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Jun never belonged to him.
Not really. Not in the way Dylan wanted, not in the way Dylan had dreamed of when he was younger and hopeless and already carrying Jun’s name pressed against the fragile walls of his heart.
No, Jun belonged to the world—every smile tossed like confetti, every laugh given freely to anyone who wanted it. He thrived in attention. He drowned in it. And Dylan, quiet and unseen, was just another audience member.
Except he wasn’t supposed to be.
Not anymore.
Because Jun was his boyfriend.
On paper. In name. In front of their friends.
But Dylan knew better.
He knew about the bet.
He knew that the reason Jun held his hand, the reason Jun kissed him in hallways, the reason Jun whispered “mine” in a voice that sounded too much like a promise—was because Jun had something to prove.
A bet to win.
A game to play.
And Dylan? Dylan was the prize.
---
It started on a Friday night, with music blaring in the club and Jun’s arm slung over Dylan’s shoulders like it was nothing. Like Dylan wasn’t suffocating under the weight of it.
The girls came easily. They always did.
Jun leaned close to one, voice smooth, lips brushing against her ear as he said something that made her laugh too loudly. His hand lingered on her arm, his smile sharp and devastating.
Dylan sat there, silent, nursing his drink until the ice melted. He kept his face blank, because that was easier than letting the ache show.
Every touch Jun gave away felt like a knife slipping under his skin.
Every laugh Jun shared felt like a betrayal Dylan had already signed up for.
“Your boyfriend’s popular,” someone teased, nudging Dylan with a grin.
Dylan’s lips curved faintly. “He’s always been.”
They laughed, not noticing the way Dylan’s hands curled tightly around his glass, not noticing how his eyes never left Jun.
Not noticing how he broke a little more each time.
---
Later, when the crowd thinned and the air grew heavy with smoke and sweat, Jun returned to him.
“You’re quiet,” Jun said, dropping into the seat beside him.
“I usually am.”
Jun smirked, leaning in. “Don’t pout, Zhou. You know you’re the one I go home with.”
The words should’ve been comforting. They weren’t.
Because Dylan knew Jun didn’t go home with him because he wanted to.
He went home with him because the bet said so.
But Dylan nodded anyway. “I know.”
Jun kissed him then—quick, shallow, tasting faintly of alcohol and someone else’s perfume. Dylan let him. He always let him.
Because this was all he had.
And he would take it, even if it killed him.
---
Their apartment was silent when they returned. Jun collapsed on the couch, scrolling through his phone, smirking at messages Dylan didn’t have to see to know were from girls.
Dylan sat beside him, close enough to touch, but Jun didn’t look up.
“Did you have fun?” Dylan asked softly.
Jun hummed. “Of course. You?”
Dylan hesitated. Then: “Yes.”
It was a lie. But Jun didn’t notice. Or maybe he didn’t care.
He only grinned, eyes still on his phone. “Good. That’s what matters.”
But Dylan wanted to say, No. What matters is you. What matters is us. What matters is me.
Instead, he swallowed the words like poison, let them burn his throat, and said nothing.
---
Nights with Jun were always the same.
Jun would crawl into bed late, smelling like alcohol and smoke, his body heavy with exhaustion. Dylan would pretend to sleep, because it was easier than facing the truth. Sometimes Jun would wrap an arm around him, pull him close, and Dylan would close his eyes and let himself believe.
Believe that it was real.
Believe that Jun loved him.
Believe that the ache in his chest was worth it.
Because if he didn’t believe, then what was left?
Nothing.
And Dylan had lived with nothing for too long.
---
One evening, Dylan found himself standing in the doorway of the living room, watching as Jun laughed into his phone. His smile was wide, genuine, the kind Dylan hadn’t seen directed at him in weeks.
The sound gutted him.
Jun looked up suddenly, catching Dylan’s gaze. “What?”
Dylan shook his head. “Nothing.”
Jun smirked. “Don’t look at me like that. You’ll make people think you’re jealous.”
“I’m not,” Dylan said quickly. Too quickly.
Jun chuckled, returning to his phone. “Good. Because you don’t need to be.”
But Dylan was. God, he was.
And it tore him apart.
---
It was easy to forget, sometimes, that Jun could be cruel without even trying.
He didn’t have to shout. He didn’t have to raise a hand. All he had to do was smile at someone else, give them what Dylan had been starving for, and it was enough.
Dylan sat at the edge of the cafeteria table, listening absently as Jun held court. He was telling a story, animated, gesturing with his hands as the girls leaned closer, their eyes fixed on him like he was the sun.
He was dazzling.
He was everyone’s.
He was never Dylan’s.
Jun’s hand brushed against a girl’s as he reached for her tray. She laughed, cheeks flushed, and Jun smirked, leaning in to whisper something only she could hear.
The others erupted into giggles.
Dylan stared down at his food, untouched, cold. He told himself he didn’t care. He told himself he could take it.
Because wasn’t this what he’d signed up for?
Wasn’t this the cost of keeping Jun, even if only in name?
When Jun finally slid into the seat beside him, Dylan shifted just enough to make space.
“You look like shit,” Jun remarked casually, grabbing a fry off Dylan’s plate without asking.
“I’m fine.”
“Mm. You always say that.”
Jun popped the fry into his mouth, attention already wandering back to the girls across the table.
And Dylan sat there, invisible again.
---
That night, Dylan showered alone, water scalding against his skin. He braced his palms against the tiles, let the heat burn until his chest felt less tight, until the ache dulled into something numb.
He thought of leaving sometimes. Thought of packing his things and walking out, of saving himself before Jun tore him apart completely.
But then he remembered the way Jun’s arm felt around him in the rare moments he pulled Dylan close. He remembered the weight of Jun’s lips on his forehead, sloppy with alcohol but still enough to make Dylan’s knees weak.
Even lies could feel like love, if you wanted them badly enough.
And Dylan had wanted Jun for five years.
He wasn’t strong enough to stop now.
---
“Why do you put up with it?” Thame asked one day, catching Dylan alone after class.
Dylan blinked. “What do you mean?”
“You know what I mean,” Thame said, voice low, careful. His eyes softened. “You let him… do whatever he wants. With whoever he wants. And you just… stay.”
Dylan’s throat tightened. He forced a smile that didn’t reach his eyes. “It doesn’t matter.”
“It matters,” Thame said firmly. “You deserve better, Zhou.”
Dylan looked away, fingers curling into fists at his sides. Better doesn’t exist, he wanted to say. Better isn’t Jun.
Instead, he said nothing.
Because what could he say? That he was in love with someone who would never love him back? That he’d rather take pieces of Jun than nothing at all?
Thame wouldn’t understand. No one would.
---
The breaking point came on a Saturday night.
Jun had dragged him to another party, the kind Dylan hated—loud music, too many people, the stench of alcohol clinging to everything. Jun thrived in it, of course.
He’d disappeared into the crowd within minutes, leaving Dylan stranded by the wall with a drink he didn’t want. Dylan searched for him once, twice, finally spotting him near the dance floor.
Jun was pressed close to a girl, hands on her hips, his grin sharp as she laughed up at him. His mouth brushed her ear, his body moving with hers in rhythm to the music.
Dylan froze.
Something in his chest cracked open, raw and unbearable.
He turned away, heading for the bathroom, but the sound of Jun’s laugh followed him like a ghost.
Inside, Dylan locked the stall and sat on the closed toilet, burying his face in his hands. His chest heaved, breath shaking, but no tears came. He was too used to holding them back.
This was what he’d chosen.
This was what he’d accepted.
This was love, in Jun’s world.
A love that was never his.
---
When Dylan returned, Jun found him almost instantly.
“There you are,” Jun said, draping an arm over his shoulders. “You disappeared.”
“I needed air,” Dylan murmured.
Jun smirked. “Don’t sulk, Zhou. You’ll make people think I’m neglecting you.”
Dylan bit down on his tongue until he tasted iron. “Aren’t you?”
Jun stilled for half a second. Then he laughed, low and sharp. “Don’t be dramatic. You’re mine. That’s all that matters.”
But Dylan wondered, silently, what being “his” really meant.
Because Jun belonged to everyone else too.
And Dylan… Dylan belonged only to him.
---
Dylan should have left the party hours ago.
The music was pounding in his skull, his chest felt raw from holding in the words he never spoke, and yet—he stayed. He stayed because Jun hadn’t told him to leave. He stayed because some pathetic part of him still clung to the illusion that being by Jun’s side was enough.
So when he found himself in the kitchen doorway, half-hidden in shadows, he told himself he wasn’t eavesdropping. He was just… waiting.
Waiting for Jun to notice him.
Waiting for Jun to choose him.
Instead, he heard the words that would haunt him forever.
“I told you, didn’t I?” Jun’s voice, sharp with confidence, rang through the kitchen. He was surrounded by his usual circle—boys with too much alcohol in their hands and too much cruelty in their grins. “I said Zhou would fall for me. And look. He did.”
The group erupted into laughter, loud and merciless.
“Man, you weren’t kidding,” one said, shaking his head. “He’s like a puppy. Always trailing after you.”
“Pathetic,” another scoffed.
Jun smirked, leaning back against the counter like a king among peasants. “Told you it’d be easy. Kid’s been soft for me since day one. Bet won, just like that.”
Dylan’s stomach dropped. His knees wavered. He gripped the doorframe until his knuckles turned white.
He’d known. Deep down, he’d always known. But hearing it—hearing the bet spelled out like a cruel joke—it hollowed him out from the inside.
And yet, he couldn’t move. He couldn’t stop listening.
---
“So what now?” one of the boys asked. “Bet’s over. Game’s done. Time to drop him, right?”
Dylan’s breath caught.
His chest constricted painfully, his body trembling with the effort to stay upright.
This was it.
This was where Jun would say it. That Dylan had never mattered. That he was disposable. That the only thing real between them had been the humiliation.
He braced himself.
But Jun’s response was worse.
“I’m not breaking up with him,” Jun said casually, like it cost him nothing.
The boys jeered. “What? Why the hell not?”
Dylan’s heart lurched in his chest, traitorous, desperate.
Not breaking up?
Not leaving?
Did that mean—?
He hated himself for it, but hope bloomed anyway. Tiny, fragile, aching.
Maybe Jun… maybe Jun really wanted him.
Maybe Jun had started with a bet, but something had changed.
Maybe, maybe—
---
Jun’s laugh shattered it all.
“Why would I let go now?” he said, cruel and gleeful. “Zhou’s the best toy I’ve ever had. Obedient, quiet, always there when I want him. He makes it too easy.”
The group roared with approval.
Jun went on, voice sharp as knives. “He thinks he’s special. That he matters. But really? He’s just something to keep me entertained.”
Dylan’s breath punched out of him, sharp and broken.
He pressed a hand to his mouth to muffle the sound threatening to escape, tears burning at the corners of his eyes. He wanted to move, to run, to scream, but his body wouldn’t obey.
Jun wasn’t keeping him because he cared.
Jun wasn’t keeping him because he loved him.
Jun was keeping him because it was fun to break him slowly.
---
One of the boys whistled low. “Damn, you’re cold.”
Jun shrugged, that cruel smirk still playing on his lips. “That’s the point. Love’s a game, right? And Zhou—” he chuckled, dark and amused—“Zhou never learned the rules.”
The laughter rang louder this time, a chorus of mockery that swallowed Dylan whole.
He stumbled back, away from the doorway, away from the sound of Jun’s voice. His chest heaved, air catching in his throat like shards of glass.
For one breathless moment, he’d believed.
He’d let himself imagine Jun might have wanted him.
And now that hope had been torn apart, the pieces cut deeper than the lie ever had.
Dylan made it to the empty hallway before the first tear slipped free, hot against his cheek. He bit his lip hard enough to bleed, desperate to hold the sob in, desperate to stay invisible.
Because the worst part wasn’t Jun’s cruelty.
The worst part was that even now—even broken, even humiliated, even knowing the truth—
He still loved him.
And Dylan Zhou knew it would be the death of him.
---
Dylan didn’t leave Jun that night.
He could have. He should have. Every part of him screamed to run, to escape the humiliation, to claw his way free from the boy who called him nothing more than a toy.
But when Jun found him later, sprawled on the couch with his head thrown back in lazy arrogance, and pulled Dylan close with a careless arm slung around his shoulders—Dylan stayed.
He stayed, because leaving would mean admitting it was over.
He stayed, because he wanted to pretend for just a little longer.
He stayed, because he didn’t know how to stop loving Jun Tangsakultham.
---
The change wasn’t sudden. Dylan was too careful for that.
It began with the small things.
The way he no longer leaned into Jun’s touch automatically.
The way his hand, once quick to reach for Jun’s, now hesitated, retreating back to his side.
The way his smiles, once soft and unguarded, became practiced—thin, fragile masks that barely covered the ache beneath.
Jun didn’t pick up on it at first. Or maybe he didn’t care.
When Jun flirted with girls in front of him, Dylan no longer flinched. He simply lowered his gaze, let the words slide over him like knives dulled from overuse.
Jun never seemed to realize how Dylan’s silence was louder than any jealousy could have been.
When Jun laughed with his friends about the “bet,” Dylan no longer searched his face for some hint of guilt or regret. He already knew there was none.
Jun didn’t register the way Dylan’s eyes dulled afterward—the quiet devastation in their depths.
---
“What’s wrong with you lately?” Jun asked one evening, irritation slipping through his tone. He cornered Dylan against the wall, hand pressed beside his head, eyes narrowing. “You’re distant. Cold. Did I do something?”
The cruel irony nearly made Dylan laugh. Did I do something?
Yes, Jun. You did everything.
And I let you.
But Dylan only shook his head, gaze sliding away. “No. You didn’t.”
He smiled, small and unconvincing, before walking past Jun without another word.
Jun called after him, but Dylan didn’t turn back.
And Jun… Jun sensed something then, though he couldn’t name it. Like sand slipping between his fingers.
---
Nights became the hardest.
When Jun slept soundly beside him, sprawled with careless comfort, Dylan lay awake, staring at the ceiling.
He remembered the first time Jun had kissed him, reckless and warm, and how his heart had leapt with foolish hope.
He remembered the first time Jun had whispered his name like it meant something, and how Dylan had clung to the sound like it was sacred.
And now, he remembered Jun’s laughter in the kitchen, cruel and victorious.
He remembered that Jun had won.
And Dylan had lost.
---
Silent quitting wasn’t about leaving all at once.
It was about letting go in pieces.
About pulling back thread by thread until the connection frayed, until there was nothing left to break.
Dylan would stay, because Jun wanted his toy.
But Dylan wouldn’t give him the same joy anymore.
No more eager smiles.
No more tender devotion.
No more love so freely given.
Only silence.
Only absence, even in presence.
Only the hollowed-out version of a boy who once loved too much.
---
And Jun, for all his arrogance, for all his cruelty, began to sense it.
He began to feel Dylan slipping through his fingers.
But Jun didn’t chase him.
Not yet.
Because Jun still believed Dylan would never truly leave.
And Dylan, with tears burning in his throat, prayed Jun was right.
Because if he left—if he really left—he didn’t know if he’d survive it.
---
It wasn’t a single moment, but a collection of them.
A hundred cuts he endured in silence.
A hundred ways Jun reminded him he was just part of a game.
Still, Dylan tried. God, he tried.
He tried to love Jun in the gaps where Jun wouldn’t let himself be loved.
He tried to stitch together hope from the scraps Jun left behind.
He tried to convince himself that Jun’s touches meant something, that the cruel words were just masks, that somewhere buried deep was the boy he fell for.
But tonight—tonight was the last straw.
---
The party was loud, music pounding through the walls, laughter spilling into the night.
Dylan stood by the corner, drink untouched in his hand, watching Jun with the easy smile that always seemed reserved for everyone else. Jun’s arm draped over some girl’s shoulder, lips brushing dangerously close to hers as he whispered something that made her laugh.
Dylan didn’t flinch.
Didn’t glare.
Didn’t even blink.
He only felt the quiet crack of something breaking inside him, final and absolute.
He set his drink down.
He turned away.
He left.
---
Jun found him later, sprawled on their bed, back turned to the door.
“You didn’t say goodbye,” Jun said, voice rough from alcohol. He kicked off his shoes, dropped onto the mattress with all the carelessness in the world. “Were you sulking?”
Dylan didn’t answer.
Jun frowned, leaning closer. “Oi, Dylan. Don’t ignore me.”
Still nothing. Just the sound of Dylan’s steady, forced breathing.
It was only when Jun’s hand reached for him—when Jun’s arm slid over his waist—that Dylan finally spoke.
“Don’t.”
The word was so soft, so fragile, Jun almost missed it. But when he did, he froze.
Dylan’s shoulders trembled. His face was turned into the pillow, hidden, but Jun didn’t need to see his eyes to know he was crying.
“I can’t…” Dylan whispered, voice breaking. “I can’t keep doing this.”
Jun sat up, anger flashing in his chest. “What are you talking about?”
Dylan turned then, slowly, and the sight hit Jun harder than any punch.
His eyes were swollen, red-rimmed, and empty. Not angry, not jealous—just gone.
“I’ve been waiting,” Dylan said, each word trembling. “Waiting for you to prove me wrong. Waiting for you to show me this wasn’t just… just some stupid game.”
Jun opened his mouth, but nothing came out.
“But you didn’t,” Dylan continued, his voice cracking, breaking open like glass. “And I can’t—Jun, I can’t keep handing you pieces of myself just so you can laugh with your friends later about how easy it was.”
His chest heaved. His lips trembled. And yet, he didn’t yell. He didn’t scream.
He just broke. Quietly. Completely.
Jun’s throat tightened. He reached for Dylan, desperate now. “Dylan—”
But Dylan pulled back. For the first time, he didn’t let Jun touch him.
And that, more than the tears, more than the words, terrified Jun.
Because Dylan had always let him. No matter how cruel, no matter how careless—Dylan had always chosen to stay.
Not tonight.
Dylan pushed himself off the bed, grabbed his jacket, and walked to the door.
Jun’s voice cracked, raw and sharp in the silence. “You’re not leaving.”
Dylan’s hand paused on the knob. His shoulders shook, and for a heartbeat Jun thought he’d turn back.
But when Dylan spoke, it was only this:
“I already have.”
The door shut softly behind him.
And for the first time, Jun realized—Dylan wasn’t bluffing.
This time, he was really gone.
---
Jun woke to silence.
No soft rustle of sheets.
No quiet hum of Dylan making coffee.
No shoes lined neatly by the door, no jacket draped over the chair.
Just silence.
At first, he smirked. He’s just sulking. He’ll come back when he’s done with his little tantrum.
But as the hours stretched, the smirk faded.
The silence stayed.
---
At practice later, Jun’s friends teased him.
“Where’s your little shadow?” one of them joked. “Did you finally get tired of him?”
Jun forced a laugh. “Maybe he finally realized he’s too boring for me.”
The words were easy, cruel, the kind of thing they expected from him. But when they laughed and clapped his back, the sound rang hollow in his ears.
Because deep down, Jun knew: Dylan hadn’t realized anything. He had simply given up.
That night, Jun came home to an empty bed.
He stared at the space where Dylan should’ve been, the dent in the pillow still faintly there, and something in his chest twisted hard enough to hurt.
He reached for his phone. Opened their chat. The last message Dylan sent him was three days ago—eat something before filming.
Jun typed a reply. Deleted it. Typed again. Deleted again.
What could he even say?
Come back, I didn’t mean it.
Don’t leave me, even if I never gave you a reason to stay.
In the end, he said nothing.
Just like Dylan.
---
Days passed.
Jun found himself looking for Dylan in every crowd. Turning at every quiet laugh, every familiar silhouette. He caught himself waiting for Dylan’s hand on his arm, his voice calling softly—Jun.
But there was nothing.
No Dylan at his shoots.
No Dylan waiting at the café.
No Dylan in their apartment.
Just silence. Always silence.
When his friends asked, Jun shrugged it off. “We’re taking a break. He’s too clingy anyway.”
But when he came home that night, he sat on the floor in the dark, staring at the door, waiting for it to open.
It never did.
It wasn’t until Jun found Dylan’s sweater folded neatly on the bed—clean, untouched, smelling faintly of him—that the truth finally sank in.
Dylan hadn’t left in anger.
He hadn’t left to punish Jun.
He had left because there was nothing left to fight for.
And for the first time, Jun understood the weight of the silence Dylan left behind.
It wasn’t a threat.
It wasn’t a game.
It was an ending.
---
Jun had always been good at pretending.
Pretending he didn’t care, pretending Dylan meant nothing, pretending that every smile, every kiss, every touch was just a game.
But now, with Dylan gone—silent, unreachable—pretending felt like suffocation.
He stared at the sweater Dylan left behind. His chest ached like someone had carved him open.
“I never wanted to win,” Jun whispered into the empty room, the words spilling before he could swallow them back. “I just wanted you.”
The confession sounded pathetic, even to his own ears. But it was the truth.
The bet.
The stupid, reckless bet.
Make Dylan Zhou fall for you.
That was how it started.
And Jun had agreed—because how else could he get close to him without losing face? Without being mocked by friends who already sneered at Dylan’s quiet presence, who treated him like the university’s background noise?
Jun had taken the bet because it was the only excuse he had.
The only way he could justify wanting Dylan to himself.
But the lie grew teeth.
The more Jun acted, the more Dylan believed. The more Dylan believed, the deeper Jun sank.
And yet—he couldn’t stop playing the role.
Not when his pride demanded he keep laughing with his friends.
Not when Dylan was already frowned upon, whispered about, judged for not being enough.
Jun told himself he was protecting them both. That if anyone asked, it was just a bet. That if anyone sneered, he could laugh it off.
But the truth was simpler, uglier: Jun was a coward.
He remembered the night his friends told him to break it off.
“Bet’s over. Game’s done. Time to drop him, right?”
And he had smirked, shrugged, said, “Why would I let go now? Zhou’s the best toy I’ve ever had. Obedient, quiet, always there when I want him. He makes it too easy.”
But that wasn’t the truth.
The truth was he couldn’t let go.
The truth was that every part of him screamed at the thought of Dylan walking away.
Because he didn’t want the relationship to end.
He didn’t want Dylan to end.
Now, Dylan had ended it for him. Quietly. Cleanly. Without giving Jun a chance to beg.
And Jun was left with nothing but the wreckage of his own pride.
“I love you,” Jun said into the silence, his voice breaking. He laughed bitterly, wiping his face with the heel of his palm.
“And you’ll never hear it. Because I was too much of a fucking coward to say it when it mattered.”
The room didn’t answer.
Dylan didn’t answer.
And in the hollow darkness of that night, Jun finally realized—he hadn’t just lost the bet.
He had lost the only person he had ever truly wanted.