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By the time anyone asks them how they’re still so close, Joong shrugs and says, “We’re not trying to be perfect. We’re just trying to be kind.”
1. Give Each Other Some Space
Dunk is sitting cross-legged on the living room floor, tucked against the sofa, his laptop balanced on his knees. He’s looking over something for a shoot, something Joong has already walked past three times to peek at.
Joong, sprawled on the couch behind him, scrolls on his phone for a while, then lets it slip onto his chest. For a whole hour, they exist in silence. Not the awkward kind, not the tense kind. Just silence that feels warm. Lived in.
The only sounds in the room are the click of Dunk’s keyboard, the faint whirr of the fan, and Joong’s occasional sigh when he sees something mildly annoying online.
“I’m going to block this guy,” Joong mutters once. Dunk doesn’t respond.
Joong peeks over the couch and pouts. “You're ignoring me.”
“You told me to,” Dunk says, not looking up.
“Yeah, but I didn’t mean it.”
Dunk clicks one final thing, then closes the laptop. He stretches, arms above his head, and turns around. His expression is so calm it drives Joong crazy.
“You’re annoying,” Dunk says fondly, crawling onto the couch beside him.
Joong wraps an arm around him instantly. “You love it.”
“I do,” Dunk admits, leaning his head on Joong’s shoulder.
They stay like that for another long stretch. No scrolling, no talking, no performing. Just… being. Dunk lets his eyes close. Joong strokes his hair.
It’s easy to think love is about grand gestures. That it has to be loud and shiny and posted on Instagram. But in these quiet hours, where no one’s watching, they learn the truth of it:
The best kind of love is the one where you can exist beside each other, quietly, comfortably, completely.
“Wanna order dinner?” Dunk murmurs.
Joong smiles. “Yeah. You pick.”
2. “I’m Here for You.”
Joong knows the signs now.
Dunk comes home a little too quiet. Not cold, just... inward. He kicks off his shoes without a word, hangs up his keys, and makes a beeline for the bedroom, changing into his favorite hoodie (one of Joong's, actually).
Joong doesn’t follow immediately. He gives him space, lets Dunk cocoon himself beneath a blanket on their bed while he finishes tidying up the dishes. There’s no dramatic tension. Just a soft hush in the air, like a snow globe that hasn’t settled yet.
When Joong walks into the bedroom, Dunk’s already lying there facing the wall, silent but not asleep.
Joong climbs in behind him, doesn’t touch, just breathes near. Close enough to say, you’re not alone.
“I’m here,” he says quietly.
He doesn’t ask what’s wrong. Dunk doesn’t offer.
They’ve learned that some days don’t need fixing. Just witnessing.
After a long pause, Dunk shifts slightly, his hand inching behind him to find Joong’s. Joong links their fingers together and squeezes once.
“Thanks,” Dunk murmurs.
Joong presses a kiss to the nape of his neck. “Always.”
And that’s it.
They fall asleep that way. No heavy conversations, no forced comfort.
Just the promise of presence.
3. Accept Their Flaws
Dunk used to line up his skincare bottles like soldiers. Joong used to leave toothpaste caps off like it was a personal challenge.
At first, it drove them both nuts.
Joong couldn’t understand why Dunk got annoyed when he tossed clothes on the floor after a long shoot. Dunk couldn’t understand how Joong functioned in chaos.
But slowly, grudgingly, they adjusted.
Joong now hangs his towel (most of the time). Dunk doesn’t panic if his serum is moved two inches left.
“You know you have three half-finished water bottles in the bedroom?” Dunk asks one evening, arms crossed.
Joong grins. “I’m keeping them in case of a hydration emergency.”
Dunk groans but doesn’t argue.
Later that night, Joong watches as Dunk methodically wipes down the bathroom mirror. He slips behind him, wraps his arms around Dunk’s waist, and says into his ear, “Thanks for putting up with me.”
Dunk catches his reflection in the mirror and softens.
“I kind of love your mess,” he admits. “It’s...you.”
Joong leans in and kisses his cheek, grinning. “And I love how you put labels on everything. Even our jam. Who labels jam?”
“Someone who wants to survive living with you.”
They laugh. They kiss. And they keep growing. Flaws and all.
4. Laugh Together Over Silly Things
It starts with a rogue sticker. A tiny Jaidee sticker Joong slaps onto Dunk’s bag before they leave for a fan event.
When Dunk sees it mid-prep, he just rolls his eyes. “Really?”
“You love it,” Joong says smugly.
Over the next week, the war escalates. Dunk hides a glitter unicorn in Joong’s bag. Joong sneakily replaces Dunk’s phone wallpaper with a zoomed-in photo of Ariana (Joong's dog).
By day five, Joong opens his closet to find every single hanger adorned with googly eyes.
He screams.
Dunk appears in the doorway, completely deadpan. “They’re watching you.”
Joong’s wheezing. “You’re insane.”
“You started it.”
They collapse laughing on the bed.
Later that night, as Joong brushes his teeth, he looks up to see Dunk behind him, holding a tiny plush Jaidee with a smiley face.
“For peace,” Dunk says.
Joong accepts the offering with mock solemnity. “Truce?”
“Truce.”
They fall asleep with the plush between them, grinning like idiots.
5. Be Brave Enough to Say “I Miss You” First
Joong’s in South Korea. Dunk’s in Bangkok. Just a couple days apart for separate schedules, but Joong hates it.
He FaceTimes Dunk at 11 PM, flopped dramatically on a hotel bed. “I’m lonely.”
Dunk’s barely holding in a smile. “You were gone four hours.”
“That’s like... forever.”
Dunk snorts. “Did you eat?”
“Not the point. I miss your face. I miss your smell. I miss you hogging the blanket and stealing fries and making fun of my music.”
Dunk looks at him softly. “Say it again.”
Joong frowns. “I miss you.”
“I miss you too, idiot.”
They end up staying on the call for two hours, with Dunk brushing his teeth, Joong half-asleep, murmuring nonsense.
Before they hang up, Dunk whispers, “Come home fast, okay?”
Joong nods. “Always.”
6. Don’t Mix the Past With the Present
They used to fight badly. Early days stuff. Joong would bring up old arguments mid-disagreement, and Dunk would shut down, stone-faced and tired.
“I thought we were past this,” he’d say once. “Do we always have to re-bleed the same wounds?”
That stuck.
Now, during a mild argument over something dumb (like who forgot to refill the laundry detergent), Joong opens his mouth, then pauses. Instead of saying “just like last month,” he exhales, looks at Dunk, and says, “Okay, my bad.”
Dunk blinks. “Wait, what?”
Joong scratches his head. “You’re right. I forgot. I’ll go get it.”
And just like that, the air shifts.
No echoes of old pain. Just two people choosing to be better, now.
Dunk smiles and kisses his cheek. “Thanks for not weaponizing history.”
Joong grins. “Growth, teerak.”
7. Feel Comfortable Being Together Without Doing Anything
Sunday mornings are sacred.
They wake up late, stay in bed longer. No alarms. No makeup. Just warmth and laziness.
Dunk scrolls through twitter on his phone. Joong watches dust motes in the sun.
They don’t talk much.
Joong eventually mutters, “You look like a grandpa.”
“You breathe like one.”
Joong throws a pillow at him. Dunk catches it, then snuggles closer.
They lie there in the golden hush, bare feet brushing, hands tangled. Not really needing anything more.
No pressure to entertain or perform. Just existence.
It feels like home.
8. Say Thank You for the Little Things
“Thanks for buying milk,” Dunk says, setting it in the fridge.
Joong looks up from the couch. “Thanks for charging my iPad.”
They thank each other all the time. For little things. Random things.
Thanks for doing the dishes.
Thanks for waiting for me.
Thanks for laughing at my dumb joke.
It’s not forced, but rather habit.
The kind that makes everyday life feel like a love letter.
And in the quiet of their apartment, between kisses and midweek steak dinners, these thank you's stack like bricks.
Building something soft. Something safe.
Something lasting.
9. Say “It Was My Fault” When It’s True
Joong is dramatic. This is known.
When he’s in a mood, he gets sulky, flops over furniture, mutters under his breath. Today, he’s irritated Dunk didn’t text back during a shoot, even though Dunk had told him he’d be busy.
“You hate me,” Joong declares, sprawled across the bed.
Dunk walks in, raising a brow. “Are we doing this?”
Joong stares at the ceiling. “No. Maybe. Yes.”
Ten minutes of silence pass.
Then: “It was my fault. I was being needy.”
Dunk blinks. “Wow. Who are you?”
Joong glares. “I’m trying to grow.”
Dunk grins, climbs into bed, and pulls him close. “I like this version.”
Joong pouts. “Don’t get used to it.”
But he means: Thank you for being someone I can be wrong with.
They don’t post about it much. They don’t need to shout.
It grows in quiet mornings and late-night dinners. In sticker wars and long silences. In “I miss you” texts and warm apologies. In effort. In laughter. In kindness.
And someday, when Joong traces Dunk’s fingers and says, “Can we do this forever?” Dunk will smile like it’s already true.
Because in the little things, they’ve already built a life.