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Dylan had always known Jun was the kind of person who attracted attention without even trying. It was just in the way he carried himself—the easy charm, the teasing smirks, the way his voice dipped just enough when he spoke to make people lean in a little closer.
And Dylan? He was supposed to be immune to it.
He wasn’t like the others who fell too easily, mistaking Jun’s playful words for something real. He knew better. Jun flirted with everyone, flashing those same grins at strangers, at friends, at anyone who’d react. It was just who he was. It didn’t mean anything.
That’s what Dylan kept telling himself.
But then he saw it. The love letter.
Jun was sitting on his bed, eyes flicking over the neatly folded paper in his hands. His expression wasn’t his usual amused smirk or indifferent shrug. He wasn’t laughing it off like he did with most confessions. No, this time, he was reading it. Actually reading it.
And something about that made Dylan’s stomach twist.
He told himself it was nothing. He told himself he didn’t care. But when Jun casually left the letter behind on his desk and walked off like it was just another part of his day, Dylan found himself standing in front of it, staring down at the delicate handwriting, at the words meant for Jun’s eyes only.
His fingers moved before he could think.
He didn’t even stop to read it—he didn’t want to. He just folded it up, shoved it into his pocket, and walked out like nothing happened.
And now, standing under the dim glow of neon lights in a back alley covered in graffiti, he held that letter between his fingers, watching the flame from his lighter flicker hungrily toward the paper.
The words, the confessions, the possibility of Jun reading it again—maybe even liking what he read—were seconds away from disappearing.
Dylan should’ve laughed at himself. He should’ve felt ridiculous. But all he felt was his pulse pounding too hard in his chest, his grip tightening around the lighter, his jaw clenched as the fire licked up the edges of the page.
He told himself this didn’t mean anything.
That it was better this way.
Jun would never know.
And Dylan could keep pretending he didn’t care.
But as he watched the last embers crumble into ash at his feet, he knew—he wasn’t immune at all.
He had already fallen.
——————————————————
Dylan didn’t sleep that night.
He lay in bed, staring at the ceiling, the faint glow of his phone screen flickering beside him. He wasn’t even looking at anything—his mind was too loud, drowning out every other thought except one.
The letter was gone. He had made sure of that.
But the guilt? That lingered.
Jun didn’t mention the letter the next morning. He walked into the shared apartment like nothing had changed, stretching with a lazy yawn before plopping onto the couch. Dylan was in the kitchen, pretending to scroll through his phone as he watched him from the corner of his eye.
"Hey," Jun called out. "Did you see a letter on my desk yesterday?"
Dylan’s fingers twitched around his coffee mug. He forced himself to glance up casually, feigning indifference. "What letter?"
Jun frowned, tilting his head. "It was in an envelope. Someone left it for me. I swear I put it on my desk, but now it’s gone."
Dylan shrugged. "Maybe you threw it away by accident."
Jun scoffed. "Do I look like an idiot to you?"
Yes. But Dylan bit back the response.
Jun sighed, running a hand through his hair. "I mean, whatever. If it’s gone, it’s gone. Just felt kinda bad, you know? Someone probably put effort into writing that."
Dylan’s grip on his mug tightened. "You didn’t even know who it was from."
Jun raised an eyebrow, an amused glint in his eyes. "Why do you sound so defensive?"
"I don’t," Dylan shot back too quickly.
Jun smirked. "Uh-huh. Sure."
Dylan rolled his eyes and took a sip of his coffee, hoping Jun wouldn’t notice how tightly he was holding the mug, how his heart was hammering against his ribs.
It was fine. Jun would forget about it.
And Dylan could forget, too.
Except he couldn’t.
Because later that night, when Jun was half-asleep on the couch, scrolling through his phone with heavy eyelids, he mumbled something that sent a jolt straight through Dylan’s chest.
"I kinda wanted to read what they wrote, though."
Dylan didn’t reply.
He just clenched his fists and turned away, ignoring the feeling clawing its way up his throat.
Regret.
And something else he wasn’t ready to name.
Dylan thought he had gotten away with it.
Days passed, and Jun didn’t bring up the missing letter again. He went about his usual routine—flirting with strangers, stealing bites of Dylan’s food, falling asleep in the weirdest places. If he was upset about the lost confession, he didn’t show it.
And yet, Dylan couldn’t relax.
It was stupid. The letter was ashes, Jun didn’t know, and it should’ve been over. But every time Jun joked about a new admirer, Dylan felt that ugly twist in his stomach again. He hated it.
——————————————————
Dylan was in the zone.
He sat hunched over his laptop, fingers flying across the keyboard, tweaking melodies, layering beats, lost in the familiar comfort of creating. The studio was dimly lit, the glow of his screen casting sharp shadows on his face. He’d been at this for hours—perfecting a new song for MARS, drowning out everything else.
Music had always been his escape.
Which is why he nearly jumped out of his chair when the studio door slammed open.
"WHAT. THE. HELL."
Dylan barely had time to register the furious voice before Jun stormed in, eyes blazing.
"You burned it," Jun accused, slamming the door behind him. His voice wasn’t teasing or playful. It was raw. Sharp.
Dylan blinked, still half-stuck in the song he’d been working on. "What—?"
Jun took two steps forward, shoving his phone in Dylan’s face.
On the screen was a grainy, black-and-white security cam screenshot. An alleyway. A hunched figure. A small flicker of fire.
Dylan’s blood ran cold.
Jun lowered the phone, his voice quieter now, but somehow worse. "You burned my letter."
Dylan swallowed. "I don’t know what you’re talking about."
Jun scoffed, shaking his head. "Don’t do that. Don’t lie to me."
Dylan clenched his jaw, looking away. "It wasn’t that important."
Jun let out a bitter laugh. "Oh, right. Just some stupid letter from someone who actually meant what they said." He took a step closer. "But it wasn’t yours to decide, was it?"
Dylan stayed silent.
Jun exhaled harshly. "I looked for it, you know? Thought maybe I dropped it somewhere. Thought maybe I was losing my mind. And all this time, it was you."
Dylan forced himself to meet Jun’s gaze. "You wouldn’t have cared this much if you didn’t like what it said."
Jun stared at him. "That’s what this is about?"
Dylan didn’t answer.
Jun let out another humorless laugh, running a hand through his hair. "You’re unbelievable."
Dylan gritted his teeth. "You flirt with everyone, Jun. You don’t take anything seriously. But you read that letter, and suddenly you—"
"Suddenly, what?" Jun interrupted, stepping even closer. "I was curious? I wanted to know what someone actually felt about me?" His voice dropped, and Dylan hated how it made his chest tighten. "Why does that piss you off so much?"
Dylan’s fists curled at his sides.
"Unless…" Jun tilted his head slightly, eyes narrowing. "Unless it wasn’t about the letter at all."
Silence stretched between them.
Dylan didn’t move. Didn’t breathe.
Jun let out a slow breath. "You were jealous."
Dylan’s heart pounded against his ribs. "Shut up."
Jun huffed out a small, disbelieving laugh. "You’re jealous."
"I said, shut up."
Jun’s voice was low, teasing, but with an edge Dylan couldn’t ignore. “Make me.”
Dylan’s eyes narrowed, his heart racing. He stepped forward, a pulse of anger pushing through him. “You think you can just say whatever you want and get away with it, Jun?”
Jun didn’t move, didn’t back down. “I didn’t make you do anything, Dylan. You’re the one who’s still pretending. Pretending like you don’t care. Like you’re not jealous when I flirt with everyone else.”
Dylan clenched his fists at his sides. The nerve of him. “Stop it. You don’t get to accuse me of anything,” Dylan snapped, his voice sharp with frustration. “I don’t care about you like that.”
Jun tilted his head, his smirk barely noticeable but there, like he knew something Dylan refused to admit. “Yeah, sure. Then why are you so pissed off?”
The tension between them was thick, but Dylan couldn’t help the way his chest tightened at Jun’s words. Damn it, why did everything have to feel like a challenge with him?
“I’m not jealous,” Dylan said, though his voice betrayed him, coming out strained and uneven. “I don’t care. It’s just a letter. It's not a big deal.”
Jun took a step forward, closing the gap between them. His eyes softened, just for a moment. “Then why’d you burn it?” His voice was almost gentle, like a quiet accusation.
Dylan stiffened. He didn’t want to talk about the letter. He didn’t want to acknowledge that it was more than just some stupid piece of paper. But Jun wasn’t letting him off the hook.
“Because it didn’t matter,” Dylan muttered, refusing to meet Jun’s eyes.
Jun’s expression darkened, and he moved even closer. “You’re lying. You know it mattered. It mattered to me, Dylan. It mattered to both of us.”
Dylan’s stomach churned. He wanted to push him away, tell him to leave, to stop digging, but the truth was too close to the surface now. The letter, the feelings, everything. It had always been there, burning quietly under the surface.
“Why can’t you just leave it alone?” Dylan whispered, his voice cracking.
Jun reached out, his hand hovering just inches from Dylan’s arm, like he wasn’t sure if he should touch him. “Because I need to know, Dylan. I need to know if you feel the same way I do.”
Dylan’s heart skipped a beat. He didn’t want to say it. Didn’t want to admit that, yeah, maybe he’d been lying to himself all this time. He’d told himself he didn’t care, that Jun was just another person he could brush off. But he was tired—so tired of pretending.
“I…” Dylan’s voice faltered. “I don’t know what I feel.”
Jun’s gaze softened, but there was no mockery in it this time, no teasing. It was genuine, raw. He stepped even closer until they were almost touching. “That’s okay. You don’t have to know right now.”
But Dylan couldn’t shake the feeling that he already did. The way his heart raced when Jun was near. The way everything felt different between them, like they were standing on the edge of something, something they couldn’t undo.
Jun’s voice was barely above a whisper now. “You’ve always known, haven’t you? You just never let yourself admit it.”
Dylan’s pulse thundered in his ears. He took a deep breath, trying to steady himself, but everything felt too overwhelming. The heat in the room, the tension between them, the weight of every unsaid word hanging in the air.
“I… I’m not ready for this,” Dylan said quietly, his hands trembling at his sides. “I don’t know how to handle this.”
Jun reached out, brushing his fingers lightly against Dylan’s arm. “You don’t have to handle anything, Dylan. You just have to stop pretending.”
The space between them closed, Dylan didn’t know what was going to happen next. But he knew he couldn’t keep pretending anymore.
Jun’s fingers gently cupped his face, his touch tender but certain, as though he knew exactly what he was doing. There was a softness in his eyes now, not the playful challenge from before, but something real, something raw.
Dylan’s breath hitched, and for a moment, everything stood still. It was like the world had held its breath, waiting. There was no teasing, no games anymore. Just the quiet hum of anticipation that filled the room. The distance between them was no longer a barrier—it was an invitation.
Jun’s gaze flickered from Dylan’s eyes to his lips, his thumb brushing lightly over Dylan’s cheek. His voice was barely a whisper when he spoke, as if he was afraid the moment would shatter if he said too much. "I’ve wanted this for so long, Dylan."
Dylan’s chest tightened at the sincerity in Jun’s words, the honesty that stripped away every layer of their defenses. "I didn’t know… I didn’t know how to say it," he whispered back, his voice shaky, raw. It felt like everything inside him was on the verge of spilling over, all the emotions he’d been hiding.
Jun didn’t wait for him to finish. His lips brushed against Dylan’s, tentative at first, like he was asking for permission, waiting for the answer in the silence. It was soft, hesitant, but it felt like the world was tilting in that single moment. Dylan’s breath caught, his hands instinctively reaching for Jun, pulling him in closer. The kiss deepened, not with urgency, but with a slow, aching need that made every second feel like a lifetime.
When their lips finally parted, they were both breathless, as if they’d been holding their breath for far too long. Dylan’s forehead rested against Jun’s, their breaths mingling, both of them silent for a long moment. The silence wasn’t uncomfortable, though. It felt peaceful, like they had finally found the quiet they both needed.
"I didn’t think this was possible," Dylan whispered, his voice soft, barely audible. His hands still lingered on Jun’s shirt, fingers curling around the fabric like he was afraid to let go.
Jun smiled, a gentle, almost relieved smile. "Neither did I."
And in that moment, everything was different. There were no more walls between them, no more games or pretending. It was just the two of them, vulnerable, human, finally letting themselves feel what had been building for so long.
Dylan’s thumb traced the line of Jun’s jaw, his touch tender. "So… what now?" he asked quietly, as if afraid the question would ruin the magic of the moment.
Jun’s gaze softened, his hand coming up to gently brush through Dylan’s hair. "Now, we stop pretending," he said, his voice quiet but certain. "We stop hiding from what’s right in front of us."
Dylan’s heart swelled, his chest tight with the realization that, for the first time, he didn’t need to hide anymore. They didn’t have to figure it all out right away, but for once, he didn’t feel the need to run.
"Okay," he whispered, closing the space between them once more, his lips meeting Jun’s in another kiss, this time slower, deeper, as if they had all the time in the world.