Chapter Text
Fake Dating, Real Feelings
“Five minutes, guys!” the stage assistant called, a clipboard hugged to her chest like a shield. She gave them both a smile she probably practiced in front of a mirror—half polite, half terrified.
Dunk didn’t even look up from his phone. “Can’t believe we’re actually doing this ‘fake couple’ bit now.”
Joong spun slowly on the makeup chair, eyes fixed on Dunk. “Why not? It’s not like we’re bad at pretending.”
His voice was light. Teasing. But it carried a bite.
Dunk finally looked at him, eyebrows raised. “Officially fake,” he echoed flatly. “That’s the part I’m stuck on.”
Joong stood and walked over, all smooth swagger and subtle nerves, until he stopped just in front of Dunk. “Unless you want it to be officially official.”
Dunk snorted and looked away, but Joong caught the edge of his mouth twitching.
They stood like that for a moment—quiet, comfortable. Familiar.
Joong broke it by gently tugging the sleeve of Dunk’s hoodie. “You didn’t wear the bracelet.”
Dunk blinked. “What?”
Joong held up his wrist. A thin, braided leather band with a tiny silver J charm.
Dunk exhaled. “It broke last week. I didn’t want to lose it.”
Joong’s lips pressed together for half a second too long before he murmured, “I’ll get you another one.”
Dunk’s eyes softened, and for just a second, Joong saw it—that look he only ever got in quiet corners. The one that said I know you. And I see you.
༶•┈┈୨♡୧┈┈•༶
It was all perfectly choreographed. The seating arrangements. The banter. The questions chosen “randomly” from fans. Even their water bottles were placed strategically—one pink, one black.
But halfway through the segment, Dunk casually reached for Joong’s bottle instead of his own, took a sip, then handed it back without blinking.
The host made a comment. “Very close, aren’t you two?”
Joong chuckled. “He always steals my drinks.”
And that was it. Simple. Undeniable. Carefully left unexplained.
༶•┈┈୨♡୧┈┈•༶
When the fan Q&A segment rolled in, Joong was asked what his favorite thing about Dunk was.
He could’ve said anything.
But he tilted his head, eyes flicking toward Dunk, then looked back at the camera. “He remembers everything. Even the small stuff.”
Dunk didn’t react right away. But when the cameras cut to a different angle, Joong saw it: Dunk’s thumb tapping quietly against his knee, once. Twice. A silent thank you.
༶•┈┈୨♡୧┈┈•༶
As the shoot wrapped up, Joong leaned on the couch beside Dunk, resting his chin on Dunk’s shoulder.
“You didn’t have to drink from my bottle,” he murmured. “People are already suspicious.”
Dunk shrugged. “I was thirsty.”
“You had your own.”
“Yours tastes better.”
Joong huffed a laugh, eyes fluttering shut for a second. “You’re not scared?”
Dunk was quiet for a beat. “Terrified,” he admitted. “But I’m tired of pretending I don’t love you.”
Joong stilled.
Not because he didn’t know—but because Dunk had never said it out loud. Not like that.
After a long breath, Joong slid his fingers between Dunk’s, hidden beneath the fabric of their hoodies. No cameras. No audience. Just skin.
“You don’t have to say it in public,” Joong whispered.
“I didn’t,” Dunk replied. “I said it to you.”
Joong didn’t speak again. He just leaned in, kissed Dunk’s shoulder through the hoodie, and closed his eyes.
They were still pretending.
But not to each other.