Chapter Text
Dylan.
He didn’t like him, at all.
Jun was cocky, arrogant, and always wanted to get things done his way.
Every chance was good for bragging about his capabilities and how nobody could reach his level. It didn’t matter if we were talking about singing, or dancing and it’s better if you don’t touch the acting topic.
He dreamed of becoming the greatest actor and accepted no criticisms whatsoever, not even when they came from the depths of someone’s heart. When the other members tried to give him some advice he would overact and start sulking, such a childish behavior.
Plus, he had this tendency of hitting on every single person who passed by. Boys or girls he didn’t care, showing off all his charm and loving the attention he inevitably got.
He was indeed attractive, this was a matter of fact that nobody, not even him, could deny.
But as soon as he opened his mouth that attractiveness seemed to disappear, drown in the abyss of his ego that enveloped it as a black hole.
Each interview they did together only increased the sensation taking place in the pit of his stomach, bubbling to the point it was going to explode any minute now.
It was something visceral, he couldn’t help but feel it reach under his skin and tugging him down.
He hated it, he hated him.
Jun.
What was wrong with him?
If looks could kill he would be long dead by now. Dylan always glanced at him sideways, looking at him with a gaze full of something he couldn’t really tell.
Hatred? Attraction? Jealousy?
Nothing seemed to fulfill what was going on inside his head, only feeding the uneasy feeling that was growing in his core. Making him uncomfortable to the point he often frowned without noticing because of it.
He didn’t like him or the way he mocked him, trying to put him down and making him feel ridiculous. It felt like he was permanently under scrutiny and every occasion was good to judge what he did and how he did it.
In a normal setting, he wouldn’t mind but we were talking about one of his bandmates, the one who avoided him and put on headphones every time he tried to get a conversation out.
The older’s gaze piercing right on his back at each attempt to do something new.
He didn’t lose anything, not even a single word of what he was saying and promptly twisting his fingers inside the wound when things didn’t go as planned.
The boy couldn’t wrap his head around what was behind all this malice, he tried to talk with the others but nothing added up to the picture in front of him.
It made him feel tense, he hated it.