had slowly nodded and showered. His movements were more mechanical, as he was lost in his own thoughts.

The apartment was quiet. Only the dim blue of the city leaked through the blinds, carving pale lines across the walls of the bedroom. The silence didn’t feel peaceful; it was too heavy, too awake. He sat on the edge of the bed, in Jin’s clothes, his fingers motionless against his knees. The scent of stir-fry from the kitchen lingered faintly in the air.

He could still hear her voice, thin, trembling, collapsing under the weight of her own guilt. You were the only light. It had replayed in his mind until it started to sound like static, stripped of emotion, just a noise that wouldn’t stop. The words had made something twist painfully inside him, not anger exactly, but a sick kind of pity. For her. For himself. For the version of him she had imagined so completely that she’d built her world around it.

He ran a hand over his face, pressing the heel of his palm against his eyes until white spots bloomed behind them. The conversation hadn’t given him closure, only exhaustion, the kind that seeps into your bones, makes breathing feel like work.

She’d looked broken. Truly. And still, somewhere deep down, he had wanted to ask her why him? What had she seen, what had she invented, that made her cross the line between admiration and obsession? But she didn't have an answer. Just apologies. Just trembling hands and wet eyes that didn’t quite seem to see him anymore.

He should’ve been relieved; it was over. Jade will take care of the company’s statements; they will go out clean, no noise, no scandal. And Jin would make sure all work related to the restraining order would be kept confidential, so no more harassment could take place. They had even made sure every trace of her obsession was erased. But there was still something stuck inside him. A quiet, invisible bruise that wouldn’t stop aching.

Akin stood and crossed to the window. The city looked unreal from here, motionless, lights flickering like distant stars. His reflection stared back at him, tired and hollow-eyed. He pressed a hand against the glass, the cool surface grounding him just enough to keep breathing steady.

The fear had been easier to manage when it had shape, when it was the sound of footsteps behind him, the weight of being watched. Now it was just silence. Silence with edges sharp enough to cut through thought.

There was a soft knock at the door. He didn’t answer, but the door opened anyway. Jin stepped in quietly, barefoot, the faint rustle of his shirt the only sound between them.

“P’Kin, are you okay?” Jin said, voice low.

Akin nodded slightly, eyes still on the window. “I think so”

Jin crossed the room slowly, stopping beside him. For a long moment, neither of them spoke. The air between them felt fragile, threaded with something unspoken, shared exhaustion, unvoiced worry.

“She won’t cause any more issues,” Jin said after a while. “Jade made sure of it. Everything’s done.”

Akin nodded again. He wanted to believe it. Wanted to feel that finality settle into his chest, but it didn’t. His throat tightened instead. “I saw her eyes,” he murmured. “She wasn’t angry. She was... lost.”

Jin didn’t say anything. Just stood beside him, close enough that Akin could feel the quiet steadiness in his presence.

“I should hate her,” Akin whispered. “But I don’t. I just…” His voice broke. He pressed his lips together, exhaled shakily, then sat back on the edge of the bed. His shoulders trembled once, twice, and then he lowered his face into his hands. “I just feel sick. Like it’s my fault somehow. That maybe if I’d been different, if I hadn’t ignored it, this wouldn’t have…”

Jin sat beside him, not touching him at first. He waited until Akin’s breathing hitched, until the silence cracked around the edges. Then he placed a hand gently on Akin’s back. The touch was steady, grounding.

“It’s not your fault,” Jin said quietly. “You didn’t ask for this.”

Akin didn’t look up. His shoulders rose and fell with uneven breaths. “I keep thinking about what she said. About me being her light. It’s like she built me into something I’m not. And now I don’t even know what’s real anymore. What do people see when they look at me?”

Jin’s hand tightened just slightly, a wordless response. “You’re real,” he said simply. “That’s enough.”

The room fell quiet again, save for the soft hum of the city outside. Akin lifted his head finally, eyes glassy with exhaustion. He let out a small, bitter laugh. “You sound like you believe that.”

“I do,” Jin said.

And something in his voice, steady, quiet, utterly certain, made Akin’s chest unclench, just a little. The tears came silently, falling without sound, without drama. He didn’t hide them. Jin didn’t look away.

After a while, when his breathing evened out again, Jin stood. “Come, try to eat something,” he said gently as he stood up.

Akin nodded, unable to speak, but took Jin’s hand as he led him outside.