Chapter Text
The room tilted again.
Dylan squeezed his eyes shut, pressing the back of his hand to his mouth. The warmth of the liquor still burned in his chest, but it was nothing compared to the ache tearing through him.
He was on the floor of the studio now—slumped beside the soundboard, knees pulled in tight, empty bottle beside him. Everything felt wrong. Off-key. Shattered.
Footsteps.
“Dylan,” Jun's voice came, low and careful, like he didn’t want to startle him.
But Dylan didn’t lift his head.
Instead, he whispered it again. The name that wouldn’t stop clawing at his throat.
“…Thame.”
Jun was beside him now, crouching, a hand brushing lightly against Dylan’s shoulder. “Hey. I’m here, alright? I’ve got you.”
But Dylan flinched.
“No, you don’t,” he slurred. His voice cracked, thick with tears. “No one does.”
Jun said something else—soft, too soft—but Dylan didn’t hear it. He was shaking. His breath hitched as another sob broke through.
“Thame…” It came out louder this time, guttural, torn from somewhere deep. “I didn’t mean to—he doesn’t even—why did not choose me?”
The words echoed against the studio walls. Hollow. Broken.
Jun stayed close. Still, quiet. His face was unreadable, but his eyes were glassy.
He reached to steady Dylan again, but Dylan shoved at his hand. Weakly. “Don’t,” he muttered. “You hate me. I ruined it. I ruined everything .”
Jun didn’t move away.
“I don’t hate you,” he whispered. “I just—”
But Dylan wasn’t listening. He was curled in on himself now, rocking slightly, the studio lights casting long shadows across his face.
“I wanted him to stay,” Dylan cried. “I wanted us to be something. Us, me, and him-. And now it’s just—gone.”
Jun’s heart throbbed, raw and full of a pain that wasn’t his alone. Watching Dylan break like this—because of Thame—it made everything sting.
He didn’t know how to hold him without shattering, too.
So he just sat there.
And let Dylan scream Thame’s name into the emptiness.
Jun got him into the car somehow.
Dylan barely registered the world blurring past outside the window—just cold air, spinning shadows, and the press of Jun’s hand on his back as he leaned against him, half-conscious. There were no more words in him. Just a slow, numb ache that radiated from somewhere inside his chest and refused to ease.
When they reached Jun’s apartment, Dylan didn’t protest. He couldn’t. His legs gave out once at the threshold, and Jun caught him—steady, practiced, quiet.
Inside, Jun dimmed the lights. Pulled off Dylan’s shoes. Helped him into clean clothes, gently guiding his arms through the sleeves of an old sweatshirt. Dylan didn’t fight him. He couldn’t look at him either.
Jun laid a cool cloth over his forehead. He brought water. Sat beside him, silently, while Dylan drifted in and out of something between sleep and grief.
Hours passed.
When Dylan woke, the sun was low behind the curtains. Everything was still. His head pounded, but it was the hollow in his chest that hurt most.
He sat up slowly. Blinked against the light.
Then he remembered.
Thame.
His throat closed. His vision blurred. The breath caught in his lungs like a trap snapping shut.
And the tears came.
Silently at first. Then harder. Trembling sobs that shook his frame and tore their way through his hands as he buried his face in them.
He didn’t notice Jun until arms came around him again. Warm. Solid. Real.
Jun knelt in front of him and cupped Dylan’s face with both hands. His touch was careful—thumbs brushing away the tears even as more fell.
“I’m here,” Jun whispered. “You don’t have to say anything. I’ve got you.”
Dylan leaned into the touch like it was the only thing tethering him to the earth. He shook his head, unable to speak, tears slipping down into Jun’s palms. His whole body felt wrung out, brittle and bare.
But Jun didn’t let go.
“You don’t have to hold this alone anymore,” Jun said, voice cracking but certain. “Let me carry it for a while. Just rest.”
And so Dylan did.
He curled against Jun’s chest like something small and aching, and Jun held him through it all—every sob, every broken breath—until Dylan’s body stopped shaking, and only the sound of his breathing remained.
Time passed.
The storm of Dylan’s sobs had dulled to quiet tremors now, and his breath was slowly evening out. Jun still held him, one hand gently rubbing circles between his shoulder blades, the other cradling the back of his head.
Neither of them had spoken in a while. The silence wasn’t heavy—it was soft, like a blanket pulled over something fragile.
Then, hoarsely, Dylan spoke.
“He’s the love of my life, Jun.”
Jun didn’t move. Didn’t even breathe.
Dylan pulled back slightly, just enough to look at him. His eyes were swollen, lashes clumped from crying, but they held something fierce beneath the grief. A clarity. A truth.
“I thought I could be okay,” Dylan whispered. “I thought… if I just gave it time, or space, or whatever people say when things fall apart—but it wasn’t just a break. It was him. ”
His voice cracked again, but he didn’t stop.
“He’s not just a chapter. He is the story. I loved him more than I knew how to say, and I still lost him. I keep thinking… maybe I pushed too hard. Maybe I ruined it. And now—”
He looked down, voice faltering.
“Now I don’t even know if I get to miss him.”
Jun exhaled softly and reached up to brush a strand of hair from Dylan’s cheek. “You do,” he said. “You do.”
Dylan looked at him, something like disbelief in his eyes. But Jun held his gaze.
“You’re allowed to love him. You’re allowed to break over him. I’m not here to punish you for it.”
Dylan swallowed hard. “Even if it hurts you?”
Jun gave a tired, crooked smile. “It already does. But I’d still rather be here with you than anywhere else.”
That broke something new in Dylan—something gentler.
He didn’t speak again. Just leaned in and rested his forehead against Jun’s.
And for a while, neither of them moved.