Chapter Text
Being in a relationship wasn't always easy. You had to accommodate your partner and make concessions. Sometimes you fought, you bickered about who would do the laundry or who would prepare dinner that day. Small stuff. The everyday stuff that tested patience and strengthened bonds in equal measure. But every relationship faced those small issues and as long as the benefits outweighed the downsides, it was worth it. And Dylan was so, so worth it.
But being a couple when you were public figures forbidden to be in a relationship was a whole other struggle. As long as they were in the privacy of their own home, it wasn't really all that different. Behind closed doors, Jun could thread his fingers through Dylan's gray hair while they watched movies, could press lazy kisses to his temple during quiet mornings, could hold him close and whisper sweet nothings that made Dylan's ears turn pink with embarrassment and affection.
But as soon as they stepped outside, whether together or apart, it became a constant battle. They always had to be on guard about what they wore, what they said, how they behaved. Every glance had to be calculated, every smile measured. The small everyday stuff couples could do—holding hands while crossing busy streets, brushing someone's hair away from their eyes, looking at each other with unguarded tenderness—were entirely forbidden. They could not risk getting caught.
So they learned to live with it. And instead of doing coupley stuff when outside, they took the opposite stance and bickered and fought and pretended they didn't like each other that much. It was fun most of the time, almost like an elaborate game where only they knew the rules. Dylan would roll his eyes at Jun's jokes with disdain, and Jun would fire back with sarcastic quips that made Dylan's lips twitch with amusement hidden behind a scrawl he had perfected over the years.
But sometimes, sometimes it was so hard to bear that Jun considered throwing it all away—his career, his dreams, his aspirations—just for a chance to simply be with Dylan openly. The thought would hit him in waves: what if they just ran away together? What if they moved somewhere no one knew MARS, where Jun could introduce Dylan as his boyfriend without fear, where they could build a quiet life away from cameras and contracts and the suffocating weight of secrecy?
Days when he thought about breaking up with Dylan to simplify their lives were—thankfully—much, much rarer. Maybe it had happened twice in the two years they'd been together, usually during their worst fights when the pressure felt unbearable and Jun wondered if loving Dylan was being selfish, if he was trapping them both in this impossible situation. But those thoughts never lasted long, because Dylan—with his grumpiness in the morning that melted into sleepy smiles, his cold public stance that hid his enormous heart, his small crescent-moon eyes that lit up when he laughed, his adorable pout when he was concentrating, and his fierce passion for music—Dylan was it for Jun. Dylan was Jun's person. No questions asked. No debate.
Days like today were sometimes the hardest. They weren't doing much, just recording a vlog for content, all the band members together on the streets of Bangkok. It was supposed to be easy—the banter, the laughs, the comfortable conversations that came naturally after years of friendship. They were supposed to have fun and bond and show their fans their goofy sides.
Most of it was easy. Laughing with Thame when his hair got blown by the wind, making him look like the gangly teenager who'd joined the company five years ago. Letting Nano rope him into a silly game of rock, paper, scissors to decide who would try the local dish that looked questionable at best. Chilling with Pepper at the coffee shop, sipping drinks while listening to Pepper's gentle observations about the people around them.
But then, then there was Dylan. Dylan looking incredible in Jun's jeans and the oversized t-shirt he'd borrowed from Jun's closet that morning, the fabric carrying Jun's scent all around Dylan’s body, making Jun want to pull him close and breathe him in. Dylan looking relaxed and genuinely smiling—not his camera smile, but the real one that made his eyes crinkle—and Jun had to dig his nails into his palms to stop himself from reaching out to trace those smile lines with his fingertips. Dylan standing right by his side as they walked, their fingers brushing accidentally, sending electricity up Jun's arm and making him long to lace their fingers together properly, to feel Dylan's callused fingertips against his own.
These were such small acts of love that most people took for granted, gestures Jun couldn't even begin to initiate in public without potentially destroying everything they'd worked for.
But what was truly torture was passing by couples on the streets. Real couples, free couples, who moved through the world without fear, unconscious of their luck.
There: a young man spinning his girlfriend around on the sidewalk, both of them laughing as passersby smiled indulgently at their joy. Jun's chest tightened as he imagined doing the same to Dylan, imagined Dylan's surprised laughter, the way he'd probably swat at Jun afterward and call him ridiculous even as his eyes sparkled with happiness.
There: two women sharing street food, one wiping sauce from her partner's chin with tender familiarity. Such a simple gesture, but Jun's throat closed up imagining the casual intimacy of it, the comfortable way Dylan would probably lean into his touch if Jun could do the same.
There: an older couple walking slowly, the man's hand steady on his wife's lower back as they navigated the crowded market. Jun's eyes lingered on that protective touch, on the unconscious way the man guided his partner through the chaos, and he felt hollowed out with want. Dylan hated crowds, got overwhelmed by too many people pressing close, and Jun's instinct was always to shield him, to create space for him to breathe. But he couldn't. He had to watch Dylan tense up and handle it alone while Jun pretended not to notice.
Each couple they passed felt like a small knife twisting in Jun's chest. Look what you can't have, they seemed to whisper. Look what you'll never be able to do.
By the time they reached the shabu-shabu restaurant for dinner, Jun felt raw and exposed, his usual easy smile requiring tremendous effort to maintain. The seating arrangement was supposed to be random and they usually were careful about these things. Somehow Jun found himself directly across from Dylan at their long table, with no way to switch seats without drawing attention.
The restaurant was warm and bustling, filled with the sounds of sizzling meat and cheerful conversation. Steam rose from their shared pot, and the other members chatted easily about their day, about tomorrow's schedule, about everything and nothing. But Jun couldn't focus on any of it. All he could see was Dylan, illuminated by the warm overhead light that turned his gray hair into spun silver and made his skin glow golden. He was so goddam beautiful.
Jun tried to eat, tried to participate in the conversation, but his gaze kept drifting back to Dylan like a compass finding true north. Dylan's mouth moving as he spoke to Nano beside him, the glint of amusement in his dark eyes when Thame told a particularly bad joke, the way his eyelashes cast shadows on his cheekbones every time he blinked, his tongue darting out to catch a drop of sauce before it fell, his elegant fingers gripping chopsticks with dexterity, the subtle flex of his forearms as he reached for more vegetables.
Would Jun ever get tired of looking at him?
Right behind Dylan, at a small table for two, sat a couple deep in their own world. Jun tried not to watch them, tried to focus on his bandmates, but his eyes kept drifting. The two women were probably around their age, leaning across their small table toward each other, sharing food and quiet laughter. As Jun watched, one of them held out her chopsticks, offering her girlfriend a piece of perfectly cooked beef. The gesture was so casual, so natural, but the receiving woman's face lit up with such simple joy that Jun's heart clenched painfully.
He imagined doing the same for Dylan—reaching across the table to feed him, watching Dylan's mouth curve into that slow, private smile he reserved for Jun alone. Dylan would probably try to bite his fingers playfully, or give him one of those sultry looks that made Jun's pulse race and his cheeks flush. They'd had countless intimate dinners at home, but Jun had never been able to feed Dylan in public, had never been able to show that kind of tender care where others could see.
The couple behind Dylan was holding hands across their table now, fingers intertwined as they talked. Such a simple thing. Such a basic expression of connection. Jun's own hands felt empty and useless where they rested on the table, mere inches from Dylan's but unable to bridge that impossible gap.
A sigh escaped him, deep and longing, before he could stop it. Thame glanced at him curiously, but Jun just shook his head and forced himself to take a bite of food that tasted like ash in his mouth.
This was agony. Pure agony.
He barely touched his dinner, head pressed against his hand, elbow digging into the table in a way that would have earned him a scolding from his mother. His gaze kept darting between Dylan's beloved face and the happy couple behind him, each comparison like salt in an open wound. Every small gesture of affection between the two women—a shared smile, a gentle touch, a whispered comment that made them both laugh—felt like evidence of everything Jun couldn't have.
The longer this went on, the harder it became to pretend he wasn't affected. His carefully constructed public mask was slipping, and he could feel his bandmates starting to notice his distraction. Pepper's eyes were concerned, Nano kept shooting him questioning looks, and Dylan seemed to sense something was wrong, though he couldn't ask directly.
Jun loved Dylan. He loved Dylan with his entire heart, his entire soul, with a fierce devotion that sometimes scared him with its intensity. He wanted to shout it from the rooftops, to show the world what an amazing person his boyfriend was, how talented and funny and kind Dylan was beneath his prickly exterior. He wanted to defend Dylan from antis online, to post couple photos that would make their fans swoon, to write songs about how Dylan's laugh sounded like home.
He loved MARS too. He loved performing and the rush of being on stage, loved their music and their fans and the life they'd built together. But he loved Dylan more. That was the truth that kept him awake at night, the knowledge that if forced to choose, he would choose Dylan over everything else without hesitation.
The problem was that he wasn't alone in this decision. Not only did he have bandmates to think about—Thame and Pepper and Nano who'd worked just as hard to get where they were—but Dylan was part of MARS too. Even if Jun decided to quit it all, to sacrifice his career for love, it wouldn't change a damn thing. Dylan would still be an idol, still be under public scrutiny, still be forbidden from loving openly. They'd both end up losing everything and still be forced to hide.
Jun was trapped in a cage of his own making, surrounded by the very success he'd dreamed of as a trainee, and sometimes the bars felt like they were closing in.
He was stuck, and he was desperately, achingly jealous of people who could live their lives simply, who could love without fear or calculation. The couple behind Dylan was holding up their phones now, taking selfies with bright smiles, probably planning to post them on social media with captions about date night and love and happiness. Such normal things. Such impossible dreams.
As he watched them, a bitter thought crossed his mind: Was it a crime to be in love? Was it really so terrible that he wanted to hold his boyfriend's hand in public, that he wanted to kiss Dylan's temple when he looked particularly beautiful in the restaurant lighting, that he wanted to introduce Dylan as his life partner instead of just his bandmate?
But he knew the answer. In their world, yes, it was a crime. Love was a luxury they couldn't afford, at least not the open, honest kind that everyone else took for granted.
The couple was leaving now, walking past their table hand in hand, and Jun watched them go with a mixture of longing and resentment so intense it made his chest ache. They disappeared into the Bangkok night, probably planning to go home together, to fall asleep in each other's arms without fear of discovery, to wake up tomorrow and continue living their simple, open, enviable life.
Dylan was looking at him now, Jun realized, dark eyes soft with concern and a question he couldn't ask aloud. Jun managed a small smile, the best he could do, and Dylan's expression didn't change but his foot brushed against Jun's calf under the table—brief, careful, but achingly tender.
It wasn't enough. It would never be enough. But it was all they had, these stolen moments and hidden touches and love that bloomed in secret like flowers in the dark.
For now, it would have to be everything.