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The theme for Pepper and Gam's Halloween party was deceptively simple: Something you hate.
For Dylan, it should have been perfect—an opportunity to weaponize his considerable disdain for the world. Finding something he hated wasn't the problem. The world offered plenty of candidates for his ire. Finding something wearable and recognizable was the real challenge.
He'd spent weeks spiraling through ideas, cycling between options that felt either laughably obvious or practically impossible to execute, until the answer literally slammed into him.
Jun walked into the practice room late, as always, and barged in without paying attention. The collision sent Dylan stumbling backward, and for a moment, all he could do was stare at this infuriating person who moved through the world with such casual confidence, never second-guessing himself, never shrinking away like Dylan did when the world felt too bright and demanding.
He was everything Dylan wasn't. Everything that made his skin crawl with inexplicable irritation.
But standing there in that moment, watching Jun steady himself with barely an apology, something crystallized in Dylan's mind—brilliant, terrible, and undeniably perfect. Jun embodied everything Dylan resented.
Jun's entire aesthetic was the antithesis of Dylan's own philosophy. Where Dylan lived permanently in oversized hoodies and dark jeans—armor designed to let him disappear unnoticed—Jun had mastered the art of casual elegance. Crisp blue jeans that actually fit his frame, fitted t-shirts in colors that seemed chosen specifically to showcase his muscular build, an endless rotation of cardigans that managed to look scholarly, effortlessly sophisticated and cool. It would be immediately recognizable to anyone in their social circle, and the joke would land perfectly. Cutting, just the way Dylan liked it.
Finding the outfit proved almost embarrassingly easy because Jun had the habit of leaving his belongings scattered throughout their shared spaces like breadcrumbs. Dylan found a clean cardigan draped over a kitchen chair, a pristine t-shirt tangled in the laundry pile, a pair of perfectly broken-in jeans abandoned in the bathroom within the span of a single week. When Jun had casually asked if Dylan had seen his cardigan, Dylan had simply shaken his head no and put his headphones on, disinteresting himself from the conversation. The lie had felt small, justified, necessary.
The day of the party, Dylan prepared himself somewhere Jun couldn't see. He didn't want to face him beforehand, didn't want to hear the inevitable lecture about theft and boundary violations. He already knew exactly how that conversation would unfold, word for word—Jun's angry disappointment, Dylan's defensive sarcasm—and had no interest in enduring it.
When Dylan stepped into Gam's house, he was immediately enveloped in elaborate Halloween aesthetics. Cobwebs, pumpkins, and fake spiders decorated every surface. None of it was Gam's doing, nor Pepper's—this was entirely Nano's handiwork. He'd arrived three hours early specifically to transform the space, knowing their hosts wouldn't go nearly this far. Nano had always been the one who saw a blank canvas and felt compelled to fill it with as much creativity as possible.
Nano's outfit was a masterpiece of dedication: a fitted black corset wrapped tightly around his chest, with eight fake legs suspended from the seams, each one articulated and positioned to sway with every movement. His makeup was dark, designed to mimic the compound eyes of a spider. It was genuinely unsettling, rendered beautiful by sheer commitment to the craft.
Dylan surveyed the crowded living room, marveling at the creative interpretations scattered throughout. Some guests had taken the easy route, settling for cobweb accessories attached to regular clothes. A girl near the kitchen had sewn alarm clocks onto her dress—someone who despised mornings and the cruel tyranny of getting out of bed. Phobia-inspired outfits dotted the room: snakes, scorpions, even dogs apparently. Each one a window into what each person loathed.
Dylan had assembled Jun's look perfectly. To anyone who didn't know them both, he probably looked like just another guy in casual clothes. But to those in their social circle, it would click immediately—the navy cardigan that happened to be Jun's favorite, soft wool that smelled faintly of the expensive cologne Jun always wore. The fitted white t-shirt that actually revealed Dylan's shoulders existed beneath fabric, the cotton clinging to his frame in ways that made him hyperaware of his own body in deeply uncomfortable ways. Those perfectly worn jeans that had molded themselves to Jun's shape over time, now hanging differently on Dylan's narrower frame. He'd even practiced Jun's confident posture in his bedroom mirror for an embarrassing amount of time—shoulders back, chin up, the opposite of his usual tendency to fold inward and disappear.
Pepper burst into delighted laughter as he took in the outfit. "Oh my god, Dylan! You're Jun!" The reaction bloomed warm in Dylan's chest. Friends immediately caught the reference, pointing and giggling as they recognized the careful mimicry. For once, Dylan's calculated joke had landed exactly right.
Dylan was nursing his second beer when Jun finally arrived, fashionably late as always. The man had no respect for schedules, even when irrelevant to work. He always seemed to be orchestrating a grand entrance, waiting for everyone to notice him and offer their attention. It was exhausting. It was infuriating. It made Dylan's pulse spike.
But Dylan didn't have time to process those familiar, recriminating thoughts.
Jun was wearing his clothes.
Not just any clothes—Dylan's favorite oversized hoodie, the charcoal gray one that had been so perfectly worn-in it felt like wrapping himself in a cloud. Except on Jun's broader frame, it fit the way hoodies were supposed to fit, no longer swallowing the wearer but showcasing the solid lines of his shoulders and chest. Dylan's dark jeans too, now fitted and flattering in ways they never were on his own lean legs, clinging to Jun's muscular thighs. Jun had even adopted Dylan's characteristic hunched posture—hands buried in the hoodie's pocket, shoulders curved inward, the same defensive shield Dylan wielded against the world.
The room tilted sideways. Reality reorganized itself around the impossible mirror image standing in front of him.
He's dressed as me, Dylan thought, the realization hitting with the force of an avalanche. Jun is dressed as something he hates, and he chose me.
The thought should have stung. Should have confirmed every insecurity Dylan carried about being too quiet, too anxious, too much of everything Jun seemed to find irritating. Instead, it sent a strange thrill through his chest—electric and confusing.
"Oh, this is absolutely perfect," Nano wheezed, loud enough to draw attention from half the party. His voice carried the particular delight of someone who had just connected dots no one else could see. "I keep telling you two you're obsessed with each other!"
Jun's gaze found them across the crowded room, and Dylan watched his face cycle through emotions like a projector flipping through slides: casual confidence, then confusion, then dawning recognition, and finally something that looked almost like horror. Dylan could pinpoint the exact moment Jun realized what they'd both independently chosen to do, saw his ears flush pink above the gray cotton of the hoodie.
Dylan wanted to evaporate. To dissolve into the floor, to reconstitute as smoke and drift toward the ceiling, anywhere but here, bearing witness to Jun's carefully maintained composure cracking like thin ice. But he couldn't look away from how Jun's face had transformed—all that practiced cockiness replaced by a flicker of anger mixed with what looked like genuine hurt. It was possibly the first time since they'd met years ago that Dylan could read Jun's emotions with any kind of accuracy, like suddenly someone had given him a key to a door he hadn't known existed.
Jun approached them with uncertain movements, eyes darting like he was mapping escape routes. Dylan had never seen him look so unsteady, so human. Thame and Po wandered over just as Jun reached their circle, probably drawn by the spectacle.
"Are you two dressed as each other?" Po asked, genuine confusion etched across his face.
Thame, sharper and more observant than Po or anyone else ever gave him credit for being, let out a low snicker. "Looks like a couple's costume to me."
Dylan's voice abandoned him completely, words dissolving before they could form into coherent sentences. Jun—who always had something clever to say, who could talk his way through any situation—wasn't faring any better. His mouth opened and closed like a fish drowning in air, the moisture seemingly sucked from his throat.
Nano clapped his hands together in mock delight, spider legs swaying. "You know what this is, right? This is destiny! You two spend all your time bickering like an old married couple, and somehow you both independently decided to dress as each other."
The other partygoers turned to watch their drama unfold, faces lit with curiosity and amusement. The attention made Dylan's skin crawl, embarrassment flooding through him in hot waves. But beneath the mortification was something else—a tiny spark of amusement, mixed with anger that Jun had had the exact same idea.
"It's not—we didn't plan—" Dylan started, but Nano was on a roll, riding the wave of his own revelation.
"The universe is literally screaming at you two! You're so obsessed with each other that you've achieved some kind of psychic connection. This is soulmate-level stuff!"
Dylan's face felt like it was combusting. Worse than the embarrassment was the way Jun's scent suddenly surrounded him like a physical thing—that expensive cologne mixing with fabric softener and something uniquely Jun that Dylan had never consciously noticed before but was now acutely, painfully aware of. It clung to the clothes Dylan was wearing, seeming to seep through the fabric into his skin, making his head swim with unwanted awareness.
"What the hell, Jun?" Dylan snapped, desperate to redirect the conversation. "Did you seriously raid my entire closet? That's my favorite hoodie."
Jun blinked, shaking himself out of his trance. "Your hoodie? You're wearing my cardigan!"
"Your stupid cardigan looks better on me anyway," Dylan retorted, grasping at the familiar rhythm of their arguments.
"Same here. You've completely stretched out the hood of your clothes. Look at this—" Jun tugged at the fabric around his neck, the gesture sharp with frustration. "It's completely misshapen now."
"It's supposed to be oversized, genius. You're wearing it wrong."
"There's no wrong way to wear a hoodie, Dylan."
"There is when you're built like a fucking bodybuilder with shoulders like that," Dylan said, the words tumbling out faster than he could control them.
Jun's eyes narrowed with dangerous intent. "Bodybuilder? You're just abnormally skinny."
"I'm not skinny!" The protest came out sharp, defensive, touching on something raw. Dylan had enough body image issues without Jun adding his particular brand of salt to the wound.
"Yes, you are," Jun said, and then he was stepping closer, close enough that Dylan thought he could see a white hair gleaming in the messy brown mop falling over Jun's forehead.
Jun's hands moved to Dylan's waist suddenly, fingers pressing against the soft wool of the cardigan with purposeful intent. "I could probably wrap my hands all the way around—"
The words died in Jun's throat the moment his hands demonstrated exactly how true that was. His thumbs nearly touched around Dylan's middle, his palms spanning almost his entire waist, and suddenly Dylan couldn't breathe. The sensation of Jun's warm hands nearly encircling him sent an electric shock through his entire nervous system, every nerve ending suddenly firing at once.
Time seemed to fragment and reassemble itself around this single moment. Jun's hands were solid and warm, strong in a way that made Dylan feel delicate and protected and terrified all at once. Dylan could feel every individual finger through the fabric, could feel the slight tremor running through Jun's grip, could feel how his breath had gone shallow and quick. The party noise faded to white static as Dylan's world compressed to the pressure of Jun's hands and the sudden panic—or was it hunger?—widening Jun's eyes.
This is not how you touch someone you hate, Dylan thought desperately, his brain struggling to process anything. This felt like discovery, like awakening, like every nerve ending in his body suddenly coming alive after a long hibernation.
"Oh my god, you two are killing me," Nano sang out from somewhere very far away, his voice dreamlike and disconnected. "You're absolutely hopeless!"
Dylan jerked backward so violently he nearly lost his balance, Jun's hands falling away like he'd been burned. The loss of contact left Dylan strangely cold, as if he'd stepped out of sunlight into shadow. He wrapped his arms around himself, trying to chase away the chill that had nothing to do with temperature.
"I was just proving a point," Jun stammered, shoving his hands deep into the hoodie's pocket. His face flushed a shade that was rare enough to be notable.
Pepper only added fuel to the fire. "This is officially the best party concept ever. You two tie for best costume. You win together."
"We're not together," Dylan said automatically, the words tasting bitter and hollow.
Pepper raised an eyebrow, smile turning knowing. "I meant the contest, Dyl, but thanks for that... interesting clarification."
Dylan's face burned even hotter. Jun made a strangled sound beside him that could have been a laugh or a groan or some combination thereof. They would never, ever live this down.
Gam materialized with perfect timing, as if summoned by the awkwardness. "Why don't you boys get some drinks? You both look like you could use something strong."
Dylan nodded eagerly, seizing the escape route. "Vodka. Whatever you have. Lots of it."
"Coming right up. Nong Jun?"
Dylan risked a glance sideways and immediately regretted it. Jun was staring at his own hands like they'd betrayed him, like they'd acted completely independently of his brain and he couldn't understand how or why it had happened.
"Beer's fine," Jun mumbled, not looking up.
In the kitchen, Dylan positioned himself as far from Jun as possible while still in the same room, pressing his back against the counter like it could anchor him to reality. Pepper poured generous drinks, and the vodka burned sharp and immediate when Dylan threw it back. A welcome distraction from the persistent memory of Jun's hands on his waist and the strange heat that had spread through his body at the contact.
"You know," Pepper said with dangerous glee, "I never imagined we'd get a couples costume this good. The commitment to detail is just—"
"It's not a couples costume," Dylan interrupted sharply. Nano teasing was one thing; having another friend and bandmate join in felt like too much to bear. Especially the usually most reasonable one.
"Right, of course not. Just two bandmates who coincidentally chose to dress as each other for a costume party specifically themed around things you hate. Totally normal, completely platonic behavior." Pepper's tone suggested he believed none of this.
Before Dylan could formulate a response that wouldn't dig him deeper into this hole, Gam's hand clamped down firmly on Pepper's shoulder. "Come help me check the decorations in the back room."
"But I was just getting to the good part—"
"The decorations, Pepper. Now." Gam's tone brooked no argument, and Dylan felt a wave of gratitude toward her.
She knew them well enough to recognize the danger in this moment, with alcohol loosening tongues.
Their voices faded as they disappeared down the hallway, leaving Dylan and Jun in suffocating quiet. The kitchen suddenly felt impossibly small, the air thick and charged with tension that neither of them seemed equipped to address.
Jun cleared his throat. "So."
"So," Dylan echoed.
"This is... awkward."
Dylan almost laughed at the catastrophic understatement. "Yeah. Just a little."
Despite being reasonably articulate when it came to songwriting, Dylan often found himself at a complete loss when forced into normal conversation with actual people. He either went straight to conflict or avoided communication altogether. Jun, on the other hand, typically had words for everything—except apparently now.
"Maybe we should switch back," Jun suggested, not meeting Dylan's eyes. "Before we go back out there. People are already getting completely the wrong idea."
Relief flooded through Dylan so strongly his knees nearly buckled. "Yes. Good idea. Great idea."
It wasn't often that he praised Jun for anything, but in this particular instance, he would happily let it slide. They slipped down the hallway toward Pepper and Gam's guest room, Dylan's fingers already working at the cardigan's buttons the moment the door clicked shut behind them, struggling with the first one because his hands were weirdly shaky, hyper-aware of Jun's precious property and the need not to destroy it in his current state. The small space felt even more intimate than the kitchen had, warm lamplight casting everything in soft golden hues that made the walls seem to curve inward. Behind him, he could hear Jun struggling with the hoodie, cursing quietly.
"How do you even get this thing off?" Jun's voice was growing increasingly frustrated. "It's like it's eating me alive."
Dylan glanced over his shoulder and immediately froze, his fingers stilling on the cardigan buttons. Jun had the hoodie half-off, gray fabric bunched around his shoulders and upper arms, his head temporarily trapped in cotton. The struggle had pulled his T-shirt—Dylan's t-shirt—up with it, exposing a strip of golden skin along Jun's lower back, the elegant curve of his spine, the way muscle moved beneath skin with each frustrated movement.
Heat coiled low in Dylan's stomach, sharp and unexpected and completely unwelcome. He'd seen Jun shirtless before, sure—quick glimpses during costume changes, moments he'd deliberately looked away from. But this was different. This was intimate in a way that made his mouth go dry, his heart rate spike dangerously.
"You're going to stretch it out," Dylan said quickly, abandoning his own buttons to step closer. "That's my favorite hoodie."
"It's stuck," Jun's voice came out slightly panicked, cotton muffling the words.
Dylan could see the problem immediately—the fabric had twisted around Jun's broader shoulders, the sleeves tangled in a way that would require careful, deliberate maneuvering to fix without damage. "Stop yanking at it! You're doing it completely wrong."
Without thinking it through—without letting his brain catch up to his hands—Dylan reached for the hem where it had bunched around Jun's ribs. The moment his fingers brushed against the warm skin of Jun's lower back, Dylan's entire consciousness went completely offline. Jun went very, very still, even his breathing seeming to pause.
Soft, was Dylan's first coherent thought. Jun's skin was impossibly soft, warm like he'd been sitting in direct sunlight, and Dylan could feel the slight tremor that ran through his entire body at the contact—or was Dylan imagining that? No, he could definitely feel it.
"I need to—" Dylan's voice cracked embarrassingly. "Just hold still."
Dylan worked the fabric carefully, smoothing it over Jun's shoulders with deliberate motions. His fingers brushed against the nape of Jun's neck as he freed the collar, and he felt Jun's sharp intake of breath like a physical thing, felt the flutter of his pulse beneath his fingertips. Finally, the hoodie came free, and Jun could pull his head through the opening, emerging disheveled and flushed.
Jun turned around slowly, hair mussed and sticking up in all directions, cheeks flushed beneath his tanned skin. He held out the hoodie with both hands. "Thanks."
Dylan accepted it, trying desperately not to notice how it still held Jun's body heat, how it smelled like his cologne mixed with something familiar—Dylan's own fabric softener. The combination was intoxicating. "Yeah. No problem."
"Your turn," Jun said quietly, stepping closer. His voice had gone soft, almost gentle—a tone Dylan had never heard him use before.
Jun's fingers found the cardigan's remaining buttons, working them with quick, efficient motions. "You were being way too careful with these. They're just buttons, Dylan."
Dylan felt each brush of Jun's knuckles against his chest through the thin cotton of his undershirt, hyperaware of every point of contact like his nerve endings had all suddenly rewired themselves to focus only on where Jun was touching him. "I didn't want to rip anything. It's your favorite."
How Dylan even knew this remained a mystery, but he did know—the same way he was suddenly sure Jun had already known the charcoal gray hoodie was Dylan's own favorite, the way they seemed to know things about each other without ever having discussed them.
"Sometimes you just have to commit instead of picking at things forever," Jun murmured, and something in his tone suggested he wasn't just talking about buttons anymore.
The cardigan fell open, and Jun's hands followed the motion, sliding it down Dylan's arms slowly—too slowly, like he was savoring the process, like every inch of exposed skin mattered. His fingers brushed along Dylan's forearms, tracing patterns that felt intentional, deliberate, purposeful. Dylan found himself holding his breath, afraid that breathing too deeply might break whatever spell had fallen over them, afraid that anything resembling a sudden movement might shatter this fragile moment.
Jun's hair was still a complete disaster from the hoodie, dark strands falling across his forehead in a way that made him look less guarded, younger and wilder. Dylan reached up without thinking as soon as his arm was free, combing through the soft strands with his fingers to smooth them back into some semblance of order.
Jun went statue-still under his touch, eyes falling closed for just a moment as Dylan's fingers moved through his hair.
"Your hair's a complete disaster," Dylan murmured, unable to stop touching the silky strands that seemed to want to curl around his fingers, that seemed to invite his touch.
"Yeah, well," Jun's voice was strained, caught somewhere between wanting and uncertainty. "Your hoodie has a mind of its own."
Dylan's fingers stilled against Jun's scalp, suddenly aware of how intimate this was, how Jun was leaning slightly into his touch like he craved it, like he'd been craving it. They were standing too close, Jun's pulse beat visible in the hollow of his throat, Dylan's fingers twitching in Jun's hair with the urge to do things he shouldn't.
Dylan's gaze dropped involuntarily to how his own t-shirt stretched across Jun's chest, outlining muscles Dylan had only glimpsed before during quick costume changes, always averting his eyes on purpose to avoid exactly this kind of situation. The cotton clung to his body, revealing the solid reality of Jun's frame in ways that made something hot and urgent stir low in Dylan's core, a feeling that had nothing to do with anger and everything to do with wanting.
Without thinking it through—without letting his rational mind reassert control—Dylan's hands left Jun's hair and reached for the shirt's hem, fingers catching in the soft cotton. Jun raised his arms without protest, the motion so fluid and natural it was like they'd choreographed it, like they'd done this before, but it was only pure instinct guiding them both.
The shirt peeled away slowly, revealing inch by inch the golden plane of Jun's stomach, the defined lines of his chest, the way his skin looked warm and touchable in the soft lamplight. Dylan's mouth watered as more was revealed—the hollow of Jun's throat, sharp collarbones that seemed designed specifically to be kissed, shoulders that had filled out Dylan's clothes so perfectly they might have been tailored specifically for him.
The shirt fell from Dylan's nerveless fingers to land somewhere on the floor, forgotten and insignificant.
Jun's hair was messed again from the removal, but Dylan found himself unable to look away from the rise and fall of his bare chest, hypnotized by the rhythm of his breathing, by the way his muscles moved beneath golden skin.
Handsome, Dylan thought, the word rising unbidden in his mind, arriving like a truth he'd always known but refused to acknowledge. He's actually infuriatingly handsome.
It wasn't a thought he'd ever expected to have about Jun. But standing here in this golden light with Jun shirtless and mere inches away, Dylan couldn't deny the truth of it any longer.
Before Dylan could step back—before his rational mind could reassert control and save him from this—Jun's hand found his waist. The touch was tentative at first, just fingertips against the thin cotton of his undershirt, testing boundaries, asking silent questions. But then Jun's palm flattened against his side, warm and sure, and Dylan felt his knees threaten to give out.
"Dylan," Jun said, his voice rough and uncertain in a way Dylan had never heard before, vulnerability replacing his usual confidence like a mask being removed. His other hand joined the first, both palms now spanning Dylan's narrow torso, thumbs pressing gently against his ribs. "I don't—what are we doing?"
Dylan couldn't breathe. Jun's hands were so warm, so careful in the way they held his waist like he might break if Jun wasn't gentle. Dylan could feel the slight tremor in Jun's fingers, the way his grip tightened just slightly as Dylan shifted, shifting only to feel more of it, not less.
"I don't know," Dylan whispered, his own hands finding their way to Jun's bare shoulders. The skin there was impossibly smooth, warm as sunbaked stone, and Jun shivered visibly under his touch, his entire body responding to Dylan's fingertips like they were magnetic. "I really don't know."
"We should—" Jun's voice cracked, and he started again, stronger this time. "We should change quickly and get back out there. People will notice we're gone."
Dylan hummed agreement, but neither of them moved. If anything, Jun's thumbs began tracing small, unconscious circles against his ribs, the gentle pressure only derailing Dylan's thoughts further, scattering them like leaves in wind. Dylan could feel his own heartbeat hammering against his ribs, probably visible to Jun given how close they were standing, given how thin the distance between them had become.
Jun's hands tightened their grip and pulled Dylan infinitesimally closer, drawing him in like gravity. "We shouldn't…"
Dylan's heart felt like it might beat right out of his chest and land at Jun's feet. He could smell Jun's cologne stronger now, could feel the heat radiating from his bare skin like a furnace, could see the confusion and want warring in Jun's dark eyes. His gaze traveled involuntarily from Jun's eyes down the strong column of his throat, across the planes of his chest, before settling on his mouth.
Jun's lips were slightly parted, and Dylan found himself wondering with an intensity that bordered on obsession what they would taste like, what they would feel like pressed against his own. The want was so sharp and unexpected it nearly doubled him over, so acute and all-consuming that it terrified him.
Dylan felt himself leaning forward, drawn by a pull he couldn't resist and didn't want to fight anymore. The distance between them shrank to nothing, until he could feel the warmth radiating from Jun's mouth, until they were sharing the same breath—
The door burst open with enough force to rattle the wall.
"Okay, I know you two are probably having some deep emotional breakthrough in here, but we have a situation and I need—oh my GOD."
Dylan jerked backward, his shoulder blades hitting the wall with a thud that sent pain shooting through his spine. Jun stumbled backward too, creating distance that felt like betrayal, face cycling rapidly through shock, mortification, and something that looked distinctly like disappointment.
Nano stood frozen in the doorway, mouth hanging open in perfect shock, fake spider legs swaying gently from the sudden stop. His eyes darted between Dylan's flushed face and Jun's bare chest, then to their scattered clothes on the floor, then back to their faces as understanding crashed over him like a wave.
"I—you—what—" Nano's voice climbed higher with each word, reaching frequencies that probably violated several noise ordinances. "Were you two about to—oh my GOD, I was actually right! I've been saying this for years!"
Dylan scrambled for his hoodie, pulling it over his head with shaking hands that felt like they belonged to someone else. The familiar weight felt like armor, but it couldn't stop the mortification burning through his veins or erase the memory of how Jun's skin had felt under his palms, warm and soft and perfect.
"It's not what it looks like," Dylan said automatically, the words feeling hollow and unconvincing even to himself, even as they fell out of his mouth.
"Not what it looks like—Dylan, you were about to kiss! There was definite kissing trajectory happening! The way you were looking at each other! I KNEW IT!"
Dylan wanted to sink through the floor and keep going, wanted to evaporate into atoms and scatter to the four winds, wanted to cease existing altogether. Jun had grabbed his cardigan and was holding it in front of his chest like a shield, his face flushed so deeply red it was visible even under his tan—a rare occurrence that somehow made everything worse.
"We weren't—" Jun started, but he couldn't finish the lie. It would have been a complete falsehood, and all three of them knew it with absolute certainty.
"Oh, you absolutely were. The sexual tension, the touching, the way you were looking at each other—I'm sorry I interrupted, by the way."
"What situation?" Dylan interrupted desperately, seizing on Nano's original words like a drowning man grabbing a life preserver. "You said there was a situation."
Nano blinked rapidly, seeming to remember his original mission, his brain struggling to switch gears. "What? Oh! Right, situation." He shook his head like he was trying to refocus, trying to push past the revelation he'd just witnessed. "Thame and Po got into some stupid argument and—actually, you know what? Forget them. They'll patch things up in no time anyway. This is way more interesting. Were you seriously about to make out?"
"We're coming," Dylan said firmly, pushing past Nano toward the door. He needed air, space, anywhere but this small room that still smelled like Jun's cologne and held the ghost of their almost-kiss burned into his memory. Tending to Thame and Po would be a welcome distraction from his completely derailing thoughts.
"Dylan, wait—" Jun called after him, his voice carrying an urgency that made something twist in Dylan's chest.
But Nano had a mind of his own, and was relentless—unapologetic, unashamed, utterly without restraint. He was already sprinting down the hallway ahead of them, spider legs bouncing with each step. "EMERGENCY GATHERING IN THE LIVING ROOM! I HAVE AN ANNOUNCEMENT!"
Dylan froze in the hallway, ice flooding his veins. "We're dead. We are completely, utterly dead."
Jun caught his arm as Nano's voice echoed from the living room, probably audible to every single person at the party. "Dylan, about what just happened in there—"
"There's nothing to talk about," Dylan said quickly, though his arm burned where Jun was touching him, though every part of him wanted to turn back. "Nothing happened."
"But we almost—"
"Almost doesn't count." Dylan pulled free and kept walking, though every instinct screamed at him to turn around, to return to that golden room and finish what they'd seemingly started, to see where this would lead.
They emerged into the living room to find Nano claiming the coffee table as his makeshift stage, most of the party guests gathered around in expectant silence. Phones were already emerging from pockets, that modern instinct to document drama kicking in with full force. Before Nano could open his mouth, Jun's hand found Dylan's waist again, his chest pressing warm and solid against Dylan's back.
Dylan's lungs refused to work properly as Jun's familiar scent surrounded him again, as the memory of his bare skin, the warmth of his hands, everything about him flooded back in vivid, overwhelming detail.
"We can't let him do this," Jun whispered urgently, his lips close enough to Dylan's ear that his breath stirred the hair there. "But we won't be able to stop him. We need to get out of here. Now. Come with me."
The words sent shivers down Dylan's spine that had nothing to do with cold. Jun's hand tightened urgently against his waist, and Dylan could feel the barely controlled panic in his grip—or was it desperation? Was it fear of exposure, or fear of losing this moment?
"Ladies and gentlemen!" Nano boomed from his makeshift stage, clearly in his element with an audience and a revelation burning to escape. "I have just witnessed something that will change the entire course of history!"
Jun's other hand found Dylan's shoulder, grip tight with urgency. "Please," he whisper-shouted. "I can't—not like this. Not with everyone watching and taking pictures and videos. Please."
The raw vulnerability in Jun's voice cut through Dylan's own panic like a knife through silk. Dylan didn't wait to hear another word from Nano. His fight-or-flight response kicked in full force, and flight won decisively. He grabbed Jun's hand—actually grabbed it, their fingers interlacing—and bolted toward the back door, weaving between surprised party guests with the desperation of people fleeing a burning building.
They stumbled onto the back porch together, but Dylan kept running, Jun steady beside him, their joined hands swinging between them, until they reached the fence at the far end of Pepper and Gam's backyard. Dylan pressed his back against the rough wood, trying to catch his breath while his heart hammered against his ribs like it wanted to escape. Jun stopped beside him, chest heaving, still clutching Dylan's hand like a lifeline, like if he let go Dylan might evaporate into the night.
"Did we just run away from a party?" Jun asked between gasps, his voice holding a note of incredulous laughter that bordered on hysteria.
Dylan let out shaky laughter that mirrored Jun's perfectly, the absurdity of it hitting him all at once. Two grown men fleeing into the darkness because their friend caught them almost kissing. It was so utterly stupid, so completely ridiculous, that Dylan could do nothing but laugh about it. If he didn't laugh, he'd probably spiral into complete overthinking, his anxiety turning into something unmanageable.
Jun's thumb traced across Dylan's knuckles, the gesture soft and unconscious, grounding. The touch sent sparks up his arm, reminding him vividly of why they'd needed to run in the first place, reminding him of how Jun's hands had felt on his waist, his shoulders.
In the distance, they could hear muffled sounds of laughter and conversation from the party, could imagine Nano spinning their dramatic exit into an even more elaborate story for the entertainment of their friends. The thought should have terrified Dylan, but instead, with Jun's hand warm in his and the night wrapping around them like a protective blanket, he felt almost calm.
"We need to talk," Dylan said finally, the words feeling dragged out of him against his will, contradicting everything he'd said earlier about nothing happening.
Jun's grip tightened around his hand, but he stayed quiet, giving Dylan the space to continue.
They stood in comfortable darkness, Dylan's heart still hammering but gradually slowing as the adrenaline faded. A warm breeze rustled the leaves above them, carrying the scent of jasmine and flowering vines, wrapping around them both. They were alone, no neighbors around Gam's property, and party-goers still safely tucked inside the house, away from earshot. The night felt infinite, like time had stopped just for them.
Despite his own declaration that they needed to talk, Dylan found himself at a complete loss for words. He couldn't grasp what had gotten into them in that room, couldn't understand the shift from hatred to this—whatever this was. Yet he was still feeling it, the spark, the electricity thrumming beneath his skin with every breath, every moment Jun's hand remained in his. It was like the very first touch had awakened something dormant, something primal and urgent that Dylan couldn't bury anymore, couldn't pretend not to notice now that he was aware of it.
Jun was the first one to speak, his eyes staring ahead at the house, at the warm glow of windows lit from within. His voice, when it came, was quiet and stripped of its usual confidence. "I keep telling myself it's just the weird costume thing, just some kind of psychological trick... But Dylan, back there in that room..." He trailed off, seeming to search for words that could possibly be adequate. "I wanted to kiss you. I really, really wanted to kiss you."
Dylan's stomach twisted with a combination of fear and want so intense it was almost nauseating, almost painful. He'd wanted it too—had craved it with an urgency that terrified him. For that suspended moment before Nano burst in, he'd wanted Jun's hands all over him, had yearned to taste his lips, to discover if kissing him would feel as electric as simply being touched by him, as overwhelming as having Jun's heart beat against his own.
"This is insane," Dylan breathed, his free hand running through his hair in agitation. "We hate each other. We argue about everything. You drive me completely crazy."
But even as he said the words, Dylan was thinking about all their arguments, remembering the way his pulse sped up whenever Jun walked into a room, the electricity he felt when they were sparring with words. He thought about how he always seemed to be hyperaware of Jun's presence, how his eyes tracked Jun's movements without conscious thought, how he'd memorized the exact shade of brown in Jun's eyes without ever meaning to.
Maybe what he'd been calling hate was something else entirely. Maybe it was attraction wearing a mask, desire disguising itself as irritation. Maybe it explained why Jun got under his skin so easily, why every argument felt charged with electricity, why he couldn't stop noticing things like how Jun's hair caught the light or the way his laugh sounded—genuine, rare, precious.
In the darkness, with Jun's hand warm and steady in his and the memory of their almost-kiss burning bright in his chest, Dylan thought that maybe—just maybe—he'd been catastrophically wrong about a lot of things. Maybe he needed to reevaluate his entire understanding of his relationship with Jun. Maybe it was just a physical thing they needed to try to burn off, to get it out of their system. Maybe it would fade as quickly as it had ignited.
But with Jun's thumb still tracing his knuckles and sending tiny bolts of electricity through his system, Dylan doubted he'd be lucky enough for whatever this was to be temporary or transient. There was only one way to find out.
He made his decision within a second of Jun turning to face him, the moment Jun's gaze landed on the shape of his lips in the dark, barely visible but somehow perfectly clear.
"Take me home," Dylan said, his voice steady despite the chaos in his chest. "I assume you're not all talk and actually know how to please a guy?" He started with determination, trying to anchor himself in something tangible. "If fucking it out doesn't fix whatever's wrong with us, then we'll at least be relaxed enough to talk about it without me wanting to bite your head off."
Jun didn't answer with words. Instead, the way he moved to corner Dylan against the fence said everything that needed to be said. Arms braced on either side of Dylan, his body was caging him in, warmth seeping from one body onto the next, breaths mingling in the space between them, heartbeats syncing at a rapid, desperate pace.
Dylan's mind warned him that they should not start here, that this wasn't the place or the time, that they should at least make it to a bed. But the warning dissolved into nothing the moment Jun's lips brushed his mouth. Warm, slightly wet like Jun had run his tongue over his lips right before diving in, full and coaxing him open. Jun kissed him like he knew they had both already lost, like it was inevitable that they'd find themselves addicted, like he'd been craving this for so long he wouldn't give Dylan a chance to back down or pretend this wasn't happening.
There was no hesitation in Jun's kiss, no doubt. Just pure need expressed through the press of lips and the gentle coaxing of his tongue, through the way his hands found Dylan's waist and pulled him closer like he wanted to merge into him. Dylan's fingers dug into Jun's shoulders, holding on like Jun was the only solid thing in a world that had suddenly become liquid and uncertain.
Dylan had no idea how the day had transformed from hating Jun, making it everyone's problem by wearing his clothes to a party full of people who wouldn't even understand the reference, to having Jun's tongue down his throat, to having Jun's fingers digging into the skin of his waist and his arousal grinding against Dylan's thigh. But his brain was too busy being overwhelmed with pleasure to think about any of it, too occupied with cataloging sensations and committing every moment to memory.
The realization would hit him at some point. The consequences of their actions would require serious and honest conversations, would demand that they figure out what this meant and where they went from here.
But that was a problem for tomorrow, for a version of Dylan that would wake up naked and tangled in sheets beside Jun's body.