Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Dunk's POV

There's a moment of pure silence after I hit send.

A moment where the world feels suspended-like maybe, if I just close my eyes and breathe, the message will unsend itself. Warp time. Erase digital history. Rewind everything.

But life isn't merciful like that.

Because I just sent that text-the one about Joong on his knees, lips parted, eyes glazed over-to Joong himself.

Not a hookup. Not a close friend I trust to laugh it off.
Joong. My roommate. My best friend.

"Oh fuck."

I stare at the screen, the words glowing back at me like neon regret.

> "You have no idea what you do to me. I'd ruin you on my sheets if you ever looked at me like that again. Mouth first. Hands second. Then everything else."

It was supposed to go to someone else. Just some random flirt from an app-someone who wasn't Joong, the same Joong currently singing off-key in the shower ten feet away, probably oblivious to the fact that his name is now burned into my mortification record.

I consider throwing my phone into the toilet. I consider climbing out the window and starting a new life.

Instead, I do what any idiot does in a moment like this:
I pray.

And then-because my heart hasn't had enough trauma today-my phone buzzes with a new message.

Joong:

> Wow. That escalated quickly.

I freeze.

Buzz.

> Should I be flattered? Or scared?

My soul briefly leaves my body.

Buzz.

> ...or curious?

I sit down so fast my knees crack.

"No. Nope. Not doing this," I mutter, typing furiously.

Me:

> OMG that was not for you I SWEAR
please forget you saw that
brain damage is fine. erase it

Buzz.

Joong:

> You want me to forget the image of you ruining me on your sheets?

Joong:

> Dunk, that's a bold opening for a Sunday night.

Buzz again.

Joong:

> Is this something you've actually thought about?

My fingers hover, then retreat. Then hover again. I can't lie. But I can't tell the truth.

I type:

Me:

> It was an accident.

Buzz.

Joong:

> Didn't answer my question.

I swallow. My mouth is dry. This doesn't feel like teasing anymore. It feels like Joong is peeling something open, slowly, daring me to admit it.

I sigh.

Me:

> Fine. Maybe I've thought about it. Once.

Joong:

> Just once?

Me:

> Maybe more than once.

My screen goes quiet for a minute. Just enough time to panic again.

Until another message pops up:

> Then maybe you should finish telling me what you'd do next. Just so we're clear.

My heart is in my throat. My brain is short-circuiting. This is not what I expected. Not from Joong, who's always quick to laugh but never like this. Not with that edge in his words. Not with my stomach flipping the way it is now.

I don't reply for a while. Not because I don't want to-but because if I start, I know I won't be able to stop.

But I'm already typing.

---

***Author's Note***
Let me know what you think! 🩷

Chapter Text

Joong's POV

There's a towel around my waist, water still dripping from my hair, and a smug little smirk on my face that I can't seem to get rid of.

Because Dunk-my sweet, awkward, suspiciously gym-honed Dunk-just texted me a fantasy.

A filthy one.
About me.
And now he's pretending it was an accident.

Spoiler: I don't buy it.

I flop onto my bed, towel dampening the sheets, phone in hand, eyes locked on the chat. He hasn't replied since I told him to "finish what he started." And for someone who just told me he wanted to ruin me, he's taking his sweet time typing.

Coward.

Buzz.

Dunk:

> You sure you want to hear it?

I bite back a grin. My fingers hover over the screen.

> You think I'm playing, don't you?

Buzz.

Dunk:

> Honestly? I don't know. I don't want to make this weird between us.

Oh, Dunk. Sweet, anxious Dunk, who sleeps shirtless and doesn't notice me watching when he stretches in the morning. Dunk, who always looks away too quickly when I catch him staring at my lips.

He's scared. But he's also curious. And turned on. I can feel it in the way he types.
I can almost see the way he's squirming in his room right now, probably red-faced, holding his phone like it might explode.

So I decide to light the match.

Me:

> Tell me everything you'd do to me.
No emojis. No LOLs. No backtracking.
Just you. Wanting me.
Go.

There's a pause.

Then a very, very long message appears.

I lie back against my pillows, legs stretched out, towel barely holding. Heart racing. Waiting.

Buzz.

> First, I'd pin you against the headboard. Slow. Just my hands, nothing else. I'd make you beg for the first kiss.
And when you do? I'd take your mouth like I own it.
I'd taste your breath. Swallow your whines.
Your thighs around my waist. My name falling out of your mouth.
You wouldn't be able to speak, Joong. Not with what I'd be doing to you.

I read it three times. My skin prickles. Heat blooms low in my stomach.

This isn't a joke anymore.

I should stop it.

Instead, I hit record. Just a short voice memo.

I breathe into the mic and say, low and warm:

> Then come do it.

And press send.

Chapter Text

Dunk’s POV

I don’t even realize I’m holding my breath until the message ends.

"Then come do it."

It’s six words. Just six. But Joong’s voice—low, quiet, intentional—does something to me that no amount of scrolling or distractions can fix. I’m hard in an instant. Not just from the words, but from the way he said them.

He wants me to take this further.

Or maybe he’s daring me to.

I stare at the voice memo on the screen, thumb hovering over the play button again. My heart is pounding like I ran a marathon. I haven’t moved from my bed in over twenty minutes.

This isn’t some stupid sext gone rogue anymore. This is… real.

The kind of real that tightens around my chest and settles deep in my stomach, low and needy.

Joong.
He was in the shower when I sent that. I pictured it: water sliding down his chest, towel hanging loose on his hips. I imagined him wet and breathless, mouth pink, looking up at me.

I didn’t mean to. But now it’s burned in.

And now he’s asking me to finish it.

I press play again.

> Then come do it.

The audio ends, but the command stays.

I think of Joong’s hands, his mouth, the times he’s touched my shoulder casually and I flinched because it felt like more. I think of the nights I imagined him—not by name, never by name—but with the same curve of a smirk, the same damn voice.

How long have I been pretending I didn’t want this?

Buzz.

Joong:

> Still breathing?

I type back:

> Barely.

Buzz.

Joong:

> You want this, don’t you?

Yes. God, yes.

But I hesitate.

What if this ruins everything? What if this isn’t real for him?

And then he sends another message. Just one word:

> Dunk.

My name.

No teasing. No filters.

My body answers before my brain does.

Me:

> Okay.
I want it.
I want you.

Buzz.

Joong:

> Good. Because I’m not done teasing you yet.

Buzz.

> Touch yourself tonight. Don’t come.
Tomorrow, I’ll tell you what to do next.

My mouth goes dry. My skin is on fire.

> Don’t come.

How the hell does he know exactly how to flip me inside out?

I toss the phone aside like it’s suddenly dangerous. My hand’s already under the blanket, brushing the waistband of my boxers.

I’m going to listen to him.

God help me—I’m going to obey.

Chapter Text

Joong's POV

I've never been this hard from just texting someone.

Not even when I was a teenager, sneaking messages to some random classmate and pretending we didn't know what we were doing.

But this?

This is Dunk.

And it's not just the things he said-it's the way he said them. Hesitant at first, like he was trying to protect something. But when he gave in... god, the things that came out of him.

I said one line. One whisper.
"Then come do it."
And I could practically hear him fall apart from the other side of the wall.

I stare at the last message I sent:

> Touch yourself tonight. Don't come.
Tomorrow, I'll tell you what to do next.

The control in me likes that. The knowing. The power.

But there's something else underneath that I haven't had the courage to name.

Because the truth is-I didn't expect him to say yes.

I expected him to panic. To backtrack. To say he was drunk or joking or having a breakdown. And I would've played along, kept it safe, let the silence swallow it like a dream we'd never admit to.

But he didn't.

He said he wants me.

And now I'm sitting here, still in that damn towel, fully hard, heart racing, asking myself how long I've wanted him back.

The thing is-I've seen Dunk look at me. Not like a best friend. Not like a guy who's just bored and scrolling.

He watches me when I stretch. When I'm cooking shirtless. When I'm laughing too hard at my own jokes. He looks like he's memorizing it. Like it hurts.

And maybe I like hurting him a little.

But not in a cruel way.

In the kind of way that makes my skin burn just thinking about touching his.

The game started as teasing. Now it's strategy.

I want to see how far he'll go for me. What he'll give. How deep he'll let me in.

And if I'm being honest...

I want more than just his body.

But I won't say that.

Not yet.

Tonight, I'll let him squirm. Obey. Ache.

And tomorrow?

I'll make him ask for more.

Chapter Text

Dunk's POV

I didn't sleep.

Or, more accurately-I tried. But every time I closed my eyes, my mind played reruns of Joong's voice in that low whisper:
Then come do it.
Touch yourself tonight. Don't come.

And I didn't.

I kept my hands down, fisted in the sheets, thighs trembling, body throbbing for release. I wanted to break the rule. But the thought of disappointing Joong? Of him never sending another message like that?

I kept myself right on the edge.

Now it's morning, and my whole body is buzzing like a live wire. There's tension in my jaw, my spine, my thighs. My boxers are damp. My cock's been hard for hours. It's almost embarrassing how much power he has over me-with just texts.

My phone lights up before my alarm even rings.

Joong:

> Good morning, obedient boy.
Did you do what I said?

I bite my lip. Type.

Me:

> Yeah. Didn't sleep.
I did what you told me. Every word.

Buzz.

Joong:

> Good. Don't touch yet. I'm sending something.

Buzz.

A video file.
My heart stops.

I hesitate. Thumb hovering. Swallowing. Then I tap.

The screen fills with Joong-shirtless, hair messy, lying in bed. He looks too good in morning light. His voice is sleepy, low, soft-but unmistakably deliberate.

> "You're gonna listen to my voice again, Dunk.
No touching until I say.
Just watch me.
Just listen."

I freeze.

He shifts slightly on camera, just enough to show skin-nothing obscene. But it's the intimacy of it, the tease in his eyes, that undoes me.

> "I want you hard for me. I want you aching.
I want to know you're desperate. Not just to come.
But to be good for me."

The video cuts off right there.

It's not even a minute long. But I'm breathless.

Buzz.

Joong:

> Send me a photo. Just one.
I want to see how hard you are for me.

I close my eyes.

This is insane.

But I've never wanted anything like this before.

I reach under the blanket, finally letting my hand wrap around myself-and I moan out loud. I'm so sensitive it hurts.

I take the photo. Just from the waist down. Tight, flushed, aching.

I send it before I can overthink.

And then I text:

> What now?

Buzz.

Joong:

> You wait for me to come home.

> And then I'll help you come properly.

Chapter Text

Joong's POV

Every time my phone buzzes, I hope it's him.

It usually is.

Not with words anymore-just short messages, little updates.

"Still hard."
"Still waiting."
"Can't focus in class."

It's pathetic. It's perfect.

And it's driving me insane.

Because the photo he sent this morning hasn't left my mind. The way he looked-flushed, desperate, leaking against his waistband-his cock so hard it looked painful. He's a good boy. Too good. He followed the rules even though I never expected him to.

I should've let him come.

I should've broken him.

But I want more.

I'm sitting in the back of my last class, not hearing a single word the professor says. Just watching the seconds tick by until I can go home. My notes are a mess-random phrases like "wrap your legs around me" and "bite his neck till he begs" scrawled in between equations.

If anyone saw this, I'd die. But I don't even care.

Because Dunk is waiting for me. Obedient. Aching.

And I'm about to reward him.

Buzz.

Dunk:

> Home. Showered. In bed. Waiting.

Dunk:

> Can I touch now?

God, he's begging.

I can almost hear it in his voice. I imagine his thighs tense, his hands at his sides, the way his brows probably draw together when he's trying to be good.

I type:

Me:

> Lights off.
Put your phone on the pillow.
Video on.
Don't say a word until I tell you.

The three dots pop up immediately. Then vanish.

Then pop up again.

Dunk:

> Okay.

I leave class early. I don't even care about attendance. All I can think about is getting back, stripping off these jeans, and pinning him to the mattress like he's been imagining since the first message.

This isn't just sexting anymore.

It's not even a game.

It's us-twisted together, breathless, and on the edge of something we can't walk back from.

And I'm going to enjoy every second of breaking him open.

Chapter Text

⚠️ Content warning: This chapter contains explicit smut.

Dunk's POV

The room is dark except for the soft glow of my phone screen. Camera on. Propped on the pillow beside me. Recording.

I can see myself in it-half-shadowed, shirtless, barely under the sheets. My chest rising and falling. My lips swollen from biting them all damn day.

Joong told me not to touch.

So I haven't.

I'm trembling from how badly I want to.

Every sound in the hallway makes my pulse spike. And then-finally-I hear the door.

The lock clicks. The handle turns.

He steps inside.

And I forget how to breathe.

Joong doesn't say a word. He shuts the door behind him slowly, the way a lion might stalk its prey. Backpack hitting the floor. Shoes kicked off. Eyes locked on me.

He's wearing black. All of it. His shirt clings to him. His hair's a mess. His jaw's tight. And when he sees the camera recording, a small, crooked smile curves on his lips.

He speaks-quiet, low, dangerous.

"Good boy."

That breaks something in me.

I whimper. Actually whimper.

His smile widens.

He walks over to the bed, slow, confident. He doesn't touch me yet. Just sits beside me, one hand brushing the edge of the sheet.

"Have you been patient?"

I nod.

He tuts. "Use your words, Dunk."

My voice is barely there. "Yes."

His hand ghosts up my thigh, not quite touching me where I need it.

"And did you follow every rule I gave you?"

"Yes." My hips twitch. I'm practically shaking. "Please-"

But he presses a finger to my lips. "No begging yet."

He shifts closer. His hand finally cups me through the thin sheet-and I gasp, hips arching up instinctively. He grins at the reaction.

"You've been so good for me," he murmurs, hand now sliding under the fabric, wrapping around my cock for the first time. I swear I almost come on the spot.

"You want to come, don't you?"

"Yes," I breathe.

"Then come when I say."

He strokes me slow-so slow-his eyes never leaving mine. He kisses me then, finally, deeply. And I lose it. Mouth against mouth. Teeth. Tongue. I clutch at his shirt like it's the only thing anchoring me to the planet.

His other hand explores-touching my chest, my stomach, my throat. Claiming. Controlling.

He pulls back just enough to whisper:

"You don't come until I tell you. Understand?"

"Yes, Joong." My voice cracks. "Please..."

He strokes faster. Harder. Twisting his wrist just right. I'm barely hanging on.

And then:

"Now."

It hits like lightning. I cry out, body jerking, coming so hard it makes me dizzy. His name is the only thing in my mouth.

Joong doesn't look away. Not even once.

He watches all of it.

When it's over, I collapse. Chest heaving. Boneless. Blinking up at him like I've been struck by a storm.

And Joong-he leans down, presses a kiss to my forehead, and murmurs:

"That was only the beginning."

Chapter Text

Joong's POV

He falls asleep with his head on my chest and one leg still thrown over my waist.

The room is quiet, thick with the smell of sex and sweat and something warmer. His breath tickles against my skin in steady, peaceful exhales. One of his hands is still tangled in the hem of my shirt, like he doesn't want to let go. Like he's afraid I might vanish if he stops touching me.

I don't move.

I just... watch him.

And try not to panic about what this is turning into.

It was supposed to be fun. A one-time mistake. An impulsive text that turned into a hot little game between two bored best friends who liked pushing each other's buttons.

That's what I told myself.

But now-his skin against mine, his pulse slowing, his whole body relaxed like he belongs here-something feels dangerously real.

I brush a hand through his hair, slow and careful. He leans into it even in sleep.

And I feel something shift in my chest.

Something break.

He trusted me. That much is obvious. He held back for days, obeyed my every word, because he wanted me that badly. Because he wanted this that badly. And when I finally gave him permission-he shattered in my hands.

It wasn't just hot.

It was intimate.

And now that I'm sitting in the quiet, watching him sleep, I'm starting to realize...

I don't want to stop.

I don't want this to go back to how it was.

I don't want to pretend we didn't cross a line we both needed to find.

My fingers move slowly down his back, tracing the curve of his spine, memorizing the rise and fall of his breath. He murmurs something, low and incoherent, and shifts closer.

God, he's so warm. So open. So mine-even if we haven't said it out loud.

I press my lips to the top of his head.

"You don't even know what you're doing to me," I whisper. "But I think I want it."

He doesn't wake. But his arm tightens around me in his sleep.

And I let it.

I let myself hold him.

Just for tonight.

Chapter Text

Dunk’s POV

The first thing I feel is warmth—Joong’s arms wrapped tight around me, steady and sure, holding me like I’m the most fragile thing in the world. His breath is soft against my hair, slow and even, and for a moment, everything else fades into silence.

I don’t want to move. Don’t want to speak. Just want to stay here, tangled up in the space between sleep and waking, where nothing has to be said or decided.

The sunlight sneaks through the curtains, painting golden stripes across his face. His eyes are closed, eyelashes brushing his cheeks, and I find myself memorizing every line, every curve.

My fingers trace circles on his back, careful not to wake him, savoring the way his muscles relax beneath my touch. He stirs, a soft murmur escaping him before he pulls me closer, pressing his lips lightly to the top of my head.

I breathe in, chest rising and falling with his, feeling the steady beat of his heart under my palm.

There’s a quiet intimacy here that doesn’t need words—no promises, no expectations. Just the feeling of belonging, even if it’s only for now.

I let my eyes drift shut again and rest my cheek against his skin, wishing I could freeze this moment, hold it forever.

The world outside can wait.

Right here, right now, this is enough.

Chapter Text

Dunk’s POV.

The next day felt like slipping into a new skin—familiar, but different. Everything between Joong and me had shifted, like the world had tilted a few degrees. Not in a way anyone would notice, not unless they were looking for it.

And I think some of them are.

Joong offered to pick me up before brunch. No reason. He didn’t even pretend to make one up. Just showed up at my door in that oversized sweatshirt I liked on him too much, handed me coffee like it was normal, and said, “Let’s go.”

The whole drive, his hand hovered close to mine on the center console. I could’ve grabbed it. I didn’t.

But when we laughed at the same dumb radio jingle and our knees bumped, he didn’t pull away.

Now we’re walking side by side toward the café where our friends are already gathered—Joong just slightly closer than he used to be. Not close enough to make a scene. Just close enough for me to feel the heat of his arm next to mine, like a secret only I’m allowed to know.

When we spot Neo waving us over, Joong doesn’t even hesitate. He moves like nothing’s changed—slouching into the seat beside me, stretching an arm lazily across the back of the booth.

It’s casual.

It’s so casual I almost miss the way his fingers brush my shoulder before falling still.

Fourth’s already halfway through a dramatic retelling of some group project gone wrong. I try to listen, nod at the right moments, laugh when everyone else does. But I can feel Joong beside me—his leg pressed lightly against mine, his thumb occasionally grazing my upper back like he forgot it’s even there.

He hasn't.

And neither have I.

Someone calls my name. I blink and turn toward Perth, who’s giving me a weird look.

“You good, Dunk?”

“Yeah,” I say, maybe too fast. “Just tired.”

Joong snorts under his breath. I can hear the smirk in it.
Tired, he mouths against the rim of his iced Americano, and my ears burn.

The group doesn’t catch it, but Neo squints at us a little too long. I look away and focus on peeling the label off my water bottle just to have something to do with my hands.

It’s strange, the way normal moments feel electric now. The way silence between us hums with something unsaid. The way I catch myself staring at his mouth mid-sentence and wonder what it would taste like again—not at midnight in a fever dream, but now. In daylight. In the real world.

And underneath all of that, this question sits heavy in my chest:

Is he feeling it too?

Joong leans in to say something—something about the way Fourth is stabbing his pancakes like they offended him. But his mouth is close to my ear, his breath brushing the edge of my jaw.

I shiver.

“Cold?” he asks, too innocently.

I nudge him with my elbow. “You’re annoying.”

He grins. “You’re blushing.”

I roll my eyes, but I don’t move away. Neither does he.

The brunch goes on. Plates are cleared, bills are split. People start making excuses—classes, meetings, naps. We leave together again. Of course we do.

This time, Joong walks close enough that our knuckles brush.

I don’t think. I just curl my fingers, link them with his.

He glances over but doesn’t say anything.

He just squeezes back.

And I swear I forget how to breathe.

Chapter Text

Joong’s POV

I know I shouldn’t be doing this.

Not the teasing. That’s always been part of us—me pressing, him resisting, the game we’ve played since the first time he rolled his eyes at one of my dumb pickup lines and called me predictable.

But this?
This thing where I can’t stop thinking about how his breath caught under my mouth?
How his fingers gripped my shoulders like he didn’t want to let go?
How he made a sound when I kissed down the side of his neck that I’ve been hearing on loop for three days?

Yeah. This is dangerous territory.

I haven’t said a word about that night.

And neither has he.

But we’ve been different since. Like we’ve stepped onto some narrow bridge between two cliffs, and neither of us is looking down. Too scared, maybe. Or too tempted.

I catch him watching me now.

We’re back in my apartment, supposedly to “study,” which has so far meant that he’s got a textbook open in his lap and I’ve spent thirty minutes pretending to watch a movie while stealing glances at the way his fingers turn the pages.

He’s beautiful when he’s focused. Always has been.

But now I notice things I didn’t before.
The way his tongue peeks out when he’s reading a complicated passage.
The way he sighs through his nose when he’s thinking.
The way his neck curves when he tilts his head—

“Joong,” he says, without looking up. “You’re staring.”

I blink. “No I’m not.”

“You are.”

I grin. “Just checking if you’ve got something on your face.”

He doesn’t take the bait this time. Just flips another page and mutters, “You’re annoying.”

But he’s smiling. And that smile ruins me every time.

I shift on the couch, leaning back, arms behind my head like I’m relaxed. Like I’m not picturing the way his skin felt under my hands.

“I could’ve just said I wanted to make out again,” I say casually, like it’s a joke.

He looks up then. Straight at me.

And for a second, I see it—want, raw and bright, flicker across his face like a spark he can’t hide fast enough.

But he says nothing.

I sit forward, elbows on my knees, heart pounding in my throat. “You haven’t talked about it.”

“Neither have you,” he shoots back.

I nod slowly. “Fair.”

Silence stretches.

He closes the book in his lap with a quiet thump, sets it aside, and shifts to face me. His knees bump mine. He doesn’t move them.

“We're just messing around,” he says, voice quieter now. “That night.”

I nod again, like I agree.

I don’t.

He’s watching me, eyes dark and unreadable, waiting for something I don’t know if I can give yet.

“I keep thinking about it,” I admit, and the air shifts.

He swallows.

“You said it was a fantasy,” he says.

“It was.”

“But it didn’t feel fake.”

“No,” I say. “It didn’t.”

He doesn’t move. Doesn’t speak.

So I do.

I lean forward, slow and careful, and press my forehead to his. “I don’t know what this is,” I whisper, “but I don’t want to pretend it didn’t happen.”

He exhales shakily, fingers coming up to curl around the back of my neck.

“Me neither,” he says.

Then his mouth finds mine.

It’s different this time—slower, deliberate, something heavy and sweet behind it. His lips part, and I taste him, feel the warmth of his tongue brushing mine, and everything else fades.

We fall back into the couch, tangled and breathless, and I pull him into my lap without thinking. He lets me. Grinds down with a soft moan that wrecks me.

My hands slide under his shirt. I feel his stomach twitch when I touch him.

“Still just messing around?” I ask against his jaw.

He laughs—shaky, breathless. “Shut up.”

I do.

We kiss like we’re starved. Hands roam. Hips press.

It doesn’t go all the way—not yet—but it goes far enough that when we finally come down from it, his face is buried in my neck, and my hand is still curled possessively around his waist.

Neither of us says a word.

We don’t need to.

Not yet.

Chapter Text

Dunk's POV

I've never been good at pretending.

Not when my emotions are tangled up in everything. Not when I'm sitting in the back of a lecture hall beside Joong, and I can still feel the imprint of his mouth on my skin.

I should be taking notes. I should be focusing.

But instead, I'm focused on how close his knee is to mine. How his hand brushes the side of his thigh, barely an inch from mine, and how I keep thinking about the way he gasped when I touched him last night.

I haven't stopped replaying it.
The way he pulled me onto his lap.
The way he looked at me like I was something he needed.

I swallow and scribble the same sentence for the third time, then give up. My whole body is still humming from that kiss.

He hasn't said much today.
Just offered me a lazy smile when we met up.
Just bumped my shoulder when I didn't hold the door for him.

But there's a calm in him now that wasn't there before. Like we're both pretending this is normal. Like we're still just... friends.

Except we're not.
Not anymore.

"Bro," a voice says from behind me. I flinch hard enough to knock my pen off the desk.

It's Neo. He squints at me. "You good?"

"Yeah," I mumble, reaching for the pen.

Joong doesn't even look over.

Neo narrows his eyes. "You were totally zoning out."

"I was thinking," I lie.

"About Joong?" he says under his breath, eyes twinkling like he's joking.

I freeze.

He laughs. "I'm kidding. Unless...?"

Joong looks up just then. Our eyes meet. It's a split-second glance-neutral, calm, safe-but it hits me like a shove.

I laugh too loud. "Dude, no. We're just-come on."

Neo grins. "Relax. It'd be hot though."

I choke. "Shut up."

He leans back in his chair, smug and unbothered, like he didn't just rattle every bone in my body.

I can't focus for the rest of class.

Later, we're outside. The campus is golden with late afternoon sun, and Joong is walking beside me like nothing's changed.

I want to say something. I need to.

But every time I open my mouth, I hear Neo's voice again-
"About Joong?"
"It'd be hot though."

What if people already know? What if it's obvious?

Joong stretches, arms overhead, shirt riding up just enough to distract me. "You good?" he asks casually.

"I-yeah. Just tired."

He watches me. "From last night?"

I flush. "Stop."

He smirks. "What? I didn't say anything."

"You're saying everything."

He steps closer. "You want me to stop?"

My mouth dries. "No. I just don't want people to... assume."

His expression shifts-just slightly. "Because it'd be wrong if they did?"

"No," I say too fast. "That's not what I meant."

He doesn't press. Just nods and turns away. But the silence that falls between us is heavy.

I hate it.

I step closer. "Joong."

He looks back.

"I liked it," I say, voice low. "Last night. I keep thinking about it."

His jaw tightens. "So do I."

"But I'm scared," I admit.

His face softens. "Me too."

And there it is-the truth of it. We're both terrified. Of what this is. Of what it could be.

Of losing the friendship we built everything on.

But we're also drawn to each other like we can't help it. And maybe... we can't.

"I don't want to stop," I say.

He smiles slowly. "Then don't."

---

That night, back in my room, I get a text.
It's from him.

Joong: Send me another fantasy.

I stare at the screen for a long time.

Then I do.

And this time, I'm not afraid.

Chapter Text

Joong's POV

The message comes just after midnight.

Dunk: I was thinking about the library. A night where we almost get caught. You pushed me against the shelf and told me not to make a sound.

My chest tightens.

I stare at the text longer than I should, heat crawling slowly down my spine. I shift in bed, tug the blanket higher, then throw it off completely. Too hot. Too aware.

Dunk: You told me to stay quiet while your hand was under my shirt.

I bite my lip.

He doesn't send another message right away. He knows what he's doing. Leaving it hanging like a dare.

I swipe to the camera and send a photo-just my bare chest, sheets low enough to show my hipbone. No face. Nothing obvious. But enough to make a point.

Then I reply.

Me: Tell me what I did next.

The typing bubble appears instantly.

Dunk: I unzipped your pants so slow it hurt. You grabbed the shelf behind you to keep from moaning.

I groan softly, hand already drifting under the blanket.

Dunk: You were so hard, Joong. And desperate. But you didn't say a word, not even when I licked up your stomach.

I exhale, eyes fluttering shut.

It's like he's here. Voice in my ear. Breath on my skin.

I type with shaky fingers.

Me: What did you want to do to me?

Dunk: Everything.

Dunk: I wanted to get on my knees. Right there. I wanted to taste you with the risk of someone walking by. I wanted to see if you'd lose control.

I groan, deep in my throat. He's never been this explicit before. It's not just sexting anymore. It's confessions. Cravings.

Raw. Real.

I reply without thinking.

Me: I'd let you.

Dunk: Now?

I hesitate. My hand slows. I stare at the screen, at that one word-"now?"-and everything behind it.

I could say no. I could say it's too late. That it's dangerous. That we've already crossed enough lines.

But I don't want to say any of that.

Me: Come over.

I meet him at the door in pajama pants and a heartbeat loud enough to echo. He doesn't even speak-just pushes in, breath caught in his throat.

We stand there for a moment. Just staring.

Then I grab his hoodie, pull him inside, and slam the door behind us.

He kisses me hard.

No teasing. No hesitation. Just mouth to mouth, breath to breath, like we've both been starving and didn't know it until this second.

His hands are under my shirt before I can catch my breath, fingers spreading across my skin, clutching like he wants to memorize the shape of me.

"Dunk," I whisper, but it's not a warning. It's a prayer.

He pulls back, just enough to meet my eyes. "Are you sure?"

"No," I admit, and then grin against his mouth. "But I want to be."

That's all it takes.

The world narrows to skin and heat. To the slow, delicious unraveling of clothes and doubts. To the feel of his mouth against my throat and the sound I make when he sucks hard enough to bruise.

He guides me back to the bed, and for the first time, we don't stop.

We don't pretend it's a joke. Or a game. Or something we can take back later.

We burn.

We ache.

And when I come apart in his arms, sweat-slicked and breathless, I know exactly what this is now.

Not just desire.

Not just tension.

But something more dangerous.

Something that might be real.

---
***Author's Note***

Ahhhh! What do you think so far???

Chapter Text

Dunk's POV

The sun is spilling across the floor when I wake, warm and uninvited. My first instinct is to roll away from it - but my back hits something solid. Joong's arm, heavy and firm, is draped over my waist, pulling me flush against him.

Joong was still asleep beside me, his arm heavy across my waist, his breath brushing the back of my neck. Normally, I’d wriggle away before he noticed I’d been awake first. Today, I stayed still. Maybe because I liked the weight of him there. Maybe because I was too damn scared of what that meant.

The air between us wasn’t innocent anymore. It hadn’t been for a while.

I could feel last night lingering in my body — the ache in my thighs, the faint bruises on my hips where his hands had been, the heat that sparked low in my stomach just thinking about it. But there was something else too. A dangerous, almost unbearable want to turn around and kiss him awake. Not because I wanted another round — though I did — but because I wanted him.

And that terrified me.

I shifted slightly and his arm tightened. His voice was still rough with sleep when he murmured, “Where do you think you’re going?”

My throat went dry. “Bathroom,” I muttered, but his grip didn’t loosen.

Joong’s lips found the spot just below my ear, slow and lazy. “Bathroom can wait.”

I didn’t mean to melt into him, but the heat spread through me instantly. He rolled me onto my back, settling over me with that maddening confidence like I belonged there. His hair was messy, eyes heavy-lidded, but his smirk was sharp.

“You’re thinking too much again,” he said.

“I’m not.”

“You are. I can feel it.” His hands slid under my shirt, palms hot against my skin. “Let me fix that.”

When Joong kissed me, it was deep and unhurried, but with a promise behind it — the kind that always came true. His tongue swept against mine, and I couldn’t

"Mm," Joong hums, voice low and rough with sleep.

His knee slides between mine. His hand cups my jaw like I'm something he doesn't want to drop.

"You look like you've been dreaming about me," he says, smirk deepening.

I almost laugh, but it comes out shaky. "You're too full of yourself."

"Maybe. Or maybe I just know you by now." His thumb brushes my lower lip. "You get quiet when you want something."

My breath catches. And then his mouth is on mine - no warm-up, no hesitation. Just heat, teeth, and the taste of him, all mixed with the low sound he makes when I fist my hand in his shirt.

I don't even realize he's tugging my clothes off until the air hits my skin. His hands roam like he owns every inch, like memorizing me is a habit. And God, maybe it is.

When he pushes into me, I bite my lip to keep from making a sound too desperate. He notices anyway - he always notices - and slows just enough to make my chest ache.

"Look at me," he says, and when I do, I can't hide it. The way my eyes give me away. The way my fingers grip his shoulders like I'm holding onto something more than just pleasure.

Joong's thrusts are steady, controlled, but his gaze... it's softer than it should be. Dangerous in a way that has nothing to do with what his body's doing to mine.

It's like he's seeing me. Really seeing me.

And that's when it hits - the thing I've been avoiding, denying. This isn't just heat anymore. It's him. It's the way he knows me, the way he makes me feel like I'm his even when we've never said it.

It scares the hell out of me.

"Dunk," he groans, like my name is something he can't help tasting. I arch into him, and for a moment it feels like falling - fast, dangerous, inevitable.

When we come, it's messy and hard and I cling to him like I don't want him to go anywhere. And maybe I don't.

We don't talk after. He just pulls me into his chest, my head tucked under his chin, his hand lazily tracing my spine.

I close my eyes, pretending my heart isn't pounding for a reason I'm not ready to admit.

Because if I do... this stops being a game.

And I'm not sure I'm ready for that.

Chapter Text

Joong's POV

The sun was just beginning to filter through the blinds when I opened my eyes. Dunk was still curled against me, his hair in my face, soft and warm. I could feel the rise and fall of his chest beneath my hand and, for a moment, I froze.

I felt Dunk shift slightly, and I tightened my grip instinctively. Dunk turned around and looked at me with his beautiful eyes then. That was enough. I leaned down and kissed the side of his neck, feeling his shiver. He gripped my arm loosely, pressing into me.

I pressed my weight closer, dragging him fully onto his back and straddling him, hips grinding just enough to make him gasp. He looked up at me, eyes wide and vulnerable, and it hit me harder than it should have: I wasn't just chasing desire anymore. I was chasing him. Every part of him.

Our kiss deepened, slow and deliberate, and I couldn't help the growl that escaped my throat. My hands slid over his sides, gripping, memorizing. His nails raked lightly over my arms, betraying how much he wanted it too.

Every movement, every gasp, every breath we shared was heavy with more than lust. I was aware of how much I wanted to protect him, hold him close afterward, never let him go. And God, that terrified me.

Hours later, we collapsed together, bodies entwined and sweat-dampened, still catching our breaths. Dunk's head was resting on my chest, beautiful hands clutching at my side. I gently rested my chin on the top of his head, heart hammering.

"I think... I could get used to this," I muttered, voice low.

He hummed in response, burying his face closer.

---

By the time we finally stumbled out of bed, it was late morning. Dunk insisted he make breakfast - a routine at this point from living together as roommates for so long.

He moved through the kitchen in his hoodie and boxers, humming softly. I leaned against the counter, arms crossed, watching him. I wanted to tease him, but all I could do was marvel at him.

"Are you just going to stare, or are you going to help?" he asked, smirking over his shoulder.

"I'm observing," I said. "Important research."

He rolled his eyes but didn't argue. I grabbed bowls and poured some cereal, silently watching him fry eggs, toast bread, hum to himself. The way he moved, so natural, so confident in his own little world, made me feel... possessive. And even that scared me. Because it wasn't just lust anymore.

When we sat down to eat together, our legs brushing under the small kitchen table, there was a softness to the way he looked at me that made my chest tighten.

I reached over, brushing away some strands of hair that fell in his face.

And in that small, ordinary moment, I realized something I wasn't ready to admit fully yet: falling for him was inevitable. And maybe, just maybe, I wanted it to be.

Chapter Text

Dunk's POV

I should've known better. We were just having fun.

Joong was leaning over the counter, laughing at something small - a text, a meme, maybe a comment someone had left him on a story. I didn't hear the person, I didn't need to. The way Joong's eyes crinkled when he smiled, the soft chuckle he let slip... it dug into me, sharp and sudden.

I shook my head. Get a grip, Dunk.

But I couldn't. My chest tightened, heart racing in a way I wasn't ready to name. I watched him walk past, brushing his hand casually against the guy's shoulder in a friendly way, nothing more - but my stomach flipped anyway.

Jealousy. Not loud, not stupid, just a quiet, gnawing pit in my stomach.

I found myself sulking in the living room, pretending to scroll through my phone while my mind replayed the little interaction a dozen times. Every small smile, every laugh - I couldn't stop imagining it meant something more.

And I hated myself for it.

Later, Joong leaned against the doorway, watching me. "You're quiet," he said.

I shrugged. "Just thinking."

He didn't press, just sauntered over and perched on the edge of the couch, close enough that our knees brushed. The casual intimacy we'd built over months - sharing a bed, morning coffee together, joking while cooking breakfast - made the tension inside me twist even tighter.

I wanted to be playful, to tease him, but the tight knot of jealousy held my tongue.

Joong leaned closer, eyes darkening. "You're thinking too much," he murmured, lips brushing my ear.

The sound sent a jolt through me, turning nerves into heat. I shouldn't respond, shouldn't give him this power - but my body betrayed me, already reacting.

By then, we were laying on the couch together, it was inevitable. His hands found mine, fingers interlacing. My grip tightened instinctively, as if holding on would keep him from slipping away.

He kissed me, slow, teasing, the way only he knew how to draw me in. My chest pressed against his, hips shifting subtly, a warning and an invitation all at once. The subtle jealousy that had burned all morning transformed into something hotter, hungrier.

"Dunk," he murmured against my lips, voice low, laced with amusement and something darker. "What's wrong with you today?"

"Nothing," I breathed, but the words were useless. He knew. Always knew.

I pressed closer, hands roaming, and the couch became our private world. Every touch was edged with need, every kiss carrying the mix of desire and fear. I was terrified of how much I wanted him, terrified of how much I already cared. And Joong? He sensed it, rode it, teased it.

By the time we collapsed together, flushed and tangled, the tension had eased slightly. I rested my forehead against his chest, hearing the steady beat of his heart.

"Stay," I whispered, voice shaky.

"I'm not going anywhere," he replied, brushing hair from my face. And I believed him - even as the tight, nervous knot of jealousy lingered, a reminder that falling for him was terrifying and inevitable.

Chapter Text

Joong's POV

We go about our normal routine. Or so I think at first. Breakfast together, eggs that he always makes perfect, my coffee that he always stole sips of. But the silence stretched. I tried to fill it with jokes, little nudges of my foot against his under the table. He smiled, but it didn't reach his eyes.

Later, when I leaned in to kiss him, he pulled back just slightly, not rejection, not really, but enough to sting.

"Busy," he murmured, though he wasn't.

I laughed it off, masking the ache in my chest. "Fine, ignore me. I'll find someone else to bother."

The words slipped out before I could stop them. They were supposed to be a joke, but the way Dunk's face fell made me wish I could take them back immediately.

"Someone else, huh?" His voice was low, sharp.

"Dunk-"

"Forget it," he muttered. He brushed it off quickly, pressing closer, kissing me like the words hadn't mattered. But they did. They stuck to the inside of my chest, nagging.

Because the truth was, I wasn't sure.

What if I was just bothering him? What if I was nothing more than a body to warm his bed, a distraction between classes and projects, a late-night mistake he didn't want to stop repeating?

The thought gutted me.

Dunk wasn't easy to read, not when it came to feelings. We've known each other for a long time so sometimes I could, but other times... He joked, teased, let himself be pulled into the chaos we made together, but when the laughter faded, his silences were deep and heavy. Sometimes I wondered what they meant. Sometimes I feared they meant I wasn't enough.

Still, when his mouth found mine, I gave in. Every time. Because when he kissed me, the doubts quieted, drowned beneath the rush of heat and hunger.

That night was no different. I pressed him back against the couch, fingers gripping tight, like he needed me closer than skin allowed. He was rougher than usual, desperate, as though he was trying to claim something he couldn't name.

I let him. God, I wanted him to.

But even as his body arched into mine, my mind spun. Did he want me, Joong, or just the comfort of not being alone? Was I a choice, or just the closest option?

"Dunk," I whispered, when our lips broke apart, breath heavy. My hands framed his face, thumbs brushing along his jaw. He looked up at me like I was something fragile and dangerous all at once.

"Yeah?" His voice was low, uneven.

I almost asked. Do you like me? Or do you just like this?
But I couldn't. The words felt too sharp, too final. So instead, I pulled him in, letting his weight settle over me, letting the question dissolve into another kiss.

We moved together until thought blurred into sensation, until the need was all that mattered. His name tore from my lips, and for a while, I didn't care about answers.

After, we lay tangled in silence. My chest rose and fell against his, skin slick with sweat, my mind still restless even as my body softened. He was warm, steady, and grounding. I wanted to stay there forever.

"Don't overthink," he murmured, like he could read me. But were those words of comfort or words to keep me from crossing a line?

I didn't reply. Instead, I pressed my face into his neck, hiding the doubt flickering behind my eyes.

Because falling for him wasn't the problem.
The problem was wondering if he'd ever fall just as hard for me.

Chapter Text

Dunks POV

Joong’s laughter usually filled every space we shared. Big, bright, messy and louder than it needed to be, but exactly the way I liked it. Lately, though, it has been thinner. Quieter. Like he was trying to convince himself it was real.

And maybe that was my fault.

I caught myself staring at him across the table, watching the way he pushed eggs around his plate. He always ate first, talked while I picked at mine. But this morning the words didn’t come. My chest was too heavy with things I couldn’t seem to say.

Then his joke slipped out, casual and sharp at the same time: “Fine, ignore me. I’ll find someone else to bother.”

I should’ve known he didn’t mean it. That it was his way of covering up the sting of my distance. But jealousy is ugly and fast, and before I could stop it, the thought of Joong with someone else sank its teeth into me.

Someone else?
The words kept echoing, burning.

So that night, when we kissed, I didn’t let him breathe. I pressed too hard, held too tight, trying to drown out that ache in my chest with his body against mine. He let me-he always did-but I knew he felt the difference. My desperation wasn’t the kind that came from love alone. It came from fear.

After, when he rested against me, I could feel the questions in the way his hand lingered on my jaw. I could see it in his eyes when he almost said something, then swallowed it back.

I told him, “Don’t overthink.”
But really, that was me begging him not to ask the questions I didn’t have the courage to answer yet.

Because the truth was, I didn’t want this if it wasn’t him. I didn’t want just anyone in my bed, just anyone’s laugh in the mornings. I wanted Joong. Only Joong.

And I was terrified he didn’t believe that.

---

It all broke a few days later.

He was at the studio, chatting with one of the new dancers, a guy with quick feet and an easy grin. I should’ve known better, but the way Joong leaned in when he laughed, the way his hand brushed the other guy’s arm, it hit me like a punch.

I couldn’t watch. I turned away too fast, jaw clenched, chest burning.

By the time we were alone back at the apartment, I was at my breaking point. Then I saw him look and smile at something on his phone. Nothing he showed me and then he quickly put his phone away.

The words spilled before I could swallow them down.

“So, you found someone else to bother after all.”

He blinked at me, startled. “What?”

“That dancer. You looked pretty happy with him.”

Joong’s face shifted, confusion first, then hurt. “Are you serious right now?”

My throat tightened. “You said it yourself, remember? Maybe you should find someone else to bother. Maybe you already did.” The words came out sharper than I meant, my voice cracking with the effort to keep calm.

He blinked, startled. “What?”

“Do you even want to continue? This. Us.” My throat was tight. “Or am I just—what? A convenience? Something to pass the time?”

His eyes widened, and hurt flashing across his face. “Dunk, no. Why would you even say that?”

“Because you’ve been pulling away!” My voice rose despite me. I pushed up from the couch, pacing, running a hand through my hair. “You kiss me, but it’s like you’re somewhere else. You laugh, but it doesn’t reach your eyes. You don’t look at me the way you used to. So tell me the truth, Joong, if you don’t want this anymore, just say it.”

He stared at me like I’d struck him. “You think you’re the only one afraid here?” he shot back, his own voice breaking now. “You think I don’t wonder every second if I’m enough for you? If maybe-” he faltered, then forced it out, “if maybe you’ll realize you don’t really want me.”

The words sliced straight through me. My chest clenched, and for a second, I couldn’t breathe.

“That’s not fair,” I whispered, but it came out more like a growl. “I’ve done nothing but show you how much I do- how much I care. And still, you don’t trust me.”

His jaw tightened. “And you don’t trust me, if you think I’m running to someone else the moment I look away for two seconds.”

The air between us felt electric, too sharp, too hot. I wanted to close the distance, to hold him until the anger cracked and the truth spilled out, but my body wouldn’t move.

Instead, I said the worst thing possible. “Maybe we’re just too different.”

The second it left my mouth, I wanted to take it back, but Joong had already flinched like I’d hit him. His face shuttered, eyes hardening against me.

“Maybe we are,” he said quietly, and that hurt more than anything else.

The silence that followed was unbearable. I tried to speak, but nothing came out. And then he was moving, grabbing his jacket from the chair, slipping on his shoes with hands that trembled just enough for me to notice.

“Joong-”

“Don’t,” he cut me off, his voice rough. “Not right now.”

The door shut behind him, and the echo rang through the apartment long after he was gone.

I stood there frozen, my chest hollow, my throat raw. For the first time since we’d found each other, I couldn’t shake the crushing fear that maybe, just maybe, I was already losing him.

Chapter Text

Joong’s POV

The night air was sharp, biting against my skin as I stepped out of our apartment. I didn’t even realize I’d been holding my breath until the door clicked shut behind me. Then it all came rushing out in a shaky exhale that felt more like defeat than relief.

“Not right now.” The words had slipped out before I’d thought them through. But the truth was, I couldn’t stay in that room a second longer. His voice, the edge in it, the way his eyes had hardened when he said maybe we’re too different. It gutted me.

I walked without direction, hands shoved deep into my jacket pockets, my thoughts louder than the city around me.

Maybe we are.
The echo of my own words stung more than his.

I hated that I’d said it. I hated that I meant it, even for a second. Because the truth was, I didn’t want anyone else. Not a single damn person. Every stupid laugh, every morning coffee, every reckless kiss that left me dizzy. I wanted all of it. With him.

But wanting him didn’t erase the doubt.

He thought I was pulling away. Maybe I was. But only because I was scared. Scared that one day he’d wake up and realize he could do better, that I was just the easiest option because we already lived tangled in each other’s lives.

And then, tonight, when he looked at me like I’d betrayed him, like a brush of my hand against someone’s arm was enough to break us. Something inside me cracked.

Did he really think I wanted someone else? That I could even look at anyone when he was right there?

The anger and hurt twisted together until I didn’t know where one ended and the other began.

I stopped at the corner of the street, leaning against the cool brick of a building, dragging a hand over my face. My chest ached in a way I couldn’t soothe.

I thought about going to a friend’s place, crashing on a couch just to avoid the silence of my own room. But the truth was, no one else knew us like we knew each other. No one else could make sense of this storm in my chest.

And yet, going back to him tonight wasn’t an option.

Because if I saw him again, I’d break. Either I’d apologize for things I didn’t do just to keep him close, or I’d yell until my voice was raw, begging him to believe me. Neither felt like the answer.

So I kept walking, hands trembling in my pockets, telling myself distance was safer.

But under all the anger, one thought looped relentlessly, tearing through me with every step:

I don’t want him to stop choosing me.

Even if I wasn’t sure he really had.

Chapter Text

Dunk’s POV

The apartment was too quiet.

Not the comfortable kind of quiet we’d built together, filled with the faint hum of the fridge or Joong’s off-key humming as he brushed his teeth. This was the kind of quiet that pressed against my chest, sharp and suffocating.

I sat on the edge of the bed, elbows braced against my knees, my head in my hands. The fight replayed on loop, each line sharper than the last. His voice agreeing to, “Maybe we’re just too different.” My own words, bitter and reckless, cutting him down when I should have been holding him.

God. How did I let it get this bad?

I dragged a hand through my hair, tugging at the roots like pain might knock some sense into me. It didn’t. It only made the guilt crawl deeper under my skin.

I hadn’t meant any of it. Not really. I didn’t care about differences, about fights, about whatever nonsense excuse I threw at him. What I cared about was the way he’d laughed earlier that week in the coffee shop, the way he fit against me when we fell asleep, the way he made me want more than I ever thought I could have.

And I’d pushed him away. Hard.

The worst part wasn’t even the anger in his eyes when he left. It was the hurt. That split second where I saw him flinch, like my words confirmed every fear he’d been carrying.

Because I knew Joong. I knew how he second-guessed his place in people’s lives. How he worried he was temporary, replaceable. And tonight I’d fed into that. I’d handed him proof that maybe he was right.

The thought made my stomach twist.

I leaned back against the headboard, staring at the ceiling like answers might be written there. All I found was emptiness.

I wanted to call him. My phone sat on the nightstand, a constant temptation, its screen blank and cold. My thumb hovered more than once over his name, but every time, the same fear stopped me: what if he didn’t pick up? What if he was done?

The silence stretched. Minutes felt like hours.

I hated the way my chest ached without him here. I hated the thought that maybe he was out there, convincing himself I didn’t care enough, that I’d already let go.

The truth was the opposite. I cared too much. Enough to choke on it.

I pressed my palms against my face, forcing back the burn in my eyes. No. I wasn’t going to cry. Not yet. Not until I knew where we stood.

But I knew one thing: I couldn’t let this be the end.

I couldn’t lose him. Not to pride, not to fear, not to my own stupidity.

Tomorrow, hell, as soon as I could breathe without shaking, I’d find him. I’d tell him every word I’d swallowed tonight. That I loved him. That I didn’t give a damn about “differences.” That the only thing I wanted was him, always.

But for now, all I could do was sit in the dark, haunted by the silence he left behind.

Chapter Text

Joong's POV

The first night, I couldn't sleep.

I told myself leaving had been the right move, that maybe space was what we needed. But lying in a friend's spare room with the city buzzing faintly outside, all I could think about was him. Dunk, alone in the apartment, probably pacing the way he did when he couldn't settle. I kept waiting for my phone to light up with his name.

It didn't.

By the second day, the anger had dulled into something worse: ache. I went through rehearsals like a ghost, smiling when people looked, but inside every laugh felt hollow. My chest felt too empty, like I'd left something behind I couldn't get back.

And then I saw him.

It wasn't planned. Just bad luck or fate, depending on how you looked at it. I walked into the practice building and there he was, standing in the hallway with a water bottle, looking as wrecked as I felt. His eyes lifted, and for a heartbeat we just stared.

I should've kept walking. Should've pretended I didn't care. But the second he breathed my name, soft and hoarse, my body betrayed me.

"Joong."

That was all it took.

The dam inside me broke, and suddenly I was moving toward him, fast, before I could think better of it. My hands shoved at his chest, half-angry, half-relieved, and then I was gripping his shirt and kissing him like the past two days had been years.

It wasn't careful. It wasn't soft. It was messy and desperate, our teeth clashing, our breaths breaking, both of us clinging like drowning men.

I should've said words, the ones I'd swallowed down for weeks. But all I could manage was this: pressing him back against the wall, whispering his name against his mouth like it was the only one I knew.

He kissed me back with the same desperation, his hands trembling on my waist. And in that wild, breathless moment, I knew:

We weren't done. Not even close.

Chapter Text

Dunk’s POV

The apartment was too quiet without him.

His mug was still in the sink. His hoodie still draped across the back of the chair. But Joong wasn’t here, and the silence pressed against my chest until I thought it might crush me.

I replayed every word from that night like punishment.
Maybe we’re just too different.
Maybe we are.

I hated myself for saying it. For letting fear twist my love into something ugly. The truth was, I’d never wanted anyone the way I wanted him. But instead of showing that, I’d made him feel disposable. Replaceable. And I didn’t know if I’d ruined everything.

Two days of pacing, of almost calling, of staring at his contact on my phone until my vision blurred. And then suddenly, he was there.

The hallway of the studio. His eyes finding mine, sharp and wounded and everything I missed. My throat closed around his name, but it slipped out anyway.

“Joong.”

Then he was on me. Shoving, grabbing, kissing me like he wanted to both kill me and save me in the same breath. My back hit the wall, and I let it, because all I cared about was him. His mouth on mine, his anger, his relief, his hands fisted in my shirt like he’d never let go.

And I kissed him back. Desperate, clumsy, heart-shattering. Two days of silence and two months of doubt poured out of me all at once.

But I couldn’t let it end there. Not again. Not without words.

I pulled back just enough to breathe, my forehead resting against his. “I was jealous,” I admitted, the words scraping my throat raw. “I saw you with that guy and...God, Joong, I lost my mind. I thought you didn’t want me anymore. I thought I wasn’t enough.”

His breath caught, his grip on me faltering for the first time.

“You idiot,” he whispered, his voice breaking. “It’s you. It’s always been you. I only ever wanted you. I just… I was scared. That I wasn’t what you wanted. That one day you’d wake up and realize I was just just someone to fill the space.”

The words gutted me, because they were my fear too. My hands cupped his face, thumbs brushing the heat under his eyes. “No. Don’t ever think that. You’re not a convenience, you’re not temporary. You’re it. You’re all of it, Joong. The mornings, the nights, the everything-in-between. I love you.”

My eyes widened as I just word vomited on accident. But... It was true and honest.

His eyes widened, shining, and for a second he just stared at me like he wasn’t sure he’d heard right. Then his mouth curved, trembling but real.

“I love you too.”

And then he was kissing me again, but softer this time. Not desperate, not angry. Just full of the thing we’d been too afraid to say out loud until now.

When we finally broke apart, he pressed his face into my shoulder, laughing through a shaky breath. “We’re a mess.”

“Yeah,” I said, holding him tight, relief flooding me until my knees almost gave out. “But we’re our mess.”

And for the first time in days, I felt whole again.