Archive of Our Own ^beta

— 

Jun never confessed like someone who expected to be loved back.

In the dream, he always stood too straight—like if he bent even a little, he’d break. His fingers trembled. His mouth went dry. His heartbeat hit the inside of his ribs so hard he was sure Dylan could hear it and decide it was pathetic.

Dylan watched him with that familiar sharpness—arms folded, chin tilted, eyes narrowed like tenderness was a weakness he couldn’t afford. Dylan, who could say whatever like it meant don’t come closer.

Jun rehearsed disaster as if it were inevitable.

He’ll laugh.
He’ll walk away.
I’ll never survive seeing him again.

And still, every time, Jun forced the words out with a voice that didn’t feel like his.

“I… I like you.”

The silence afterward always felt holy.

Then Dylan smiled.

Not the stage smile—bright, practiced, harmless.
This one was private. Real. Like Dylan had been hiding it from the world and Jun had accidentally earned it.

It softened Dylan from the inside out—shoulders loosening, gaze warming, the sharp edges falling away like they’d been a costume he was tired of wearing.

Dylan opened his arms without hesitation.

“Come here,” he said.

Jun stepped into him like a man starving. Dylan’s embrace was firm—protective, sure—like Dylan was making a promise with his whole body:

You’re safe. You’re wanted. You’re mine to keep.

Jun’s face pressed into Dylan’s shoulder. The warmth flooded him, too much, too fast.

Home.

A person. A place he could rest without bracing for impact.

The feeling swelled until Jun couldn’t hold it.

He cried—every time—and every time he cried, he woke up.

White ceiling. Quiet room. Damp pillow. A throat sore from swallowing sobs he didn’t want anyone to know existed.

Two months.

Two months of waking up with sunlight in his chest and watching it rot into ash before he even stood up.

Because in real life, Dylan didn’t look at him like that.

In real life, Dylan’s affection came out sideways—sharp jokes, short sentences, careful distance. Like Dylan wanted to touch and refused himself at the last second. Like Dylan didn’t trust his own softness enough to let it show.

Jun told himself the only story that wouldn’t kill him:

Dylan was a friend. A teammate. A brother-shaped relationship he was allowed to have. Brotherhood meant you could fight and still protect each other. Brotherhood meant you could love someone without naming it.

But the dream didn’t feel like brotherhood.

The dream felt like Jun’s body confessing something Jun’s mind refused to say out loud.

One morning, Jun stared at his reflection—eyes swollen, mouth pressed tight—and the thought formed fully, sharp and terrifying.

Wait.
Am I… in love with him?

Jun laughed, bitter and small.

“No,” he lied to himself.

Then he went to rehearsal anyway.

—

The practice building smelled like sweat, hairspray, and coffee—familiar enough to be a shield.

Jun walked in with a bright expression already glued to his face.

And there Dylan was, in the hallway, holding a coffee cup like it was the only thing keeping him awake.

Dylan looked up and locked onto Jun with that precise attention that made Jun feel exposed.

“You’re early,” Dylan said.

Jun’s instinct was immediate: deny, deflect, don’t let anything soft show.

“I’m always early.”

Dylan’s eyebrow lifted. “Since when?”

Jun hated that Dylan knew him well enough to call him on a lie with one look. Hated that Dylan’s attention felt like a hand around his throat.

Jun scoffed. “Stop watching me.”

A flicker crossed Dylan’s face—surprise, then something that looked too much like hurt before Dylan buried it.

“I wasn’t,” Dylan said, too calm. “Relax.”

Jun’s pulse punched hard.

Because Dylan had looked like the dream for half a second—like he wanted to say something warmer—and Jun couldn’t survive hoping.

So Jun did what he’d been doing for weeks.

He pushed.

“You care now?” Jun asked, voice light but sharp. “Did you run out of people who actually like you?”

Dylan went still.

The silence between them sharpened like a blade.

Then Dylan’s voice came quiet enough to be dangerous. “What’s wrong with you lately?”

Jun swallowed. Forced a laugh. “Nothing’s wrong with me.”

Dylan’s gaze stayed on him—steady, careful. “You’ve been treating me like I’m your enemy.”

Jun looked away first, because if he didn’t, he might crack.

“Maybe you’re just annoying,” Jun said.

The words landed ugly.

Dylan blinked once. Twice. Hurt flickered through before his expression shut down like a door.

“Right,” Dylan said softly. “Okay.”

Jun turned and walked away too fast, pulse roaring in his ears.

He didn’t look back.

—

Jun marched straight into the practice room and threw his bag into the corner.

Maybe you’re just annoying.

The words replayed like a bruise you couldn’t stop pressing. He wanted to bite his tongue off for even having them in his mouth.

When Dylan finally walked in, he didn’t look at Jun.

Not once.

Jun told himself he deserved that.

An hour later—

“Cut.”

The music died abruptly.

Dylan stood in the center, chest rising and falling, sweat darkening his hairline. His voice sliced through the room—clean, precise, professional in the way it always was when he was trying not to be anything else.

“You’re lagging behind on the second beat,” Dylan said. “Your arms are too low. We’ve gone over this.”

Usually, this was the part where Jun snapped back. A sharp joke, a sharper glare—something that made Dylan flinch and pretend it didn’t.

But today, the echo of the dream—and the memory of Dylan’s face in the hallway, that brief flash of hurt Jun had caused—made Jun’s throat close up.

Come here, Dream-Dylan had said.

Right. Okay, Real-Dylan had whispered.

The exhaustion hit Jun like a physical blow.

“Sorry,” Jun said. It came out smaller than he meant it to.

No argument. No bite. He corrected his posture like a machine, lifting his arms, setting his shoulders, counting the beat under his breath.

“I’ll get it right next time.”

The air shifted.

It was subtle—just a hush, the kind that only happens when everyone in the room realizes something is wrong and nobody wants to be the first to name it. The other members exchanged glances.

Dylan didn’t step back.

The coldness on his face faltered, as if it couldn’t hold its shape. Confusion slipped in. Then concern—real, unguarded, and brief enough to feel like an accident.

“Jun,” Dylan said, quieter now. “Are you sick?”

Jun swallowed and stared at the mirror instead of Dylan, fixing his eyes on his own reflection like it could keep him from breaking.

“I’m fine,” Jun said, to the glass. He couldn’t look at Dylan—not like this—because if he did, he might crumble right there in front of everyone.

His hands trembled once, barely.

“Let’s just go again,” Jun said. “From the top.”

He felt Dylan’s gaze linger on him—burning, searching—but Jun kept his eyes locked on his own miserable reflection, like if he watched himself hard enough, he could keep himself together.

Somewhere behind him, Pepper muttered, “Okay… that’s new,” like a joke that didn’t land.

—

Break time scattered the members like spilled light.

Thame had an arm around Po’s shoulders without thinking—casual, instinctive affection that made Jun’s stomach twist with a sharp, aching envy. Po leaned into it like it was normal to be held, like love didn’t require permission.

Pepper was grinning at his phone—Gam, probably—thumb flying over the screen with the kind of happy ease Jun hadn’t felt in months.

Nano sprawled on the couch like he owned the world and everyone’s secrets.

Jun tried to focus on stretching. On water. On anything that wasn’t Dylan.

But Dylan—always Dylan—was impossible to ignore.

Jun stepped into the corridor to grab a towel and found Dylan farther down, on a call.

Dylan was smiling.

A small, private warmth Jun had never been offered.

Jun’s stomach dropped.

So he can smile like that.
Just… not at me.

Jun turned to leave before jealousy made him reckless—

—and Dylan’s eyes lifted.

They met.

Dylan’s smile vanished instantly, like someone had caught him doing something private.

Dylan’s voice was flat. “What.”

Jun hated himself, but bitterness climbed up anyway.

“Nice smile,” Jun said lightly, poison wrapped in sugar. “Didn’t know you had one.”

Dylan’s jaw tightened. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Nothing.” Jun shrugged. “Just looks like you’re having a better day than me.”

Dylan stared at him like Jun was a language he’d suddenly forgotten.

“You’re being cruel,” Dylan said, low.

Jun’s fingers tightened around the bottle.

Cruel.

Jun almost laughed. Almost screamed.

“Why do you care?” Jun asked.

Dylan’s eyes flickered. “I—”

Jun cut him off fast, terrified. “Relax. I’m kidding. God.”

Dylan’s face went still.

Then he said, like a door closing, “Yeah. You’re hilarious.”

Jun walked away.

—

Nano appeared beside Dylan like a curse with good timing.

“Wow,” Nano said brightly. “That was so romantic.”

Dylan didn’t laugh. His eyes stayed on Jun’s retreating back like he didn’t know where to put his hands, his anger, his hurt.

“Go away,” Dylan said.

Nano didn’t. Nano never did.

Nano hopped up to sit on a nearby table, swinging his legs like this was entertainment. “Phi. You like him.”

Dylan’s laugh came out empty. “You’re insane.”

“Nope.” Nano pointed at Dylan’s face. “I have eyes.”

Dylan’s knuckles whitened around his phone. “He hates me.”

Nano’s expression shifted—less teasing, more certain. “Jun doesn’t hate you.”

“Then why does he talk to me like I’m disposable?” Dylan snapped, and the crack in his voice betrayed him.

Nano hesitated. Then his voice went softer.

“Jun cries in the mornings.”

Dylan went still.

“…What?”

“I saw him.” Nano’s eyes were sharp, serious now. “Yesterday. Bathroom. He didn’t know.”

Dylan swallowed hard. “Why?”

Nano’s gaze held his, merciless and kind all at once.

“That’s your job to figure out,” Nano said. Then, like he couldn’t resist twisting the knife just a little: “People don’t fall apart like that over someone they feel nothing for.”

Dylan’s breath hitched.

Jun. Crying. In the mornings.

Dylan looked toward the practice room—toward Jun’s too-bright smile, shoulders tense like he was holding himself together with sheer force.

Dylan’s voice came rough. “Where is he?”

Nano’s mouth curved, satisfied. “Finally.”

—

Pepper found Nano first, because Pepper always found the drama.

“What are you doing?” Pepper asked, peering at Nano like he was a suspicious animal. “Why are you smiling like that?”

Nano didn’t even blink. “I’m being a good teammate.”

Pepper snorted. “You? Good?”

Nano pointed with his chin. “Dylan’s about to stop being stupid.”

Pepper followed Nano’s gaze, and his grin sharpened. “Oh. Finally.”

Thame and Po walked up behind them. Po yawned, blinking sleepily. Thame’s hand slid to Po’s waist without thinking, grounding him.

“What’s happening?” Po mumbled.

Pepper said, brightly vicious, “Jun and Dylan are about to implode.”

Po’s eyes widened. “In a bad way?”

Nano and Pepper said in perfect unison, “In a necessary way.”

Thame sighed like a tired adult witnessing children play with fireworks. “Don’t interfere.”

Pepper raised a hand. “We’re not interfering. We’re—”

“Curating,” Nano supplied.

Thame pinched the bridge of his nose. “Please don’t curate.”

Po tugged Thame’s sleeve, whispering, “Can we just… stand far away and be supportive?”

Thame’s expression softened. “Yes. We can do that.”

Pepper smiled at his phone and typed something fast. “I’m telling Gam. She loves this.”

Thame groaned. “Of course she does.”

—

That night, before the show, Jun’s hands started shaking.

Not normal adrenaline. Not stage nerves.

This was something thinner. Desperate. Like Jun’s body had finally run out of patience for pretending.

He slipped into the hallway, hunting for quiet.

He found Dylan instead.

Dylan stood under dim overhead lights like he’d been waiting—like fate had shoved them into the same frame and refused to let them leave until something broke.

Dylan’s eyes found Jun instantly.

“Jun.”

Jun tried to summon his armor.

“What,” he snapped.

Dylan didn’t flinch. His gaze dropped to Jun’s trembling hands.

Something in Dylan’s face softened into careful, real concern.

“Are you okay?”

Jun shook his head before he could lie.

Dylan stepped closer, slow like Jun was something breakable.

“Breathe with me,” Dylan said. “In… out.”

He demonstrated—deep inhale, slow exhale—like he was lending Jun his lungs.

Jun tried.

His chest stuttered. His throat locked. A tear slipped free, hot with anger at himself.

Jun turned his face away, ashamed.

Dylan’s hand lifted—hesitated—

Then Dylan asked, voice barely a whisper.

“Can I hug you?”

Jun’s heart stopped.

The dream flashed: Dylan opening his arms, smiling like sunrise.

Jun couldn’t speak.

So he nodded.

Dylan pulled him in.

Not tentative. Not careful.

Solid. Protective. Sure.

Like Dylan had decided Jun didn’t get to fall apart alone.

Jun’s face hit Dylan’s shoulder and the scent of him cracked something open.

Jun broke.

A tremor. A choke. The ugly kind of sob that couldn’t be swallowed back once it started.

Dylan’s arms tightened immediately, steady hands anchoring Jun’s shaking.

“It’s okay,” Dylan murmured. “I’ve got you.”

Jun shook his head against Dylan’s shoulder, voice raw.

“You don’t.”

Dylan stilled. “What?”

Jun pulled back just enough to look at him, eyes wet, breath uneven.

“You don’t like me,” Jun whispered. “That’s why.”

Dylan blinked like he’d been hit.

“What made you think that?” Dylan asked, voice rough.

Jun gave a broken laugh. “Everything.”

Dylan’s hands slid up Jun’s arms as if he needed proof Jun was real.

“I thought you didn’t like me,” Dylan confessed. “You’ve been pushing me away for weeks like I did something wrong and you wouldn’t tell me what.”

Jun stared, stunned.

“You… you thought I didn’t like you?”

Dylan’s laugh was brittle. “Yeah. Because when I look at you, Jun—”

He stopped. Swallowed.

Jun’s pulse hammered. “When you look at me what?”

Dylan held Jun’s gaze like he was finally done running.

“I panic,” Dylan admitted. “Because I’ve been trying not to show it. I didn’t want to make you uncomfortable.”

Jun’s voice shook. “Show what.”

Dylan exhaled like stepping off a cliff.

“That I like you.”

Jun’s world went silent.

Warmth detonated in his chest—too big to fit. Too bright to be safe.

Jun’s mouth trembled into something that wasn’t quite a laugh and wasn’t quite a sob.

“Dylan,” Jun whispered, breaking on his name. “I’ve been dreaming about you.”

Dylan froze. “What?”

“Every night,” Jun confessed. “For two months.”

Dylan’s hands rose and framed Jun’s face like he couldn’t help himself. His thumbs brushed the damp under Jun’s eyes—gentle, possessive-soft.

“Tell me,” Dylan said, pleading without meaning to.

Jun swallowed hard, terrified—

—and confessed like a man risking everything.

“I think I love you.”

Something in Dylan’s expression crumpled into light.

And then Dylan smiled.

Not the stage smile.

Not the guarded one.

The one from Jun’s dreams.

A sunrise Jun never believed he’d see in daylight.

Dylan leaned in until his forehead almost touched Jun’s. His breath warmed Jun’s lips.

“You shouldn’t say that,” Dylan murmured.

Jun’s inhale snagged. “Why?”

“Because I’ll believe you,” Dylan said, voice shaking with something dangerously tender. “And I won’t survive if you take it back.”

Jun’s eyes stung. “I’m not taking it back.”

Dylan stared at him like Jun had handed him something holy.

Then Dylan’s gaze dropped to Jun’s mouth—just once, just enough to make Jun’s entire body go still.

Dylan’s voice went low.

“Can I kiss you?”

Jun’s answer came out immediate, breathless. “Yes.”

Dylan kissed him.

Not soft. Not tentative.

Like Dylan had been starving too.

Jun made a small, broken sound into Dylan’s mouth, and Dylan deepened the kiss as if the sound pulled him in. Dylan’s hand slid to the back of Jun’s neck, fingers threading into his hair—not yanking, just holding, like Dylan needed Jun to stay right here, right now.

Jun’s hands fisted in Dylan’s shirt.

Dylan’s palm flattened against Jun’s lower back, guiding him closer until there was no space left to doubt anything. Jun felt the solid heat of Dylan against him and shuddered like his body had been waiting for permission.

Jun chased the kiss when Dylan drew back for breath, helpless.

Dylan’s mouth curved against Jun’s. “Easy.”

Jun’s voice came out wrecked. “Don’t—don’t stop.”

Dylan’s eyes darkened.

“Jun,” Dylan whispered, like a warning and a prayer.

Dylan kissed him again—deeper—and Jun’s knees went weak. Dylan held him up without breaking the kiss, steady as gravity.

Somewhere down the hallway, a door clicked. A distant laugh. Real life trying to intrude.

Dylan broke the kiss just long enough to breathe against Jun’s mouth.

“After the show,” Dylan murmured, lips still brushing Jun’s. “Stairwell. Ten minutes.”

Jun blinked, dazed. “What for?”

Dylan’s mouth curved—soft, certain.

“Because I’m going to kiss you properly,” Dylan said, “and I’m not letting you wake up and lose me tomorrow morning.”

Jun’s throat tightened. He nodded.

Dylan’s thumb brushed Jun’s cheek like he couldn’t stop touching him.

“Go,” Dylan whispered. “Before we’re late.”

Jun took one step back—still trembling, still lit up like a wire under tension.

He turned—

—and Dylan caught his wrist gently, pulling him back just enough to steal one more kiss. Short. Sharp. A brand.

Then Dylan let him go.

Jun walked to the stage with Dylan’s kiss still burning on his mouth like proof.

—

The building after a show always felt like a creature exhaling—staff voices fading, doors closing, the last pieces of noise settling into quiet.

Jun walked fast with his hood up, heart too loud for the empty corridors.

The stairwell door was unmarked except for the red sign, and the handle was cold under his palm.

He pushed.

The door shut behind him with a heavy, final clunk—the kind that made the air feel instantly different. Thicker. Private.

Concrete steps. Metal railings. A faint hum of emergency lighting.
Everything smelled like dust and cold air and something clean—like the building’s skeleton.

Jun took two steps down to the landing—and stopped.

Dylan was already there.

Leaning against the wall like he belonged in every shadow. His hair was still damp from sweat, his jacket half-zipped, his expression intent in a way Jun had never been allowed to see in daylight.

Jun’s breath caught.

Dylan’s gaze swept over him—fast, thorough, like he was checking Jun for cracks.

“You came,” Dylan said, quiet.

Jun swallowed. “You told me to.”

Dylan huffed a soft laugh—barely there—then pushed off the wall and closed the distance in three steps.

Up close, the stairwell made everything louder: the sound of Jun’s breath, the small swallow in Dylan’s throat, the shift of fabric as Dylan’s hand found Jun’s waist.

Jun’s back met the railing lightly. Cold metal through his hoodie.

Dylan didn’t trap him. Didn’t pin him.

He just stood close enough that Jun could feel the heat of him, the restraint in him, the decision in him.

Jun’s voice trembled. “This is… better.”

Dylan’s eyes darkened. “Yeah?”

“It’s quiet,” Jun whispered. “Like we’re not supposed to be here.”

Dylan’s thumb pressed once into Jun’s waist, slow and grounding.

“We’re allowed,” Dylan said. Then, softer: “As long as you are.”

Jun’s throat tightened at the care hidden inside the bluntness.

He nodded.

Dylan leaned in, stopping a breath away—so close Jun could feel Dylan’s exhale against his lips.

“Tell me again,” Dylan murmured.

Jun’s pulse jumped. “What.”

“That you meant it,” Dylan said, voice rough. “That you’re not going to wake up tomorrow and decide this was a mistake.”

Jun’s eyes stung. “I’ve been waking up for two months,” he whispered, “and it hurts every time.”

Something flickered in Dylan’s face—pain first, then anger on Jun’s behalf, then a kind of tenderness that looked like a decision.

“Never again,” Dylan said.

He didn’t kiss Jun like a question.

He kissed him like an answer.

The pressure was deep and steady, slow enough to make Jun’s thoughts scatter, deliberate enough to make every second feel chosen. Dylan’s hand stayed at Jun’s waist—warm through fabric—holding him there like an anchor.

Jun’s fingers curled into Dylan’s jacket.

The stairwell swallowed sound and amplified it at the same time: breath, fabric, the soft, involuntary noise Jun made when Dylan tilted the kiss deeper.

Dylan paused—only a fraction—just enough to look at Jun’s face.

Jun nodded, breathless.

Relief flashed across Dylan’s mouth before it hardened into want.

Dylan kissed him again, and Jun felt the difference—not faster, not rougher—just closer. Dylan shifted in, and Jun’s back met the cold railing more firmly, metal biting through his hoodie and making Dylan’s warmth feel impossible to ignore.

Jun’s hand slid up, finding Dylan’s jaw, holding him there—terrified Dylan might vanish if Jun let go.

Dylan made a low sound in his chest and pulled back just enough to breathe against Jun’s lips.

“Jun,” he whispered—half warning, half worship.

Jun’s voice shook. “Don’t stop.”

Dylan held Jun’s gaze for a beat—checking in without asking twice—then obeyed like it was the easiest thing in the world.

He kissed Jun again, unhurried, and Jun forgot the hallway, the stage lights, the mornings that had hurt. There was only Dylan’s mouth, Dylan’s breath, Dylan’s steady hands keeping Jun from slipping out of the moment.

A sound drifted down from somewhere above—faint, uncertain. The echo of footsteps that might have been nothing at all.

Jun froze.

Dylan stilled with him instantly, forehead resting against Jun’s, both of them listening in the dark like they’d been caught stealing something precious.

Silence.

Dylan exhaled slowly, the corner of his mouth lifting like a secret.

“Want me to stop?” Dylan murmured.

Jun let out a broken laugh. “You’re insane.”

“About you,” Dylan said, and the words landed softer than the kiss.

Jun swallowed. “Then don’t.”

Something in Dylan’s expression broke into light.

Dylan kissed him again—short, deep, devastating—then lingered at Jun’s mouth like he couldn’t bear to leave space between them.

When Dylan finally pulled back, he didn’t move away. He stayed close, breathing hard, eyes dark but careful.

“We can take it slow,” Dylan whispered, and his thumb brushed Jun’s lower lip like a vow. “We can take it any way you want.”

Jun’s throat tightened. “I don’t want to lose you.”

Dylan’s smile was small and real. “You won’t.”

He pressed a kiss to Jun’s forehead—gentle, grounding—then took Jun’s hand like it was the simplest decision in the world.

“Let’s go,” Dylan murmured.

“Go where?”

Dylan’s eyes held his, dark with intent. “To my room.” His thumb stroked once over Jun’s knuckles—slow, possessive. “Because I’m done sharing you with this stairwell.”

Jun’s pulse jumped. “Dylan—”

“I’m not angry at you,” Dylan cut in, voice rough, honest. “I’m angry at every morning that hurt you.” His gaze dropped to Jun’s mouth. “And I’m done letting you wake up alone.”

—

The walk to the hotel room blurred into heat and touch—Dylan’s hand at Jun’s lower back guiding him through the hall, Jun’s fingers hooked in Dylan’s sleeve like a lifeline.

The moment the door clicked shut and locked, the restraint snapped.

Dylan crowded Jun back against the door—hard enough to steal the breath from his lungs, careful enough not to hurt him. The kiss that followed wasn’t a question. It was a claim that tasted like relief.

Jun made a sound into Dylan’s mouth and Dylan answered it immediately—hand sliding to the back of Jun’s neck, fingers threading into his hair like an anchor.

“Two months,” Dylan breathed, lips brushing Jun’s as he spoke. “You’ve had me for two months in your dreams and didn’t even know it.”

Jun’s voice shook. “I didn’t— I didn’t know.”

“You know now,” Dylan murmured.

His mouth moved to Jun’s throat, slow enough to feel cruel, then gentler, like he couldn’t decide whether he wanted to ruin Jun or soothe him. Jun’s head tipped back on a helpless inhale as Dylan’s breath warmed his skin.

Dylan paused.

Just enough to look at him.

Jun blinked, dazed. “What?”

Dylan’s eyes searched Jun’s face—dark, steady, careful. “Tell me to stop,” he said quietly. “And I will.”

Jun swallowed, throat tight with the sheer safety of it.

He shook his head. “Don’t.”

Something in Dylan’s expression broke into light—soft in the middle, dangerous at the edges.

“Good,” Dylan whispered.

Then his hands slipped under the hem of Jun’s hoodie—warm palms against heated skin—and Jun shuddered like the touch rewired him. Dylan tugged the hoodie up and over Jun’s head in one impatient motion, tossing it aside like it had offended him for existing.

Dylan’s gaze raked over him in the dim light—possessive and heavy.

Jun’s chest rose fast. “Dylan…”

Dylan kissed him again instead of answering—deep, unhurried, demanding—until Jun stopped thinking in full sentences. Dylan’s mouth softened at the end of the kiss, lingered at the corner of Jun’s lips like an apology wrapped in hunger.

“Come here,” Dylan said again, quieter now—less command, more plea.

Jun grabbed Dylan by the collar and pulled him in, answering with his whole body.

They stumbled to the bed like gravity changed. Jun fell back into the sheets, and Dylan followed—hovering for a heartbeat, bracing his weight on his arms, looking down at Jun like he was trying to memorize him.

“Look at me,” Dylan murmured.

Jun did.

He saw it—sweat at Dylan’s hairline, the blown-out focus in his eyes, the raw want that matched his own, and beneath it all the careful restraint holding the line.

“I’m here,” Jun whispered, voice shaking with the overload of it. “I’m not going anywhere.”

Dylan’s breath came out rough. “Say it again.”

“I’m here,” Jun repeated, tears pricking from the sheer intensity. “I’m right here.”

Dylan leaned down and kissed the tears away—gentle where Jun was fragile, relentless where Jun was brave—then kissed Jun’s mouth like he was sealing a vow.

“Stay,” Dylan murmured against Jun’s lips. “Stay with me. Stay like it’s real.”

Jun nodded, fingers curling into Dylan’s shirt. “It is.”

Dylan’s forehead rested against Jun’s for a moment, both of them breathing hard, both of them trembling with the same need.

Then Dylan kissed him again—slow and devastating, reverent and hungry all at once—and the world narrowed down to heat and breath and Dylan saying Jun’s name like it was something sacred.

“Good,” Dylan whispered, voice gone wrecked. “Because I’m not letting you wake up alone again.”

And the rest—everything Jun had been dreaming of, everything Dylan had been holding back—Jun kept private, kept close, kept as proof in his bones.

—

Morning arrived quietly—too quiet for the kind of night Jun didn’t want to name out loud.

Jun woke to warmth.

Not dream-warmth. Real warmth.

An arm around his waist, heavy and protective. Dylan’s breath at the back of his neck, slow and steady like a promise his body was keeping even in sleep.

For a few seconds, Jun didn’t move.

He waited for the cruel snap back to reality—for the emptiness, the white ceiling, the familiar ache of being alone.

It didn’t come.

Jun swallowed, throat tight. He turned his head a fraction.

Dylan was asleep—no armor, no sharp edges, just soft in the morning light. His lashes rested against his cheek. His hair was a mess. One hand had found Jun’s like it had a mind of its own, fingers loosely laced, refusing distance.

Jun stared at their hands like he couldn’t believe them.

Home.

Dylan shifted, half-awake, tightening his hold. The movement pulled Jun closer until there was no air left between them.

Jun’s breath caught.

Dylan’s voice came rough with sleep, barely a sound. “Jun…?”

Jun blinked hard. “Sorry.”

Dylan’s eyes opened—slow, unfocused at first—then sharpened as soon as he registered Jun’s face.

“No,” Dylan murmured immediately, pulling Jun in like an instinct. “No more apologies.”

Jun’s vision blurred. He hated how easily tears came now. Hated how Dylan made it safe enough for them to exist.

“I thought…” Jun whispered, voice thin. “I thought I’d wake up and it would hurt again.”

Something shifted in Dylan’s expression—tenderness so immediate it almost looked like pain.

Dylan’s thumb brushed Jun’s cheek, catching the tear before it could fall. “Hey,” he said softly, like he was talking Jun down from a ledge. “Look at me.”

Jun did.

Dylan leaned in and kissed him—slow, gentle, lingering—nothing like the frantic hunger of last night and somehow even more devastating for it. It tasted like quiet certainty. Like daylight.

When Dylan pulled back, he rested his forehead against Jun’s.

“Still here?” Dylan murmured.

Jun’s breath shook. “Yeah.”

Dylan’s mouth curved, small and real. “Good.”

He kissed Jun again—shorter, warmer—then stayed close, nosing lightly along Jun’s temple like he couldn’t stop confirming Jun was real.

Jun’s hands slid up Dylan’s chest, fingers splaying over his heartbeat. It was steady. Alive. Present.

Jun laughed once, shaky. “You’re… really here.”

Dylan’s eyes softened. “I told you.”

Jun swallowed. “Say it again.”

Dylan blinked, then smiled like he understood exactly what Jun meant.

“I’m here,” Dylan said. “And you’re here.”

Jun’s throat tightened. “And I’m not going to lose you when I open my eyes.”

Dylan’s gaze darkened—not with hunger this time, but with something like devotion.

“No,” Dylan promised. “Not anymore.”

Jun breathed out—like he’d been holding it for months.

Dylan kissed the corner of Jun’s mouth, then his cheek, then his forehead again—each one a quiet, steadying mark of stay.

Jun closed his eyes and let himself sink into it.

Because for the first time in two months—

morning didn’t steal home.

It kept it.