Chapter Text
The "fifteen-minute" deadline was a lie they both told themselves, but the frantic clicking of heels in the hallway outside served as a brutal reality check.
"Dunk? Joong? Five minutes!" P’Nam’s voice muffled through the heavy door. "The production team is waiting for the livestream rehearsal!"
Dunk scrambled off the vanity, his legs feeling like overcooked noodles. He fumbled with his belt, his face a shade of crimson that no amount of professional color-correction could hide. Beside him, Joong was leaning against the mirror, eyes closed, taking deep, grounding breaths. He looked like a man who had just run a marathon and won, but he was still the first one to spring into action.
Joong reached out, his hands steady as he straightened Dunk’s crumpled collar and tucked the hem of his shirt back into place.
"Your eyes are blown wide open, Dunk-Dunk," Joong whispered, his voice still a bit gravelly. He picked up a bottle of cooling eye drops from the vanity and tilted Dunk’s head back with a gentle finger under his chin. "Stay still."
"You’re the one who did it," Dunk grumbled, though he let Joong treat him. "How do you look so... normal? You’re a monster, Archen."
"I've had years of practice pretending I'm not thinking about this," Joong countered, a flash of that Mature Kid arrogance returning to his gaze. He patted Dunk’s cheek twice—the universal bro gesture—just as the door handle rattled.
They moved in sync, a choreographed dance perfected over years of partnership. By the time P’Nam pushed the door open, Joong was sitting in the chair, casually scrolling through his phone, and Dunk was standing by the window, sipping his now-lukewarm Americano with an air of practiced nonchalance.
"There you are," P'Nam said, her eyes darting between the two of them with a suspicious squint. She walked over to the vanity, picking up a stray hair tie that had been knocked to the floor. "Why is it so hot in here? Did the AC break again?"
"Global warming, P'," Dunk chirped, flashing his most dazzling, innocent smile—the one that usually got him out of trouble.
Joong didn't look up, but Dunk saw his thumb slip on the phone screen.
The livestream was a blur of fan questions and promotional clips for The Heart Killer S2. Usually, Dunk was the one driving the energy, but today he felt like he was vibrating on a frequency only Joong could hear. Every time their shoulders brushed, a phantom heat bloomed across his skin.
"So," the MC asked, reading from a tablet, "fans want to know... in the new season, Fadel and Style have a lot of tension. How did you guys prepare for the more... intimate scenes?"
Dunk felt the air leave his lungs. He risked a glance at Joong.
Joong didn't miss a beat. He leaned into the microphone, his posture relaxed, one arm draped casually over the back of Dunk’s chair. "We talked a lot," Joong said, his voice smooth and professional. "We’ve been together for years, so there’s a level of trust. When you trust someone that much, you don't have to act the chemistry. You just... let it happen."
He turned his head then, looking directly at Dunk. To the thousands of fans watching, it was a moment. To Dunk, it was a confession.
"Right, Dunk?" Joong prompted.
"Right," Dunk managed, his voice steadying. He decided to lean into the chaos. He reached out and playfully pinched Joong’s cheek, reclaiming his Older Baby status. "But Joong is still very bossy during rehearsals. He thinks he knows everything."
The comment section exploded with '55555' and 'Joongdunk' ---
Late that night, long after the cameras had been packed away and the building had fallen silent, they were back in the parking garage. Dunk leaned against his car, watching Joong approach.
The Kid wasn't wearing his mask anymore. He looked tired, his hair messy, his eyes soft. He stopped just inches away from Dunk, invading his personal space with the ease of someone who owned it.
"We’re going to get caught," Dunk whispered, though he made no move to back away.
"Let them look," Joong replied. He reached out, his hand sliding into the pocket of Dunk’s hoodie, his fingers interlacing with Dunk’s. "I'm tired of being the best bro, Dunk. I’m tired of the script."
Dunk looked up at him—at the man who fed him, protected him, and challenged him all at once. He realized that the pampering hadn't shifted; it had simply evolved. It wasn't about who was older or who was more mature. It was about the fact that in a world of flashing lights and scripted lines, they were each other’s only reality.
"Okay," Dunk said softly, pulling Joong’s hand out of his pocket to kiss the knuckles. "No more scripts. Just us."
Joong smiled—a real, private smile that wasn't for the fans or the cameras. He leaned down, bridging that final inch.
"About time, Natachai."
---
Dunk is in fact, the one who like to tease Joong more after.
The "Operation: Make Joong Blush" was officially in effect, and the set of The Heart Killer S2 provided the perfect playground.
For the nightclub scene, the production team had transformed a studio into a neon-soaked lounge. Dunk stood behind the bar, looking devastatingly sharp in a fitted black vest and a white shirt with the sleeves rolled up to his elbows. He was practicing his bottle flips, looking every bit the professional flirt.
"Okay, Dunk! Focus on the co-actor," the director called out. "You’re gathering intel. You need to wrap him around your finger so he spills the target's location. Be charming. Be dangerous."
Dunk smirked, his eyes darting to where Joong was sitting on a high stool near the monitor. Joong was in his Fadel costume—leather jacket, dark jeans, looking like a brooding omen.
"Action!"
Dunk leaned over the bar, his face inches away from the guest actor’s. He lowered his voice, letting a playful, sultry edge creep in. He reached out, adjusting the other actor’s tie with agonizing slowness, his fingers grazing the man's chest.
"You look like you have a lot of secrets," Dunk purred, flashing a lopsided grin that usually made Joong’s brain short-circuit. "And I’ve always been good at keeping them. Want to tell me one?"
Across the room, Fadel—the character—might simply raised a cynical brow, nursing a prop drink. But Joong—the man—was white-knuckling his glass. The muscle in his jaw jumped. He watched the way Dunk laughed at the guest actor’s improvised joke, the way Dunk’s hand lingered on the bar top, and the way Dunk’s eyes kept flicking back to him, checking for a reaction.
"Cut! Great energy, Dunk! Let's go again, more touching this time," the director cheered.
Dunk didn't miss the way Joong stood up abruptly and walked toward the catering table, his back rigid, Dunk hide a smile behind the glasses.
The minute the Wrap was called for the day, the playful atmosphere evaporated for Joong. He retreated to their private dressing room, his Mature Mode returning with a vengeance. He was silent, methodically unzipping his leather jacket and hanging it up.
Dunk slipped inside, still wearing the bartender vest, looking entirely too pleased with himself.
"The director said my flirting was top tier today," Dunk said, leaning against the doorframe, crossing his arms. "The guest actor actually got flustered. Did you see, Joong? Your Fadel looked so cool just watching."
Joong turned around. His eyes weren't cool. They were burning.
"Fadel is a professional," Joong said, his voice low and tight. "But I’m beginning to think you enjoyed that research a little too much, Natachai."
Dunk walked closer, his heart racing. Operation successful. "Oh? Are you saying I was too good? I thought you liked it when I took charge. And you seem too jealous for someone who said Natachai is my bro."
Joong didn't let him finish. He bridged the gap in one stride, pinning Dunk against the door. He didn't use the gentle touch of a best bro or the careful guidance of a partner. This was pure, unadulterated jealousy.
"I liked the part where it was a script," Joong rasped, his hand coming up to cup Dunk’s jaw, his thumb pressing firmly against Dunk's lower lip. "I didn't like the way he looked at you. And I definitely didn't like the way you let him."
Dunk’s breath hitched. He had wanted a blush, but he had ignited a fire. He reached up, tugging at Joong’s collar. "He was just a co-worker, Joong. Just like you used to say."
"Don't use my words against me," Joong muttered, leaning down until their foreheads touched. "You want to gather intel? Practice on me. You want to flirt? Do it when the cameras are off."
Joong’s mature mask was completely gone, replaced by a raw possessiveness that made Dunk’s knees weak. He leaned in, his lips brushing against Dunk’s ear.
"And for the record," Joong whispered, "You didn't make me blush. You made me want to cancel the rest of the shoot just so I could remind you exactly who you belong to."
Dunk let out a soft, shaky laugh, his fingers tangling in the hair at the back of Joong's neck. "Operation failed," he murmured. "I think I just made it worse for myself."
"Much worse," Joong agreed, before crashing his lips against Dunk's, effectively ending the teasing for the night.
---
The neon lights of the bar set dimmed as the crew began resetting the cameras for a different angle, leaving Joong and Dunk in a pocket of semi-darkness behind the counter.
The air was still heavy with the scent of the citrus garnishes Dunk had been slicing and the lingering, electric hum of the flirting scene they’d just shot. Dunk was still leaning against the back bar, looking up at Joong with that specific, playful glint in his eyes—the older brother who knew he’d successfully rattled his partner.
Joong felt the pull like a physical weight. Every instinct in his body screamed at him to close the distance, to replace the guest actor's lingering intel-gathering touch with something permanent and marking. His brain tried to provide a logical anchor: Not lovers yet. Just in the zone. Keep it professional. Maintain the image.
But the Mature Kid was losing the internal argument.
Joong stepped into Dunk’s space, his hands coming up to rest on the cool marble of the bar, effectively boxing Dunk in. He leaned down, his face stopping barely a centimeter from Dunk’s. In the dim light, Joong’s eyes were dark, tracking the way Dunk’s breathing hitched.
"You’re still wearing that smirk," Joong whispered, his voice a low vibration that skipped over Dunk’s skin. "You think this is a game, don't you?"
Dunk’s smile faltered, replaced by something softer, more vulnerable. He reached out, his long fingers trembling slightly as they toyed with the top button of Joong’s shirt. "I think you’re being very dramatic for a best bro, Archen."
"I told you," Joong rasped, his gaze dropping to Dunk's lips. "I'm retiring from that role."
He tilted his head, his lips grazing the corner of Dunk’s mouth—a ghost of a kiss that was more agonizing than a real one. It was a possessive claim made in the middle of a crowded room, hidden only by the shadows and the bustle of crew members moving equipment just a few feet away.
"Joong," Dunk breathed, his hands clenching Joong’s shirt. "People are right there."
"Let them be," Joong muttered, moving his mouth to the sensitive skin just below Dunk's ear. "I just want to remind you that when the director says Cut, the flirting with other people stops. Entirely."
He felt Dunk shiver against him. It was a victory, but a fleeting one. Joong forced himself to pull back just enough to look Dunk in the eye. He wanted to devour him, but he settled for a lingering, heavy-lidded stare that promised everything they couldn't do on set.
"Five minutes to the next scene!" the Assistant Director yelled, the sound breaking the spell.
Joong stood up straight, smoothing his leather jacket and sliding the Mature Fadel mask back into place with terrifying efficiency. He reached out and adjusted Dunk’s vest one last time, his thumb surreptitiously stroking Dunk's side.
"Go back to being the flirty bartender," Joong said, a dangerous smirk playing on his lips. "But remember who’s picking you up after the shift."
Dunk stayed frozen behind the bar for a moment, watching Joong walk back to his mark with perfect, professional composure. He touched his own lips, the skin still tingling from that near-miss.
"Unprofessional," Dunk whispered to himself, though he was already smiling. "Completely unprofessional."
---
The just bro agreement was a fragile peace treaty, and the upcoming holiday was the ultimate test. They had a rare three-day break between the rigorous Heart Killer filming schedule and a brand event in Phuket.
Naturally, Best Bro Joong had handled the logistics. "It’s just a getaway, Dunk-Dunk," Joong had said, his face a picture of innocence. "We’ll eat, we’ll swim, and we’ll definitely not talk about Scene 14."
They arrived at a secluded villa in Krabi, far from the prying eyes of the GMMTV lobby. The air was salty, the sun was unforgiving, and the tension was... well, it was packed in the suitcase along with their swimming trunks.
1. The Beach Logistics
They were lounging on a private stretch of sand. Dunk was struggling with a bottle of high-SPF sunscreen, reaching awkwardly behind his shoulder.
"Here," Joong said, sitting up. He didn't ask. He just took the bottle.
"I can do it, Joong. I'm the older one, remember?" Dunk teased, but he sat still.
Joong’s hands were large and warm, spreading the cream over Dunk’s shoulder blades with a slow, methodical pressure that felt less like sun protection and more like a massage. Joong’s fingers traced the line of Dunk’s spine, lingering just a second too long at the small of his back.
"You’re missing a spot," Joong muttered, his voice dropping an octave.
"Is it a bro spot?" Dunk asked, his head lolling forward.
"It’s an I-don't-want-you-to-get-burned spot," Joong countered, though he was currently staring at the nape of Dunk's neck like it was a holy relic.
Dinner was a chaotic spread of spicy Southern Thai food. Dunk was in his element, feeding Joong pieces of grilled squid while Joong tried to pretend he wasn't blushing.
"You know," Dunk said, wiping a bit of sauce from the corner of Joong's mouth with his thumb—a move he knew was highly illegal under the bro treaty. "The fans think we're on a romantic date right now. If I post a photo of this sunset, they’ll lose their minds."
Joong caught Dunk's wrist, holding his hand there against his cheek. "And what do you think, Dunk? Is this a date?"
Dunk’s heart did a frantic beating. He leaned in, his eyes darting to Joong's lips, then back to his eyes. "It's a holiday with my best friend. Who happens to be a very mature, very bossy kid."
Joong let out a frustrated, fond groan. He pulled Dunk’s hand down, but didn't let go. "One day, that bro shield is going to break, and I'm not going to be the one to fix it."
The night ended back at the villa. The sound of the waves was the only thing filling the silence. They were sharing a large daybed on the balcony, watching the stars.
Dunk was leaning his head on Joong's shoulder, feeling the solid, steady heartbeat of the man beside him. "Joong?"
"Hmm?"
"Thanks for the holiday. I needed the reset."
Joong turned his head, his nose brushing against Dunk's temple. "You don't have to thank me. Looking after you is the only job I actually like."
Dunk felt the "Operation: Make Joong Blush" urge rise up, but it was dampened by something deeper. He looked up, his face inches from Joong’s in the moonlight. "You’re really good at it. The mature protector role."
Joong’s gaze darkened. He reached out, his long fingers tangling in Dunk's hair, pulling him just a centimeter closer—the familiar difference. "I'm tired of the role, Dunk. I want the real thing."
He didn't wait for a response. He leaned down, his lips ghosting over Dunk’s in a way that was definitely not part of the bro contract. It was a question, a promise, and a challenge all wrapped into one.
Dunk didn't pull away. Instead, he wrapped his arms around Joong's neck, pulling the "mature kid" down into the cradle of his lap.
"Happy holiday, Joong Archen," Dunk whispered against his lips.
"Best holiday ever," Joong rasped, before finally, blissfully, breaking the treaty for good.
---
To be continued