Chapter Text
Joong Archen had been through a lot of problems in his life, college heartbreaks, late-night bar fights, even that time he got stuck between his two friends throw insults mid air and he got dragged down into that. But nothing, nothing, compared to this.
He stood still in the bathroom stall of a half-empty rooftop bar, back pressed against the cool wall, fists clenched, heart doing that horrible skipping thing that wasn’t cute anymore. Outside the stall, Dunk’s voice floated through the tiled echo chamber, bright and tipsy.
“It was just a bet, okay? Chill. He’s so cold usually, I didn’t think I’d actually win.”
The boys laughed. His so-called friends.
Joong didn’t hear anything else after that.
He’d been ready to go back to their table. Dunk had texted him a selfie minutes ago with a cheeky caption—Come back, babe. I miss ur hot face. And Joong, like an idiot, had smiled. Like a real idiot, he’d smiled.
He didn’t even realize how long he stood there until a guy knocked on the door, and he barked back, “Occupied.”
When he walked out five minutes later, everything felt wrong. His vision too sharp. His limbs too light. His body not his own.
Dunk waved at him with a beer in hand, wearing a garish Songkran print shirt soaked halfway down from earlier water fights, all clinging to his lean frame. His cheeks were pink from the alcohol and heat, his black hair sticking up in the back like he’d been rolling around. His lips curved up lazily when Joong approached.
“There you are,” Dunk said. “You missed me?”
Joong stared at him.
Dunk tilted his head. “What?”
And Joong almost said it. Almost told him to fuck off, to enjoy his prize money, to go shove that bet up his pretty ass—but Dunk grabbed his wrist and pulled him into a one-armed hug, like he’d done it a hundred times before.
Joong's body moved before his brain could keep up. He let himself fold into it. Just for now. Just for tonight.
Just until he could get the image of Dunk’s long lashes blinking slow and drunken, those soft lips brushing against his jaw when he whispered, “Take me home.”
Joong did not take Dunk home.
Dunk took him home, dragging him through puddles and past late-night motorbikes, stopping twice to throw his arms around Joong’s shoulders and mumble something about mango sticky rice and missed kisses.
“Your eyes are so intense,” Dunk said as Joong tried to unlock the front door. “It’s so unfair.”
“You’re drunk,” Joong muttered.
“You’re mean,” Dunk replied, but he didn’t let go.
Once inside, Joong was halfway through throwing a towel at Dunk’s head when he got tackled onto the couch. Dunk was heavy in a comfortable way, the kind of weight Joong had gotten used to over the past two months—slung across his lap while watching movies, half-curled into his side during after-class naps, sprawled across his back when they were lazy and naked and giggling.
It was supposed to be fake.
Except it wasn’t fake anymore. At least not for Joong.
Dunk was real. His sleep-tangled hair. His crooked tie in the mornings. The way he flirted with everything that breathed but always came back to Joong. He was chaos in a bottle and Joong had been stupid enough to drink all of it.
And now—
Now Dunk’s lashes were fluttering, lips slightly parted as he blinked up at him from where he was nestled between Joong’s thighs. “You’re so hot,” Dunk whispered, like it hurt to say.
Joong wanted to scream.
Instead, he touched Dunk’s face. Lightly. Fingertips brushing along the cheekbone like a promise he had no business making.
He was supposed to break up with Dunk tonight. That was the plan. That had been the only plan.
But now Dunk was purring into his neck, whispering, “Joong, kiss me,” like they were seventeen and innocent again. Like his heart hadn’t been a game.
So Joong kissed him.
He kissed him because he was weak. Because he was a fool. Because even though he’d heard the truth, some pathetic part of him still wanted this. One more night. One more taste.
Dunk gasped into it, soft and surprised, his lips molding against Joong’s like they were meant to. His hands scrabbled at Joong’s shirt, too uncoordinated to unbutton properly, and Joong grabbed them, pressing them flat against his chest.
“Slow down,” he murmured. “You’ll forget all of this in the morning.”
Dunk laughed, head tipping back. “Impossible. You’re unforgettable.”
Joong swallowed hard. “Right.”
He carried Dunk to the bedroom. Carried him like a princess, even though they were the same damn height. Dunk grinned the whole way there, draping himself around Joong like a spoiled cat.
And Joong didn’t let go.
Not even when he laid Dunk on the bed and sat beside him, brushing damp hair off his forehead.
Not even when Dunk whispered, “Do you think I’m pretty?”
Joong leaned down, pressing a kiss to the corner of his mouth. “Too pretty for your own good.”
Dunk hummed. “Then why do you always look like you hate me?”
Joong stared at him.
Because I know.
Because I heard you.
Because this was never supposed to hurt this much.
But he didn’t say any of that.
Instead, he said, “Sleep.”
Dunk curled into him without hesitation.
Joong didn’t sleep at all.
The Songkran air still clung to the curtains—wet, sticky, a little too warm for comfort. And Dunk was still in Joong’s bed.
Joong stood at the door like a ghost. Watching him sleep. Wondering if he was the fool or just the one who finally woke up.
Dunk’s mouth was slightly open. His cheeks flushed from sleep. His lashes, absurdly long, trembled with each shallow breath. His bare legs tangled in the sheets—Joong’s sheets. Wearing Joong’s rarest vintage tee like he owned the place.
Joong should’ve thrown him out the second he heard the words in that club bathroom last night.
“You actually got him to say yes?”
“Bro, I didn’t think I’d win. Joong’s a stone wall.”
“Pay up. Bet’s a bet.”
And then Dunk’s voice, half-laughing, half-drunk: “Told you I could pull it off.”
Joong hadn’t gone back inside. He’d stood in that hallway, hand tight around his drink, heart twisting until it didn’t beat right anymore.
He didn’t know how he got home last night. Just that Dunk had found him, water-slick and tipsy, grinning like nothing had happened. Pressing kisses to his jaw, climbing into his bed like it was his right.
Joong had let him.
Like an idiot.
Now Dunk stirred, brows pinching together. “Joong?” he murmured, voice hoarse. “Why’re you staring like that…?”
Joong’s silence stretched.
Dunk blinked blearily. “Wait, what time is it?” He sat up, rubbing his eyes. “Is something wrong?”
Joong stepped back. Cold. Measured. “Did you mean any of it?”
Dunk stilled. “What?”
“The bet. The lies. The pretending to like me. Did you mean any of it, or was it just a game the whole time?”
Dunk paled. “Joong—no, wait—”
“I heard you.”
Dunk’s mouth opened. Closed. Then: “Fuck.”
Joong didn’t flinch. He waited. Gave him the rope.
Dunk looked gutted. “It was a dare. A stupid one. But it wasn’t fake. Not after the first week. Not after you brought me soup when I was sick. Not after that night we stayed up watching shitty horror movies and you let me fall asleep on your chest.”
Joong laughed, once. “You’re a good actor.”
“I’m not acting!”
Joong’s voice cracked. “Then why did you let them laugh about me like that? Why didn’t you tell them to shut the hell up?”
“I—I didn’t want them to know I actually… care.” Dunk winced. “You don’t get it. I’ve never liked someone like this before, and it scared the shit out of me. I thought if I admitted it, it’d ruin everything.”
Joong stared at him. “It did ruin everything.”
Dunk looked like he’d been slapped.
Joong turned away, swallowing hard. “I was going to break up with you today. I had the whole speech planned. It was clean. Fair. I was going to walk away.”
“So do it.”
Joong’s back went rigid.
Dunk’s voice cracked. “If you really want to walk away—do it. I deserve it. But if there’s even a part of you that still wants me—don’t.”
Silence.
Then a soft sound—Dunk sniffing.
Joong turned. Dunk was crying. Not loud. Not dramatic. Just quiet tears that slid down flushed cheeks, like he’d been holding it in too long.
It hurt. God, it hurt.
Because Joong had tried so hard not to feel anything. Not to hope. Not to fall.
And Dunk had played with it.
But now Dunk stood there, broken in the middle of Joong’s apartment, wearing Joong’s favorite shirt and looking like he’d give the world just to be forgiven.
Joong closed the distance. Slowly. Carefully. Like approaching a wounded animal.
“You’re an idiot,” he said, voice shaking. “A selfish, reckless idiot.”
Dunk nodded.
Joong’s fingers curled around Dunk’s wrist.
“But I’m the bigger one. Because I still want you.”
Dunk looked up, startled.
“I hate you,” Joong whispered. “But I still want you.”
Dunk surged forward, arms wrapping around him like he’d been waiting his whole life to be let in. Joong let himself be held. Just for a moment.
Just until he figured out how to stop loving him.
Joong didn’t plan to let Dunk stay.
He told himself this clearly while he stood in the kitchen, waiting for the kettle to boil. That once Dunk sobered up, they’d talk properly. Set rules. Maybe say goodbye for real.
But Dunk padded in barefoot, wearing Joong’s oversized hoodie like he belonged in it. His black hair still damp from the shower. Eyes soft. Fragile. He sat down quietly at the small dining table, folding his hands like he knew he had no right to be here, but wanted to be anyway.
“I can go,” Dunk said, barely above a whisper.
Joong looked up.
“If this is too much, I’ll go. I won’t ask for anything.”
Joong hated him a little. For being considerate. For saying the right thing after already saying all the wrong ones.
“Just finish your tea,” Joong muttered. “Then we’ll see.”
Dunk nodded.
Silence stretched between them. Thick. A little too full of everything they hadn’t said yet.
Joong leaned against the counter. His arms crossed. His chest tight. He watched Dunk trace circles on the side of his mug.
“You always do that when you’re nervous,” he said quietly.
Dunk glanced up.
Joong’s gaze didn’t soften. “You trace the cup like it’s going to give you answers.”
“I’m scared of saying the wrong thing again,” Dunk admitted. “Scared you’ll finally stop looking at me like I’m still yours.”
Joong blinked. That wasn’t fair. Dunk had no right to say that.
But Joong didn’t stop looking.
Instead, he crossed the kitchen slowly. Sat beside Dunk at the table. Close. Too close.
Dunk turned to him. Their knees touched. Neither moved away.
“I didn’t come here last night to lie to you,” Dunk said softly. “I came because after Songkran, all I wanted was you. I didn’t care that my shirt was soaked. I didn’t care that my friends were calling. I didn’t even care that I’d have to explain myself eventually. I just wanted to sleep beside you.”
Joong didn’t answer.
Because the truth was—he wanted that too.
So he leaned forward.
He kissed him.
Slow, at first. Like testing water. Then deeper. Angrier. Needing to shut him up. Needing to feel something that made sense.
Dunk gasped into it, fingers finding Joong’s jaw, pulling him closer like he didn’t know how to stop anymore. Joong slid into his lap, knees straddling, hoodie riding up, hands under the fabric, touching skin he knew too well.
Dunk let out a soft sound. Desperate. Wanting.
“Tell me to stop,” Joong whispered against his lips.
“No,” Dunk said, breathless.
So Joong didn’t.
---
They barely made it to the couch. Joong kissed him like he hated him. Dunk kissed him like he wanted to be forgiven with every touch. Shirts were pulled over heads. Skin pressed against skin. Joong’s hands slid down Dunk’s back like he needed to memorize every inch of it again.
They shouldn’t feel this good.
But they did.
Afterward, they lay tangled together, quiet. Dunk’s fingers rested lightly on Joong’s ribs. Barely there. Like he was scared to hold on too tightly.
Joong stared at the ceiling. “This doesn’t fix anything.”
“I know.”
“You still lied.”
“I know.”
Joong turned his head. Dunk looked so soft in the afterglow. Eyes glassy. Mouth pink. That stupid mole near his lip Joong used to kiss without thinking.
“I shouldn’t let you stay.”
“I know,” Dunk whispered. “But you did.”
Joong closed his eyes.
He did.
And he didn’t know how to stop.
The morning after always felt like a test.
Joong woke first.
Dunk was curled against his side, one arm lazily draped across Joong’s stomach, face tucked near his shoulder like they hadn’t spent the last two weeks trying to act like strangers. He looked peaceful. Like he hadn’t cracked Joong open and poured salt into every wound.
Joong stayed still. Breathing quietly. Wondering how long it would take before the guilt kicked in.
He didn’t want this to be forgiveness. He didn’t want one night to make it feel like everything was okay again.
But Dunk’s breath was warm on his collarbone. His eyelashes fluttered with dreams. His fingers twitched as if reaching for Joong even in sleep.
Joong stared at the ceiling and hated how much he wanted this version of him.
“You’re awake,” Dunk mumbled against his chest. Not a question.
Joong nodded.
Dunk tilted his face up, voice still hoarse. “Do you regret it?”
Joong didn’t answer.
That silence cut deeper than a slap.
Dunk slowly pulled away. Sat up. His hair was messy, the hoodie half slipped from his shoulder. His mouth opened—like he was going to say something brave—but then he just looked down at his lap.
“I don’t,” he finally whispered. “But I get it if you do.”
Joong rubbed his face. “I don’t regret you. I regret being stupid about you.”
Dunk winced.
“I should’ve seen it coming,” Joong continued. “You flirt with everyone. You never stay. You’re pretty and reckless and charming. You’re a bet. You always were.”
“That’s not fair.”
Joong looked at him, tired. “It’s not?”
“No,” Dunk said, voice firmer. “Because I fell for you before I knew I was in too deep. And I stayed. I kissed you like I meant it. I still do.”
Joong’s chest tightened.
“And you—” Dunk’s breath hitched. “You think you’re better at hiding it, but you’ve always looked at me like you hated needing me.”
That hurt. Because it was true.
Joong had spent months pretending Dunk was just a hookup. Just pretty company. But it had never been casual. Not when Dunk laughed with his whole body. Not when he said Joong’s name like it meant something.
“You’re still the worst thing that ever happened to me,” Joong muttered.
Dunk gave a small, sad smile. “Yeah. And you’re mine.”
For a moment, neither of them moved.
Then Joong stood, grabbed a shirt off the floor, and walked toward the kitchen. “Do you want breakfast or are you leaving?”
Dunk blinked. “Are those my only options?”
Joong didn’t turn around. “Yes.”
Silence.
Then soft footsteps. Dunk’s voice behind him. “I’ll stay. But not if you’re going to pretend this didn’t mean anything.”
Joong leaned on the counter, head bowed.
He wanted to pretend. It would be easier. Cleaner. Safer.
But Dunk was standing in his kitchen in boxers and a hoodie, messy and real and heartbreakingly hopeful.
So Joong exhaled and said quietly, “Then stay.”
And Dunk did.
The third morning together was quiet.
Joong stood by the window, watching rain trickle down the glass. Dunk was still asleep on the couch, curled under the throw blanket they once argued about in IKEA. His hair was a mess. His mouth slightly open. And even now, even with the aching mess between them, he looked beautiful.
Joong hadn’t touched him last night.
They hadn’t talked much either.
Just silence. Some stolen glances. A too-long hug in the hallway when Dunk almost left and didn’t.
Maybe that’s what staying meant now—choosing to stay even when the silence felt heavier than words.
The kettle clicked off.
Joong poured two cups. He didn’t ask if Dunk wanted sugar, because he already knew.
He carried one over to the couch.
Dunk opened his eyes at the sound of the mug being placed near him. He blinked at Joong, slow, cautious.
“You made me coffee,” Dunk said, voice scratchy.
Joong shrugged. “It’s what people do when they don’t hate each other.”
Dunk smiled, just a little. “Do we?”
Joong didn’t answer right away. Just sat down on the edge of the couch, hands clasped loosely between his knees.
“I don’t know,” he admitted.
Dunk sat up, the blanket falling from his shoulder. “But you want to.”
Joong looked at him. “I want to not hate you. I want to forget the part where you let me be the punchline.”
Dunk nodded. “And I want to forget the part where I was stupid enough to let my friends talk about you like a joke.”
They sat in that soft sadness for a while. Not touching. Not quite apart.
Joong finally spoke. “I don’t know if I can do this.”
“I know,” Dunk whispered. “But if you ever do… I’ll be here.”
Joong turned to him. “Waiting?”
“No. Living. Trying. Becoming someone you can maybe trust again.”
Joong looked down at Dunk’s fingers. How they rested near his own, not quite brushing.
“What if I never do?” he asked quietly.
Dunk smiled. “Then I’ll still be glad I loved you.”
Joong felt something in his chest crack. Softly. Like ice giving way to spring.
He stood up.
Dunk looked up at him, unsure.
“I need to take a walk,” Joong said. “Think.”
Dunk nodded, understanding in his eyes. “Okay.”
Joong grabbed his coat. Paused by the door. Looked back.
“I don’t promise anything,” he said.
Dunk didn’t flinch. “I don’t expect anything.”
They stared at each other, something unspoken stretching in the space between them.
Then Joong stepped outside into the rain.
Not forever.
Not never.
Just… for now.