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People don’t give him enough credit, Jun decides as he takes the long route back to the MARS house. He’s really a stand-up guy. So kind and noble. Too good for this world, honestly.
After all, where would Thame and Po be right now without him? Nowhere. Given how prone they are to just staring into each others’ eyes instead of, you know, doing anything, they still might not get anywhere.
He tries not to be too pleased by the thought.
The streetlights streaking against the windows of his SUV are dull compared to the ultrabright, flashing lights of the arcade. The whole world feels duller without the pinging and the clacking and the pew-pewing of his chosen haven, the ringing of chiptune melodies in the air. It’s drab out here. Gray.
The streets themselves are quiet. It’s late enough that most people are home, but he spies a few stragglers walking along the back roads as he cruises by. The way trees shadow the road - curving inward like a natural embrace, moonbeams peaking through their branches - the bustle of the city seems far away. He could almost pretend he’s in some kind of fantasy movie, on a quest to save the damsel and win the day.
For a moment, he does. For a moment, he is not Jun. For a moment, there is no MARS and no Po and no deadline after which his dreams will be fully and finally crushed. There is only the open road stretching beyond him. Endless possibilities for adventure. A world waiting for him to explore.
He blinks, and the vision fades. Only the dull, drab scene remains.
Let’s face facts: Jun is no winner. He isn’t the star of the movie; he isn’t the leading man. No, no matter how hard he tries, Jun is destined to only look upon the leading man from afar. He’s the second lead on a good day: the best friend, the trusted coworker. He is the comic relief of most others. Just a nameless, faceless extra in the background, on occasion.
Tonight? He’s not even that. He’s just a scrap of footage on the cutting room floor, a character carefully carved out of a story in which he has no part. That’s all.
It’s strange. He thought he would be angrier, but, even now, most prominent among the tangle of emotions rumbling and roiling in his chest (angerhurtsadnessfrustrationhurtdisappointmenthurthurthurt) is pride. Thame is finally putting himself first. He’s finally being selfish and treating his own happiness as important. Jun’s been on his ass about that for years. It’s a good thing. For his friend and for MARS.
(‘But…did he have to want this? Of all things?’)
“Whatever,” he dismisses. “It’s not like I was in love with Po or anything.” There’s no need to be dramatic, even though he’s so good at it. “He was an annoying, whiny baby half of the time anyway.”
(‘You liked him, though,’ a part of him quietly, gently rebuffs. ‘You wanted him.’)
“Yeah,” Jun sighs, his voice wavering slightly. “I did.”
How could he not? Po was kind. Beautiful, with full lips and doe eyes and skin as smooth as satin and a laugh that scrunched up his button nose just so. Soft, at least at first glance, but with a sharp tongue that could rival Jun’s. He liked working with him, bantering with him. He liked getting to know him, discovering encounter by encounter his stubbornness and sensitivity, his generosity and his passion. He liked seeing how much he cared about Jun’s bandmates and their plight, even though they are essentially strangers to him. He liked Po.
With that simple admission, the full weight of Jun’s disappointment bears down on him. He’d really tried, too, this time. Jun believes in efficiency - intelligent laziness, minimal work for maximum impact - but he’d actually gone the extra mile and put in the work and try to change Po’s mind, to give him an alternative to his fucking ex, to stop him from fantasizing about a boy he’d thought (until tonight) was out of reach. He wanted to show him that love doesn’t have to be scary. That someone who truly loves you will help you become the person you’d always dreamed of being. That they won’t use you or forget you or take you for granted. That they will support you and challenge you and look after you.
Well, he thinks somewhat wryly, he's accomplished that goal. Thame is better positioned not to be a shitty boyfriend, should he ever get his shit together and actually ask Po out. And Po is much more confident in himself and his abilities as a director than he was when they first met.
It’s not that his work was fruitless. It’s just that…Po didn’t see Jun as someone he could love.
He never really saw Jun at all.
(“Thame is so smart to have brought you back first,” Po says with a dopey grin. “He knew you’d be able to help us the most.”)
(“Why would anybody smile at you, hmm?” Po retorts after being pulled into a stairwell. The annoyance and frustration in his expression are clear. That doesn’t bother Jun. It’s the faint hint of disappointment in his eyes that gets to him. Disappointment that he isn't someone else.)
(“Can I just…buy you some snacks or something?” Po asks after turning down his invitation to celebrate their MV shoot together, his tone flippant. He is already looking away; he can’t see the way Jun’s face falls. But Jun can see how the older man’s ears pinken like those of a boy in the throes of a teenage crush. “I’ve got a date with Thame.”)
For someone who felt so left behind, Po sure has a talent for leaving people out in the cold.
Jun’s groan echoes in the enclosed space. ‘This fucking sucks.’ He’s not angry. He’s not. He just feels empty…and cold. And sad.
He liked Po.
It won’t leave this car. It won’t ever leave his lips again. He’ll never admit it if Thame asks or when Nano needles him about it or when Pepper gives him one of those knowing looks from across the dining room table. He won’t react when Dylan jabs him with words a touch too pointed to be friendly. He won’t make any faces behind the happy couple’s back. No snide comments to their faces. (Well, no genuine ones. He can’t be too nice; it’d be off brand.)
It may shock those around him to realize this, but Jun can be selfless. He’s so selfless. And a good enough actor to fake it when he needs to, too.
Mirthlessly, he chuckles. “Looks like you're zero for two now, Jun.”
His flirting with P’ Gam never got him anywhere. (Of course, now he knows why and is glad he didn’t push harder.) And things with Po didn’t pan out either. Cockblocked by his own bandmates.
‘What next?’ he thinks as he pulls into the driveway of the MARS house. ‘Some guy I meet at the supermarket turns out to be Dylan’s long lost love?’ His hands tighten around the steering wheel at the thought. Or maybe Nano…well, Nano isn’t allowed to date. He’s just a baby, so. At least there’s that.
Silently, he exits the car and steps inside the house, sliding the door closed behind him. He finds it dark save for the cool, white light coming from Dylan’s room. For a moment he stands there and debates what his next move should be. Technically, the group is still in crisis mode: the song Thame and Dylan had written for the most important comeback of their careers had been stolen and given to another Oner artist. They now have one week to come up with a new song and MV concept, record it, film it, and distribute it. And it has to be good enough to top the charts or else they’re all fucked.
No pressure.
Sure, he could probably do something tonight to help out, but…he’s so tired and burned out. All of that effort he’d spent over the last few weeks, and what did it get him? Why bother doing it again? They probably don’t even need him this time - Po knows enough now to be given the reins of the MV, and Thame already has a song concept that’s different and catchy. They’ll be fine without Jun. He’s done enough.
Yet he nevertheless finds himself drifting not to the comforting solitude of his own room but to the glow of their resident rapper’s. Peeking over the threshold reveals a man hard at work, his silver hair glistening in the digital light as he carefully adjusts a track making up part of what sounds like a dark, smoky hip-hop beat. He hears it start. Stop. Start again. Dylan, sporting a well-worn sleeveless tee and basketball shorts, is hunched forward in his chair, face close to the screen as he slides the track around, an empty cup of boba tea knocked on its side. The synchronization has to be perfect, Jun knows. Even a microsecond off and the whole song falls apart. It takes complete focus to achieve such precision.
“Hey,” Jun suddenly and sharply speaks into the quiet, snickering at the spasm his voice sparks. “You’re going to need glasses shoving your face into the computer like that. And you’re just asking for back problems, too.” He leans against the doorframe. “What kind of idol will you be then, hmm? Needing reading glasses and a cane to get around?”
“Ugh. It’s too late to be dealing with you,” Dylan mutters. More loudly, “Why are you here? I’m busy.” He undoes the error he’d made in his surprise and spins in his chair to face Jun. He has a fierce glare locked and loaded, but, concerningly, it quickly morphs into careful neutrality after giving him a once over. “What the fuck happened to you?”
Jun stills where he stands, his only tell. He holds his easygoing, devil-may-care facial expression in place. He really doesn’t want to get into this with Dylan right now-
Dylan lets out a short laugh that strikes Jun’s ears as cruel. “Thame must have finally cornered you. How did that talk go, I wonder?” He leaned forward, elbows on his knees, head in his palms. “Didn’t get the guy after all, did you?”
He can almost hear the way his smile cracks and fractures, like a window right after a rock’s come hurtling through. Sharp and sudden. “Fuck you, Dylan,” he spits. All the anger he hadn’t been feeling before roars to life. “You don’t know anything.”
He tilts his head, his eyes glinting in the digital light. Half of his face is cast in shadow; half shines an eerie white. “I know enough,” he says. “I thought it might turn out like this. I don’t know P’ Po that well, but…I’ve seen the way he looks at Thame.” He leans back in his chair then, arms resting in his lap. “Nano will be disappointed, though. He was rooting for you.” His fingers drum an idle beat against his thighs. “Said he saw chemistry between you two.”
Nano is his favorite member of MARS, Jun decides amid the haze of annoyance flooding his being. It’s good to know he wasn’t crazy to think there was something between Po and him.
“And…what?” Jun says, something ugly snarling within him. “This is good news to you?”
Dylan shrugs. “I’m always glad to see someone take you down a peg or two. Your ego could use the deflating.”
Jun can feel his nails begin to bite into the flesh of his palms. Oh, is that all? Big, bad Jun has to be humbled, so it’s ok if his heart gets stomped on? (Or, worse, completely ignored?) Is that it?
“Did you two fight?” Dylan asks curiously, giving him another once over.
He rolls his eyes. Really? He’s just going to twist the knife like this? “Shut up, Dylan.”
“No? That’s a shame. I was hoping to see that,” Dylan laments. His shoulders slump for a moment, but he perks up. Jun can almost see the thought as it forms in his head.
With a creeping dread, he braces for it.
“Did you talk with P’ Po, too?”
And there it is.
“Shut the fuck up, Dylan,” he warns, the snarling thing beginning to sharpen its teeth. Enough has gone wrong tonight. He doesn’t need anything else to crumble in his hands. Nothing else needs to happen if Dylan could just get a fucking clue.
“Oh my god, you did!” He claps, his eyes dancing. With urgency, he asks, “What did he say when he turned you down? Man, I’d have given anything to see the dumb look on your-”
In one move, he grabs a fistful of Dylan’s T-shirt, yanks him out of his chair and presses him against the wall with a thud. The way his head bounces on impact sends a swirl of guilt, concern, and a dark, dark satisfaction whirling through him.
He’s not the leading man, ok? Not in the story he wants to be in. But in this one? The one unfolding before him? He won’t just let himself be cast aside. He won’t be ignored.
He’ll be the villain before being completely cut out.
With his chest heaving, Jun shakes him and tells him one more time, “Shut. Up. Dylan.”
“Or what? You’re gonna hit me?” Dylan’s gaze is hard when his eyes flutter open. “Try it.”
Jun stares into the rapper’s steely eyes, his fist tightening in his shirt. Only Dylan can bring him to the brink like this, can make him utterly lose his cool. He feels his battered sense of restraint hanging by a single, taut thread. The hair-raising calm before the inevitable storm.
“I fucking dare you.” Dylan leans forward, so close that Jun can feel the other boy’s breath on his lips. “Coward.”
The thread snaps. The storm breaks.
Jun crashes his lips into the other boy’s, relishing in the split second of surprise that flashes over Dylan’s face before they touch. Dylan’s hands come up and press against his chest, but Jun lets go of the boy’s shirt to grab them and pin them at his sides against the wall. He can feel Dylan fighting against his grip (always, always fighting him), but the boy's lips are moving against his own all the same. Just as intently. Just as hungrily.
Victory sings through Jun’s body, all soaring strings and smooth, velvety brass. It rings in his ears, carried by the blood rushing through his veins. Finally, someone wants him. Even if only a little. Even if only like this.
Jun elicits a gasp from the rapper when he bites down on his lower lip, and he uses the opportunity to slip his tongue inside. The taste of lychee floods his senses. Sweet. Fresh. Addicting.
He hears Dylan’s moan - low and throaty, like he wants to keep the sound hidden away. But Jun is greedy and angry and, as he licks into his mouth, decides he wants to hear more. He breaks their kiss, eyes tracking the trail of spit that lingers between their lips, and presses his body flush against Dylan’s, jamming his thigh between Dylan’s legs.
A loud hiss escapes this time. 'Better,' Jun thinks as he kisses along Dylan’s jaw and down his neck, 'but not enough.' Slowly, slowly, he drags his thigh up-
“Fuck. Fuck,” Dylan pants, his eyes clenched shut. His mouth hangs open as he tilts his head to the side, exposing more and more pale skin for Jun to taste. Jun nips at the tender spot at the juncture of his neck and shoulder-
“Ah, Jun!”
Hot lava churns in his gut at the sound. Oh. Oh, that’s nice. Lapping at his little bite to soothe the sting, he drags his lips up to Dylan’s ear. “Say my name again, baby,” he purrs in a low baritone. He gently takes the supple lobe of his ear between his teeth and tugs. Suckles a spot just underneath it and earns his prize.
“J…Jun.” Dylan moans his name so sweetly, the sharp edges and air of remove he normally carries himself with nowhere to be found in the heat of the moment. The need in his voice is so…again. He needs to hear it again. What can he do to make him do it aga-
His world suddenly spins on its axis. Jun winces as his head bounces against the wall. It’s Jun’s turn to strain against the hands restraining his arms at his sides, but he can’t break free. As it turns out, the rapper possesses more strength than his smaller, more lithe form would suggest. He must have lost his focus, he thinks distantly. Loosened his grip enough for Dylan to free himself.
He takes a moment to drink in the vision in front of him, eyeing with relish Dylan’s flushed face, the cherry red of his swollen lips, the faint trail of marks running down his neck. Such a pretty picture he’s made. His voice is rough when he asks, “Who’s the coward now, huh?”
Dylan’s chest is heaving as he does his own scrutinizing. Jun doesn’t mind. He knows he’s handsome. It’d be criminal not to let people take a look.
“Still you,” he breathes. His expression is clear once more, but Jun can see the fire burning in his eyes. It matches the one burning inside Jun, indignation and want melding into something that he struggles to contain.
Jun lifts his chin in defiance. “Prove it,” Jun dares.
In the blink of an eye, Dylan is upon him. Pressed flush against him. Lips leaving a flaming trail down his neck. He finds a spot right over his pulse that has Jun keening, weak in the knees, seeing stars, and he licks and bites and sucks relentlessly.
“Is this what you want?” He asks, his breath hot against the shell of his ear. He rolls his hips up into Jun’s-
“God yes, Dylan,” he gasps out, eyes scrunching shut in rapture. His mind is perfectly, blissfully clear. His every nerve is ablaze and thrumming. The whole world has been reduced to this moment, to the feeling of Dylan’s hands tight around his wrists and his mouth on his neck. He never wants this to end.
He hears the rapper chuckle, a low, dark sound. “Liar.”
And then he pulls away.
“Wh…what…” Jun sputters, opening his eyes to find Dylan a foot away from him. He fights to get his breathing under control. “What the fuck?”
“You’re lying, Jun,” Dylan accuses quietly, but, compared to the inquisition that started this whole thing, kindly. “It’s not what you want.” He reaches up and cup’s Jun’s jaw ever so delicately. “Not really.” His thumb brushes against his cheek in a gentle caress. Despite his flickering annoyance, Jun leans into the touch. (He kind of hates himself for it.)
“This is what you want,” Dylan tells him. Assures him. He takes a step forward and-
Sweet. This kiss is sweet and achingly tender. Slow. Unhurried. No matter how Jun tries to ratchet up the heat, to find enough friction to light a spark, the rapper keeps his pace. Eventually, Dylan pulls back. Not far - their lips are still close enough to brush - but just enough to say, “Listen.” And he leans back in.
Jun tries to do as Dylan asks.
He listens, and he lets himself get lost in the sensation of their lips moving against one another, an act of harmony rather than aggression. He listens, and his hands move to rest on Dylan’s waist. Just rest. Not grip, not tug. He listens, and he shivers just from feeling the weight of Dylan’s hand resting on his shoulder. He listens, and he feels Dylan’s heartbeat thrum through his own chest. Strong. Steady. There.
He doesn’t realize he’s crying until Dylan’s lips depart from his own, chasing after every tear. “You’re going to be ok,” Dylan whispers after kissing each one away. “You’re going to be ok. You’re going to be ok. You’re going to be ok.”
Jun tucks his head into the crook of Dylan’s neck, moving to cling to the other boy like he’s the only lifeline that can save him from drowning. His shoulders shake with the effort of suppressing his sobs. He feels Dylan pull him away from the wall and return his embrace.
“I’m sorry,” he chokes out. This is so embarrassing. He didn’t come in here to have a breakdown. He didn’t come in here to do any of this.
(‘Aren’t you glad you did?’ a familiar part of him prods.)
“Don’t be stupid,” Dylan grumbles, but there’s no heat in his voice. He tightens his embrace. “It doesn’t suit you.”
Jun chuckles a little at his words. “You think I’m smart, then?” He asks, his voice warbled by his crying.
One of Dylan’s hands comes to toy with the hair at the nape of his neck. “Don’t go fishing for compliments, either.” He rubs circles into the small of Jun’s back.
He remains in the rapper’s embrace for a while, just soaking in the comfort his presence brings. They’ve never been like this with each other before. This is probably the most civil conversation they’ve had in their two years in the band. He doesn’t always mind their bickering, but…he prefers this.
It’s strange how it’s tonight’s events that have brought them to this moment of camaraderie. And, as the overwhelming swirl of emotions within him begins to subside, he starts to wonder: where does that leave them?
He sniffles before pulling away, and, sensing the movement, Dylan lets him go. Now, here they stand in the wake of all that’s taken place. They study each other in the low light, but neither moves to speak. What can they even say to make tonight make any sense? It seems like there’s a lot that they should talk about, but…it’s late and he’s tired and… Dylan’s busy anyway, so…
Jun musters up his usual suave self-possession and smiles, rubbing a hand against the back of his neck. “Hey. I’m, uh, gonna go get some sleep. I’ll see you tomor-”
“Sit down, Jun,” Dylan sighs. He moves over to his bed and pats the spot beside him. When Jun doesn’t move to follow, he tiredly adds, “Don’t run away from me.”
‘Coward,’ he hears in the rapper’s voice. ‘Cowardcowardcoward-’
He joins Dylan on the bed. Looking down at his lap, he mutters, “I’m not afraid of you.”
He can hear the smile in Dylan’s voice when he retorts, “Sure.” The bed creaks as Dylan shifts his position, but he doesn’t say anything else, seemingly content to wait Jun out.
Time passes, the only sounds puncturing the silence being the hum of Dylan’s desktop and the squeak of the errant mattress spring. It’s only when the thoughts from his car ride start to creep back in that Jun relents.
An uncharacteristic hesitancy steals over him. “I… I didn’t mean to… I don’t want you to think that I came here to…” He swallows. Fuck. Fuck.
“To…what?” Dylan prompts, a single eyebrow raised. “Use me?”
Jun flinches. “I wouldn’t!” Panic, blind panic, washes over him, skittering his nerves. He jerks his head up to look at Dylan, trying to see if he can read the truth in his words, but his face could be carved from stone. Jun reaches out with the intention of grabbing one of Dylan’s hands, but the topic of conversation makes him abort his motion. “I…I know we don’t always get along, but I would…I would never.”
But a tendril of doubt worms its way into his mind.
Isn’t that what he did? Barged into Dylan’s room with a wounded heart and…and pushed himself on him? Gave in to the heat of the moment so that he could forget the shitty, shitty day he’d had? Forget that last lie he’d told Thame before leaving the arcade? Forget the way Po’s eyes had lit up when he’d told him that his feelings for Thame weren’t one-sided after all? Forget how it was the first time, the only time that Po had even seen him at all?
Hands gently cradle his face. “...y. Hey. Jun. Can you hear me?” He blinks back into the room. “Are you with me?”
“Yeah,” he croaks. “I’m…here.” His chest aches at the reminder of his unvoiced affections. His whole body hurts. But it’s easier to focus with Dylan’s curious gaze on him.
The rapper sighs, but this time, it sounds like it’s from relief. “I know you didn’t come here to use me.” He glances away for a brief moment. “And it’s not like I didn’t kiss you back. I’m not a victim or anything, though…I didn’t expect…what just happened. To happen.” He drops his hands from Jun’s face. Jun immediately misses the warmth. “Listen, you had a shit night, and I made it worse being an asshole. I’m…sorry. For that.” He looks away, rubbing one of his biceps. “I just…wanted to help take your mind off of it, I guess. Our fights usually work. I…should have thought about it a little more.”
It’s strange…seeing Dylan like this. Shy. Open. Vulnerable.
“Well,” Jun says, drawing Dylan’s attention back to him, “you certainly took my mind off things.” His eyes dip down to Dylan’s plush lips and back up. “I think you literally took my breath away, too.”
The way the other boy’s flushes threatens to leave him breathless once more. “Pretty,” he whispers. When Dylan tries to turn away again, Jun grabs his chin and keeps him in place. He tilts his head and enjoys the view. “Such a pretty boy.”
“Shut up.” Dylan rolls his eyes, but Jun can see how his blush deepens from a dusting of pink to a vivid red, the way his lips start to curl upward at the edges. “What’s with the flirting? Aren’t you supposed to be heartbroken?” He pauses, wincing as if playing back his words. “Sorry. That was-”
“Don’t worry about it,” Jun dismisses, letting him go. “I’m not heartbroken. It wasn’t…that deep yet, but…” He sighs. “I flirt with a lot of people, right? Sometimes, it's just for fun, and sometimes, I’d like to see where it goes.” He knew he had almost no shot with P’ Gam, but she’s gorgeous and he’s gorgeous and there’s no prize you can win by not taking a chance. “With Po…it started as the first one and became the second. And then…”
Then it became something even he didn’t understand. It turned into a genuine curiosity about what made such a kind person tiptoe through life the way Po did. It turned into wanting to find ways to make him smile, to ease his burden. It turned into an insatiable desire to have Po’s eyes on him, even if they were searing or stinging or rolling out of his head. It turned into late nights helping the older man with his day job so he could keep his stupid promise to help them with their MV even though he was clearly too busy and Thame and Pepper should have known that. It turned into evenings spent alone working on the MV, sparking the desire to help Po see himself and his potential in a newer, better light. It turned into a conviction that he was the one for Po, a burning conviction that was sorely tested every time Po batted those doe eyes at Thame.
That conviction fizzled out tonight. But the embers of it still linger. They still burn.
“Then it became something more.” Jun shrugs with a casualness that he does not even remotely feel. “But like you said, I never really had a chance from the start.” He can still hear the resounding clack the air hockey puck made as it ricocheted off Thame’s striker and thudded back into his own goal. The sounding of the buzzer. The glowing green letters spelling out, “YOU LOSE.”
Dylan is quiet after that. Jun can tell he’s trying to find something to say, but…there’s really nothing to say. People get rejected all the time. (And, technically, he didn’t even get rejected. To be rejected, you have to be considered in the first place. To be rejected, you have to actually confess.) It fucking hurts, but he’ll get over it. Nothing keeps him down for long.
“Anyway,” Jun says, “thanks for-” Bodies pressed together. A line of fire down his neck. The taste of sweet lychee and the even sweeter sound of his name being gasped out of those pretty, luscious lips. “...being here. For me. Tonight,” he finishes awkwardly, patting him on the thigh.
He stands to go lick his wounds in the privacy of his room-
“Wait.”
He turns around to find Dylan fidgeting with his hands, an uncommon display of discomfort from the otherwise aloof boy. “I don’t know about the chemistry,” Dylan says, “but I think you would have been good for him. You were good for him. For Po.” His gaze is trained on his lap. “I saw how you went out of your way to take care of him. Staying up late and doing his work. Pumping him up during the presentation. There’s probably more that I didn’t see, but…I just don’t want you to think this is about you.”
He looks up at Jun, then. “You have an ego the size of Jupiter, and you can be an annoying little shit. But you’re a good guy, Jun,” he tells him, his voice carrying a familiar heat. Only this time, Jun marvels, it’s not to burn him. It’s in his defense. The qualifying slight doesn’t even register in the wake of this momentous occasion. (Besides, it’s not like Dylan’s wrong.)
“I’ve never met someone who tries so hard to convince everyone that they’re not, but you’re-” He cuts himself off. Heaves a sigh. Starts again. “We can’t always control who we like, and there’s no shame in going after what you want. It sucks that it didn’t work out, but…” He runs a hand through his hair. “You’ll find someone who will take care of you just like you do for them. It’s only a matter of time.”
Jun blinks, somewhat overwhelmed by the rush of warmth that washes over him. “That’s…thanks, man.” The smirk that grows on his face feels more genuine, this time. “I can always count on you to keep me honest, huh?”
Dylan snorts. “Like it’s my damned full-time job.” But he smiles at him after, even going so far as to send him a playful wink. “Now, get out of here. Go get some sleep.” A yawn escapes him as he stands and stretches. “We’ve got a long day tomorrow, and I’ve got to get this done tonight.”
Jun glances at the sliver of the rapper’s toned stomach exposed before it disappears. “...Actually, could I stay here while you work?”
Being alone doesn’t seem as appealing as it once did.
“Mmm…I guess I can use headphones to finish the beat...” Dylan eyes him for a moment, tapping a slender finger against his cheek in consideration. “Fine.” He points it at him threateningly. “But you have to sleep. I know you haven’t been getting enough.”
“Who has?” Jun quips, but as he leaves to go get changed for bed, the warmth from before still soothing the ache in his chest, he decides that he doesn’t mind being obedient. Just this once.