Archive of Our Own

The house was quiet for once. Too quiet, almost. Thame was at Po's place again, and Pepper and Nano had left a few days ago to visit Nano's family up north. That left just Dylan and Jun, sitting across from each other at the kitchen table, eating a dinner that Jun had thrown together from whatever was left in the fridge.

Dylan pushed his rice around his plate. He had been thinking about this for weeks now. Ever since that morning when Thame came home glowing, lit up from the inside in a way Dylan didn't understand. Ever since one of Jun's one night stands drifted out the front door with a smile like she'd just walked back from somewhere holy.

Everyone talked about sex like it was the best thing in the world. Dylan had never felt any of that. He didn't even know what he was supposed to be looking for. But he was twenty-three, and lately a nagging worry had started to follow him around. What if I'm missing something? What if I die never knowing? Not experiencing any of it always made him feel out of place and extremely far away from the rest of them.

"I'm thinking of going out tonight," Jun said, breaking the silence. He stretched one arm over his head while sipping his drink.

"I want to have sex with you."

Jun choked on his water. He coughed hard, thumping his own chest, his eyes watering as he stared at Dylan like he'd sprouted a second head.

"What?" he managed, voice rough. "Say that again. I think the water went to my brain."

"You heard me." Dylan set down his fork, calm as anything.

Jun blinked at him. But this was the same Dylan who rolled his eyes every time Jun spoke. Dylan whose words could cut you down to nothing in three seconds flat. They fought. They teased. They got under each other's skin. Jun could not count the number of times Dylan had bruised his pride considering how often it happened.

“Why? You can barely stand me on a good day. Are you sick? Did you hit your head?"

Dylan let out a breath. "No. I just—I've never done it. With anyone. I've never even wanted to. And lately everyone keeps acting like it's this marvelous thing, and I keep wondering if I'm missing out." He looked down at his hands. "I don't want to be old someday and regret never finding out. That's all."

Jun's eyebrows climbed up his forehead. He leaned back in his chair, trying to look cool, but Dylan could see the gears turning behind his eyes.

"Sure. Fine. But why me?" Jun asked. There was a strange edge in his voice, like he half expected a joke. "There are people who'd actually like you, you know. You don't even like me."

Dylan had turned this over for a long time. Jun kept coming up as the answer, no matter which way he tilted the question.

"Because I trust you. More than I'd trust a stranger. And you clearly know what you're doing—I've seen enough people leave this house grinning." He shrugged one shoulder. "And we're... us. You're not going to fall in love with me. It's not going to get weird tomorrow. We'll just go back to annoying each other like always. That's safe."

Jun stared at him for a long moment, clearly dumbfounded by Dylan’s request.

"You really know how to make a guy feel special," Jun muttered.

"Is that a no?"

And here was the thing about Jun: his brain was telling him this was a terrible idea, that this would tangle up something that didn't need tangling. But his ego was already standing up and cheering. Dylan, of all people, the one who never wanted anyone, had picked him. Wanted him to be the first. The one to show him all the great things sex had to offer.

His pride won. It usually did.

"Fine," Jun said, and he tried to sound like he was doing Dylan a favor, but a small smile gave him away. "But don't complain after."

The boy who never stopped talking kept watching Dylan's face the whole time, checking, slowing down if he caught even a flicker of unease. And it did feel good. Dylan wouldn't lie about that. His body responded. He came twice, gasping into the dark, his fingers gripping the sheets. It was warm and it was nice and there was a kind of closeness to it he hadn't expected.

But. Afterward, lying there in the cooling dark with his heart slowing down, Dylan waited for the lightning. The big feeling. The thing everyone always talked about, the thing that was supposed to change you. It didn't come.

It had been good. But it wasn't a door opening onto some new world. If it never happened again, he realized, he wouldn't ache for it. He wouldn't miss it.

He was quiet for so long that Jun finally turned his head on the pillow.

"You're thinking very loud over there. What's the verdict? Did I rock your world?"

Dylan had never learned to lie kindly.

"It was good. It felt nice. But… I don't think I'd miss it if I never did it again."

Even in the dark, Dylan could feel the air change.

"Oh.” Just that. But Jun’s voice had gone tight and small, and Dylan knew that sound. He'd put that sound there a hundred times before with his little comments. He'd hurt Jun's pride again, and this time he hadn't even meant to.

Jun sat up slowly, pulling the blanket over his lap. "So I just wasn't good enough." He let out a short laugh that didn't reach anywhere near his eyes. "Great. The one time I actually—" He bit the words off.

And Dylan, who normally would have walked away, felt something tug at him. He didn't want Jun to think that. Because it wasn't true.

"Hey." Dylan reached out and caught Jun's wrist. "No. Listen to me. It wasn't you."

"You don't have to be nice. It's weird when you're nice."

"I'm not being nice, I'm telling you the truth." Dylan pulled himself up to sit beside him. "You were—" he searched for the word, "—you were really gentle. Better than I expected. I mean that. The problem isn't you. It's me. I think I just... don't feel that way. About anyone. I think I might be asexual." He tried the word on for the first time, and realized he quite liked the way it sounded and fit him. "I've never wanted anyone. Tonight didn't flip some switch in me, but that was never going to happen, no matter who it was. You could be the best in the world and I'd still feel exactly like this."

Jun stayed silent, probably trying to figure out if Dylan was just trying to spare his feelings.

"I could tell you the truth, about everything I’m feeling right now, but you wouldn't believe it anyway," Dylan added, with the faintest crook of a smile. "So I'll just say it plain. It's not you. It's how I'm built. I had a good time, I promise. Don't let it dent that giant head of yours."

In all the years they'd known each other, all the bickering and the teasing and the words that left marks, Dylan had never once gone out of his way to make Jun feel better. Dylan was the one who bruised him. And here he was, sitting in the dark, patching up the very pride he usually loved to poke.

"Look at you being kind to me. I'm going to remember this forever, you know."

Dylan flopped back down onto the bed and pulled a pillow over his face. "By tomorrow I'm going to hate you again."

Jun laughed and lay back down beside him. And the strange thing was, neither of them minded the silence that followed. Nothing between them was broken. If anything, in that quiet empty house, their relationship had gotten just a tiny bit gentler.

Dylan woke slowly, the way you do when you don't have anywhere to be. For a moment he didn't move, becoming gradually aware of a weight across his waist. Jun's arm. Heavy and loose, his hand resting just below Dylan's ribs. Jun was still asleep, his face slack and peaceful, breathing slow against the side of Dylan's neck.

Dylan stayed still and took stock of how he felt. It was nice. There was something comfortable about the weight of another person's arm holding you down. He didn't pull away from it. He let himself enjoy it, registering the fact that he wouldn’t mind it happening again, even if he wasn’t desperately yearning for it.

But that was all it was. There was no flutter in his chest, no secret wish for it to mean more. Just safe, and pleasant. Like sitting in the sun when a nice breeze cooled you down. He could understand why people liked the waking-up part a little better than the rest.

He was just starting to drift again when the bedroom door swung open.

"P’Jun, do we have any of the coffee that P’Dylan hid from—"

Nano froze in the doorway. His eyes went huge as they darted from Jun's bare shoulder to the very obvious tangle of the two of them under one blanket.

For one full second, nobody breathed. Then Nano screamed in pure, delighted joy.

"Oh my god." He grabbed the doorframe like his knees had gone weak. "Oh my god."

Jun jolted awake with a snort, his arm tightening on Dylan's waist thoughtlessly. "Wha— what's happening, who died?"

"I knew it." Nano was bouncing now, actually bouncing on his feet, pointing at the two of them with a shaking finger. "All the fighting, all the bickering—it was tension! It was always sexual tension! P’Per owes me five hundred baht! My ship—my ship has sailed!"

"Nano." Dylan sat up, dragging the blanket with him, his face flat and unimpressed despite the early hour. "Stop."

"You're together! You're finally—"

"We're not together," Jun commented, rubbing his face with both hands. His voice was rough with sleep, and Dylan could admit it was a very sexy voice. Maybe he should ask Jun to record early in the morning next time. "Nano, breathe. We are not together."

"But you—" Nano gestured wildly at the bed, at the obvious situation of two naked bodies tangled together. "You're in his bed! You guys are cuddling. Naked!"

"It happened once." Dylan's voice was firm, leaving no room to argue. "Last night. It's not happening again. Right, Jun?"

"Right." Jun nodded quickly, propping himself up. "One time thing. A favor. We're not—this isn't a thing."

"A favor?" Nano looked scandalized and thrilled at the same time.

"Nano." Both of them said it together, in the exact same warning tone, and that only made Nano clutch his heart harder.

"You even talk in sync now."

Dylan grabbed the nearest pillow and threw it at his head.

Thame came home that afternoon, soft-eyed and humming, fresh from Po's place. He'd barely set his bag down before Nano descended on him, practically vibrating, ready to spill everything.

Dylan figured he might as well get ahead of it. He sat down across from Thame, Nano and Pepper, and told them the thing he'd only just put words to himself.

"I think I'm asexual," he stated, plainly. "I tried it. With Jun. And it was fine, it was good even, but I don't—I don't feel that pull. The one everyone talks about. I never have. Not for anyone. I don't think I ever will." He shrugged. "So that's it. That's me."

The room was quiet for a second. Then Thame smiled, and reached over to squeeze Dylan's shoulder. "Thank you for telling us.” No fuss. No big speech needed.

Pepper grinned. "Honestly? Makes sense. You've never once looked at anyone."

But Nano was sulking. Full-on pouting, arms crossed, lip stuck out like a kicked puppy.

"So JunDylan is really dead," he complained mournfully. "Before it even lived."

"It was never alive, Nano."

"But—" Nano sat up suddenly, a new idea lighting his face. "You know a lot of ace people still are in relationships, right? Like, plenty of them! It's not all about—" he waved his hand vaguely, "—sex. You could still date. You could still be his—"

Dylan scoffed before he could even finish.

"And deprive Casanova over there of the one thing he's actually good at?" He jerked his thumb toward the kitchen, where Jun's voice could be heard arguing with the rice cooker. "Nah. I'm not that cruel."

From the kitchen, Jun called out, "I heard that, and I'm choosing to take it as a compliment!"

Nano slumped back down, defeated, while Pepper howled with laughter and Thame just shook his head fondly.

And that should have been the end of it. Mostly, it was. Things went back to normal. Dylan and Jun bickered and teased like they always had. Dylan's tongue stayed just as sharp, and Jun's ego stayed just as easy to bruise.

But every so often, Dylan would find himself padding down the hall and slipping into Jun's room. Simply to feel that comfortable weight of an arm over his waist again, the safety of not being alone in the dark.

Jun never made a big deal of it. He'd just shift over, make room, throw an arm around him like it was the most natural thing. Sometimes there were kisses—lazy, unhurried ones that got Jun a little worked up and made Dylan pleasantly warm. Sometimes Jun would press his lips to Dylan's forehead, his cheek, the corner of his mouth, the tip of his nose, the curve of his jaw, and Dylan would let him, because it felt good.

It never went further than that because it wasn't what Dylan was there for and Jun respected him enough not to push his boundaries. Dylan didn't crave the thing everyone else craved. But he enjoyed the closeness. Jun didn’t seem to mind the intimacy. And for Dylan, that was exactly enough.

Jun's room, the two of them tangled up in the dark. The kissing was just the way Dylan liked it. Jun was good at this part—his lips soft and lazy. Dylan let himself sink into the comfort and safety, his fingers loose in Jun's hair.

Then Jun's hand started to wander. It slid from Dylan's waist, down over his hip, fingers tracing along his thigh, and Dylan noticed but didn't stop him right away. It wasn't unpleasant. He let it go on for a few minutes, curious in a distant sort of way—until he felt Jun shift closer and felt the hard press of Jun's arousal against his thigh.

That was the line. Dylan pulled back gently and pressed a hand to Jun's chest.

"Okay. That's the stop sign."

Jun let out a long, frustrated sigh, dropping his forehead against Dylan's shoulder. And the sound was so genuinely pitiful that Dylan found it almost cute. Then Jun groaned and buried his whole face in the crook of Dylan's neck.

"Sorry. Sorry. You're just so hot. I can't help myself."

To Dylan's own surprise, that made him laugh instead of bristle. Normally a comment like that would earn an eye roll. But it was a real compliment, coming from someone who could get laid any night of the week without lifting a finger. For him to be losing his composure over Dylan, who didn't even want it, who gave him nothing back—that was kind of flattering.

"Let me take a cold shower," Jun mumbled, peeling himself away. "Because I don't think it's going away on its own."

He gave Dylan a quick peck on the lips and slipped out of the room. He came back a while later, calmer, and let Dylan pull him in and hold him until they both drifted off to sleep.

When Dylan woke the next morning, he could tell Jun was already awake because his hand was moving slowly up and down his back, stroking absently. When Dylan looked up, Jun’s eyes were far away and thoughtful. Lost somewhere in his own head. He looked almost serious, which was rare for Jun. When he noticed Dylan blinking up at him, his face softened into a smile.

"Hey, sleepyhead. Took you long enough to wake up."

Dylan only groaned and pressed his face into the pillow, letting Jun work his way up to whatever it was he so obviously wanted to say. He could feel it coming.

"Feel free to tell me to fuck off," Jun started, "because we've never really talked about it. But—how does it work, exactly?"

Dylan squinted at him, lost. "What are you talking about?"

"Your asexuality. Do you never feel aroused? Do you, uh—jerk off sometimes?" He winced immediately, like he could hear himself and realized it was far too early in the morning for this. But Dylan only found his obvious discomfort quite funny.

"Yes, Jun. I masturbate." He said it dryly, deadpan. "My body still has physical needs. I just don't feel the need for anyone else to be involved."

"Oh."

There it was again. That single syllable, in that particular tone. The one that never meant anything simple.

Dylan propped himself up on one elbow and studied him. "What's going on in that crazy little head of yours?"

"Would you—could I—" Jun stumbled over it, which was so unlike him that Dylan's eyebrows went up. "The next time you have to, you know. Would you mind if I—I don't know. Let me help?"

"You want to help?"

"Yeah. Give a hand. Or, you know. A blow job." There was a long silence. A little awkward, even though Dylan still mostly wanted to laugh. Jun rushed to fill it. "I'm not—I don't need you to reciprocate or anything. And if it makes you uncomfortable, just forget I asked. I don't even know what I'm thinking. If you're ace, you probably don't care about someone else helping. It'd just make things awkward."

Dylan watched him fumble, and something in him shifted from amused to questioning. Jun had been off lately. A little too eager. A little too quiet in the in-between moments. Maybe they’d reached the place where it started blurring the lines a little too much.

"Jun. What's wrong?" he asked. "You've been weird lately. If any of this makes you uncomfortable, just say the word and I'll stop bothering you. We can stop."

Jun laughed at himself, low and a little bitter, and shook his head. "Not uncomfortable. The opposite, actually. Forget I said anything."

"Hey, no." Dylan sat up properly now. "What do you mean, the opposite?"

"I don't want to scare you off."

"Jun, don't be stupid. I'm a grown man. I don't scare easily."

Jun was quiet for a moment. He looked down at the blanket, picking at a loose thread, and Dylan realized with a small jolt that Jun was actually nervous.

"It's just that… I might be feeling things. I like this arrangement, Dylan. A lot. I like spending time with you." He huffed a small, helpless laugh. "And my dick clearly likes you, regardless of how you feel about it."

Feelings. The big, heavy word landed in the middle of the bed and just sat there. Dylan blinked. Of all the things he'd expected from this conversation, that wasn't one of them. Maybe because his own wiring made it hard to imagine—hard to picture anyone catching feelings for him, who gave so little of that back. Let alone Jun, who he traded insults with every single day, who he poked and prodded and rolled his eyes at constantly.

"Oh," Dylan said. And now he was the one short on words. "Feelings. That's—you know I don't. I can't really do that part."

"I know. I know." Jun nodded quickly. "That's why I was asking. If there was, I don't know, some way you'd let me do things for you. Full transparency—" he gave a crooked, self-conscious smile, "—I'm a service top. I get off on making my partner feel good. So you wouldn't really have to do anything more than you already do. Not even as much as that one night."

Dylan sat with all of it for a long moment. Jun's hopeful, slightly scared face was waiting for him to say something, anything.

He wasn't annoyed. That surprised him most. He kept waiting for the irritation to come, the urge to deflect with cutting words, and it never arrived. What he felt instead was something gentler and more complicated. He didn’t do romance, he didn’t even know if that could translate into what he was feeling, but he cared for Jun. And even if he liked to bicker with him, he was comfortable enough not to want to lose this if there was a chance at keeping it. But he cared for Jun too much to toy with his feelings.

“I need you to be honest with me. Forget my needs for a second. Forget the service-top thing." He held Jun's gaze. "These feelings. How big are we talking? Because I don't want to keep doing this if it's hurting you. If you're lying in here at night wishing I was someone who could love you back—that's not fair to you. And I'd rather lose the cuddles than do that to you."

Jun opened his mouth, then closed it. For once, he didn't have a quick answer ready.

"I don't know," he admitted, voice small. "That's the truth. I don't know how big yet. I just know I'd rather have this version of you than not have you at all." He shrugged, looking almost embarrassed. "Is that pathetic?"

"A little," Dylan said as the corner of his mouth tugged up.

He lay back down, slowly, and after a beat he tugged Jun down with him so they were facing each other on the pillow.

"Here's what I can give you: I can't promise you feelings. I'm not built for the thing you're feeling, and I'm not going to pretend I am, because that would be the cruelest thing I could do to you. But I can tell you I feel comfortable in this arrangement. I keep coming back to your bed. I don't do that with anyone else. There's no one else I'd let close like this." He paused. "That has to mean something, even if it's not the something you want."

"And the other thing," Dylan went on, a little wry now, "we can talk about. I'm not saying no. I'm not saying yes either. I need to think about it—about what I'm actually okay with, and what's just me trying to be nice and make you happy. Because doing it for your sake instead of mine would get muddy, fast." He poked Jun's chest. "But I appreciate that you asked instead of just trying it."

"So I haven't scared you off?"

"No. You haven't." Dylan exhaled. "Just—let's go slow and communicate. I don't want to wake up one day and find out I've broken your heart because we didn't talk about things."

Jun smiled then, that soft, surprised smile he only ever seemed to get around Dylan. He reached out and tucked a strand of Dylan's hair behind his ear.

"When did you get so wise, huh?"

"I've always been the brains of this duo. You're just now noticing." Dylan closed his eyes and settled back into the warmth. "Now shut up and let me sleep ten more minutes before we have to deal with the gremlins waking up."

Jun laughed quietly and pulled him in, arm settling over Dylan's waist in that familiar, comfortable weight.

"Deal," he murmured.

It was late when Dylan padded down the hall to Jun's room. He had been working late in the studio and came home wanting the simple comfort of Jun's warmth and the weight of an arm over his waist. The house was long asleep, and he didn't even think about it anymore. He just pushed the door open softly and slipped inside.

And stopped before he reached the bed. Jun wasn't alone. There was a girl in the bed with him—pretty, dark hair fanned across the pillow, one bare arm draped over Jun's chest. She was sleeping deeply, her breathing slow and even. Jun was asleep too, his face slack and untroubled.

Dylan hadn't known he'd brought someone home. For a second he just stood there. Then, careful not to make a sound, he stepped back and pulled the door shut behind him.

The latch clicked. It was a small sound, but in the silence of the house it was enough. Dylan was halfway down the hall when he heard the rustle of sheets, a muttered word, the soft thump of feet on the floor. The door opened again behind him. Jun emerged, hastily pulling a t-shirt over his head, briefs on, hair a mess, and there was something close to panic on his face.

"Dylan—" he whispered, catching up. "Dylan, wait."

Dylan turned. Jun's expression made his chest tighten a little—not with hurt for himself, but for Jun. Jun looked afraid. Like he'd done something terrible and was bracing to be hit.

"Hey," Dylan greeted quietly. "Relax. It's fine."

"I didn't—I forgot you might—I met her at the club tonight and I wasn't thinking—" Jun was tripping over his own words, hands half-raised like he didn't know what to do with them. "I'm sorry. I should've texted you. I should've—"

"Breathe. You don't owe me an explanation. You don't owe me anything. You can bring whoever you want home. This is your room, your life."

Jun searched his face, frantic, like he was looking for the trick in it. "You're not—you're not mad?"

"No. Why would I?" Dylan checked inside himself for the feeling Jun so clearly expected to find. "I'm not jealous, if that's what you're scared of."

And it was true. He turned it over and over and found nothing. There was a small flatness in his chest, sure—a quiet dejection that he wouldn't get the thing he'd come for tonight, the warmth and the cuddles. A mild disappointment, like reaching for a glass of water and finding it empty. But that was the whole of it. No clenching in his gut or feeling of betrayal.

Jun stared at him. "How?" he asked. "How are you not—I mean. I don't get it."

"Get what?"

"If it were the other way around. If I walked into a room and found you wrapped around someone else, I'd—" He stopped, jaw tight. "I wouldn't be okay. I'd hate it. I'd hate them. So how do you just—stand there and feel nothing?"

Dylan leaned back against the hallway wall and folded his arms, thinking about how to put it.

"Because that's a romantic way of seeing it," he said finally. "What you're describing—not wanting the person you care about to be with anyone else—that's possession, and it comes from wanting them that way yourself. You can't envy someone for having a thing you don't want." He met Jun's eyes. "I don't want sex, Jun. Not from you, not from her, not from anyone. So how could I be jealous of her getting something I don't even want for myself? It'd be like getting jealous of someone for eating a food I hate. It's just not in me."

He'd meant it gently. He'd meant it as an explanation, a reassurance even—see, you don't have to be afraid, you haven't hurt me.

But it clearly landed wrong. He watched Jun's face fall, watched something flinch behind his eyes, and Dylan realized—too late—that his honesty had cut. Because what Dylan had just said meant: I will never feel about you the way you feel about me. I literally can't.

"Right," Jun said, too quickly, looking at the floor. "Yeah. No, that makes sense."

It didn't make sense to him. It hurt him. Dylan could see it as plain as anything.

"Jun—"

"It's fine. I get it." Jun forced a smile that didn't fit his face. "You're right. You don't want it, so why would you care?"

Dylan pushed off the wall. He wasn't stupid. He'd seen this coming for weeks now, if he was honest with himself—seen the way Jun looked at him and lingered. He'd watched Jun get more attached, sinking in deeper than either of them had bargained for. And Dylan, who couldn't feel it back, had let it keep going because the cuddles were nice and the closeness was safe and he hadn't wanted to look too hard at the cost.

But this—Jun standing here looking gutted because Dylan couldn't be jealous—this was the cost, showing its face. They were walking a very thin line. And Dylan didn't want to be the one who pushed Jun off it.

"Come here," Dylan invited quietly. "Sit with me for a second. She's asleep, she won't miss you for five minutes."

Jun hesitated, then followed him to the couch at the end of the hall. They sat, and Dylan turned to face him.

"I need to say something, and I need you to actually hear it, not just nod," Dylan said. "Okay?" Jun nodded, and Dylan smiled a little. "I'm not going to stop you from being with other people. That's not what tonight is about. You're a flirt and a charmer and you light up when someone's into you—that's who you are, and I'd never take that from you. If you want to bring someone home, bring them home. I mean that." He paused. "But when I said I can't be jealous, your face fell. It hurt you."

Jun opened his mouth to deny it.

"Don't," Dylan instructed softly. "Don't tell me it didn't. I'm not blind, Jun. I can't feel what you feel, but I can see it. I can see you getting in deeper. And I think we've gotten to a place where the stuff that's easy and safe for me is starting to cost you something. Where you're lying in your own bed feeling bad because you slept with a girl, like you cheated on me, when you didn't. You can't cheat on me. There's nothing to cheat on. But you're carrying it like there is."

Jun was quiet. He stared at his hands instead of Dylan.

"That's the line I don't want to cross," Dylan went on. "I don't ever want to be the thing that makes you feel guilty for living your life. And I really, really don't want to be the thing that breaks your heart slowly because you keep hoping I'll turn into someone I can't be." He nudged Jun's knee with his own. "You deserve someone who'd be jealous if that’s what you want. Someone who'd hate finding you with someone else, because they want you that way. I can't be that. And it's not fair to keep you cuddling a guy who never will be, if it makes you ache like this."

Jun finally looked up, and his eyes were bright. "So what are you saying? You want to stop?"

"I'm saying I don't know," Dylan admitted. "I'm saying maybe we went a step too far in a direction I can't follow you in. And I'd rather figure that out now, honestly, with you—than keep going until one day you look at me and realize you've fallen all the way and I'm just... standing here. Not feeling it back. That would wreck you. And I care about you too much to let that happen by accident."

The hallway was very quiet. Somewhere down the hall, the girl shifted in her sleep, the bed creaking audible through the partially open door. Dylan waited Jun out.

"I don't want to lose this," Jun said finally, his voice thick. "Whatever it is. The you-in-my-bed thing. I don't—I don't want to give it up."

"I don't want to lose it either," Dylan admitted honestly. "I like it more than I expected to. But wanting to keep something doesn't make it good for you, Jun. And you're the one with the heart on the line here. So you have to be the one to tell me the truth." He held his gaze. "Are you holding onto this because it makes you happy? Or because you're hoping it turns into something it never will?"

Jun didn't answer right away. And the fact that he had to think about it—the fact that he couldn't just say it makes me happy and mean it—told them both more than words would have.

"I don't know," Jun whispered, for the second time that night he'd had to admit it. "I really don't know anymore."

Dylan reached over and pulled him into a hug, because it felt like what they both needed.

"Then we figure it out," Dylan murmured against his hair. "We don't have to solve it tonight. Just, no more pretending it doesn't cost anything, because it clearly does. Okay?" He pulled back and gave a small, lopsided smile. "Go back to your girl. She's going to wonder where you went if she wakes up without you. And we'll talk when it's not 3 AM and you're not half-asleep and panicking."

Jun let out a shaky breath that was almost a laugh. Dylan stood and pulled Jun up by the hand. "Go on. Sleep. We'll talk tomorrow. I promise."

Jun lingered for a second, looking back at him before leaving.

"Hey, Dylan?"

"Yeah?"

"Thanks. For not lying to me. Even when the truth sucks."

Dylan only nodded in acknowledgment as he watched Jun slip back into his room to the sleeping girl, back to the warm bed Dylan wouldn't be climbing into tonight. Then he walked down the hall to his own room, his own empty bed, and lay down in the dark.

He didn't feel jealous. He still couldn't, no matter how hard he searched. But he felt something. A heavy kind of worry. The weight of holding someone else's heart in his hands and knowing he could crush it without ever meaning to. And that, he decided, was reason enough to be very, very careful with what came next.

In the afternoon, when the girl had gone home and the house was empty, they sat in the kitchen with two cups of coffee going cold between them.

Jun spoke first.

"I've been thinking about what you said all night," he admitted. He turned his cup slowly in his hands. "And here's the honest truth—I don't actually know what I'm feeling. I'm confused. I'll feel one thing in the morning and another by dinner. Some days it feels like a crush and some days it just feels like... you're my person, and I don't need to put a label on it." He shrugged. "I can't give you an answer, because I don't have one."

"That's fair. I didn't really expect one or for you to have all the answers."

"But here's the part I am sure about." Jun looked up at him, steady now. "I don't want to stop. I know that's not what you wanted to hear last night. You gave me the perfect out—'go find someone who'll be jealous, someone who wants you that way'—and I sat with it, and I still don't want it. I want this. Whatever it is. I'd rather have the confusing, complicated thing with you than the simple thing with someone else."

Dylan studied him over the rim of his cup. "Jun, you understand that's exactly the thinking that worries me. 'I'd rather have a little of you than a lot of someone else'—that's how people end up hollowed out."

"I know." Jun nodded. "Which is why I have a proposal. If we're doing this, I don't want to keep guessing. I don't want to lie in bed wondering if I'm allowed to do something, or whether I'm about to step on a landmine. I want rules." He set his coffee down. "A list. What I can do, what I can't do. What you're actually up for and what's off the table. So I always know where the lines are, and I'm never sitting there feeling guilty about something that was fine, or doing something that hurts you because I didn't know."

Dylan tilted his head. There was something almost relieving about the practicality, the structure. Jun, the chaos gremlin, asking for a rulebook. It was so unlike him that it told Dylan how serious he actually was.

"That's... actually really smart. Let's do it. Ask me things. I'll be honest, you be honest, and we write down whatever we land on."

Jun lit up, and took his phone out, ready to properly draft whatever they’d agree on.

"Dates?" Jun asked.

Dylan thought about it. "Depends what you mean. If you mean going out, getting food, doing things together, just the two of us—yeah. I like that. But if you mean dates dates, where it's a romantic performance and there's an expectation of where the night ends up—I can't do the performance part. I'll go anywhere with you as long as I don’t have to pretend."

Jun nodded, filing it away. "So—outings, yes. I keep the romance out of it."

"Right."

"Physical stuff. Where's the line? Cuddling, obviously, we do that. Kissing?"

"Kissing's fine. I like kissing you, actually. It's nice. It's not a sexual thing for me, but it's warm, and it feels safe. I don't mind it at all." He paused. "Sleeping in your bed, cuddling, kissing, even fondling—all green light. I'll come to you. I'll let you hold me. That part is easy."

"And sex?"

Dylan was quiet for a beat. "I don't want it. I'm not going to start wanting it. That night we had was good, and I don't regret it, but it didn't unlock anything in me, and it never will." He met Jun's eyes. "But you asked the other morning about helping—about doing things for me. And I told you I'd think about it. So here's where I've landed: I'm not opposed to occasionally letting you do that. Not because I crave it, but because my body still has needs and because I trust you and it doesn't cost me anything to let you, if it's something you genuinely enjoy. But it can't become an expectation. It can't turn into you hoping it leads somewhere."

"A favor," Jun commented with a crooked smile, echoing the word from months ago.

"A favor," Dylan agreed. "One that happens to suit us both sometimes. Not a stepping stone to me falling in love, because that station doesn't exist on my line. You good with that?"

"I'm good with that."

"And the other people," Dylan added, more gently. "That's a rule too. You're free. Completely. You bring whoever you want home, you flirt with whoever you want, you live your life. I will never be jealous and I'll never guilt you. But—and this is the important part—you're not allowed to feel guilty about it either. The second you start treating me like I'm someone you can betray, this stops being good for you. So if being with other people makes you feel like you cheated on me, you have to tell me, and we deal with it. Okay?"

Jun nodded and picked his coffee back up, took a sip, and grimaced at how cold it had gotten.

"You know," he said, almost lightly, "this could end badly for me. All of it. You've basically handed me a contract that says I will never love you back, sign here." He raised an eyebrow. "I might get my heart shattered into a thousand pieces."

"Jun—"

"No, no, hear me out." There was a glint in his eye now, the familiar mischief creeping back. "It'd be a privilege, getting my heart broken by you. Most people don't get heartbreak this premium. And honestly?" He gestured vaguely with his cup. "Heartbreak's great for songwriting. Some of the best music in history came out of someone being absolutely wrecked over a person who couldn't love them back. I could write a whole album. Loving the Boy Who Can't Love Back. It'd go triple platinum."

Dylan snorted.

"Maybe that's our ticket," Jun went on, warming to it. “Maybe this is how MARS finally blows up. Maybe I suffer beautifully for years and we get a stadium tour out of it. You'd basically be doing me a career favor by stomping all over my feelings. Think of the streams, Dylan. We’d get so many awards."

And Dylan laughed, because Jun was making jokes so he didn't have to sit too long in the weight of what they'd just agreed to. Turning the possibility of his own hurt into a punchline, rather than admit he was scared of it ending badly.

It was such a Jun thing to do. And Dylan, who could be honest to the point of cruelty, who could see straight through people, found that he couldn't bring himself to wipe the grin off Jun's face. Couldn't deny him the thing he so clearly, stubbornly wanted, eyes open, risks and all.

"You're an idiot," Dylan said fondly.

"A talented idiot. Future Grammy winner thanks to my tragic muse." Jun pressed a dramatic hand to his chest. "They'll write think-pieces about my pain."

"If you're going to get your heart broken, it’s only fair you’d at least get a good song out of it. I'd hate for the suffering to be wasted."

Jun grinned, wide and bright. "See? That's the spirit. You're already supporting my art."

Dylan rolled his eyes, but he was smiling too, and when he leaned sideways to bump his shoulder against Jun's, Jun leaned right back into it.

"Okay," Dylan said quietly, after a moment. "We've got our rules. We try it. And we check in every so often, to make sure it's still good for you. Because the second it stops being good for you, the rules change. Got it?"

"Got it," Jun agreed. Then, softer, dropping the bit: "Thank you. For not making me give it up."

"Don't thank me yet," Dylan murmured. "Thank me when the album drops."

Jun laughed, and the sound carried out across the empty room. Whether the thin line would hold, neither of them knew. But they'd agreed to walk it together with their eyes open, and Dylan found himself quite happy with the outcome.

It was a rare night with all five of them home at once. MARS movie nights had become a rare ritual that involved fighting over the snacks and arguing for twenty minutes about what to watch before settling on something nobody fully agreed on. Tonight it was some action thing Pepper had picked, the volume a comfortable murmur under their chatter.

Thame was curled in the armchair, texting Po between scenes. Pepper had claimed the best corner of the couch with the popcorn bowl held hostage in his lap. Nano was sprawled across the other end, legs over the armrest. And Jun sat in the middle of the couch, with Dylan settled on the floor between his knees, leaning back against the cushions, a blanket pulled over his legs.

Neither of them had thought about it. Dylan had drifted to that spot, and Jun had made room without a word.

About thirty minutes in, Nano noticed Jun's hand: it was moving slowly through Dylan's hair—idle, the way you'd pet a cat without thinking about it. Fingers combing through, twisting a strand, smoothing it down again. Dylan's eyes were half-closed, totally relaxed, leaning into the touch. And Jun wasn't even watching the movie. He kept glancing down at the top of Dylan's head with a soft expression, that went even softer when Dylan’s hand found his calf and started giving back Jun’s gentleness.

Nano's brain lit up. He remembered the conversation from months ago, clear as day. We're not together. There's no thing. He remembered being told, firmly, by both of them, that JunDylan was dead in the water. He remembered sulking about it for a solid week.

But these two were always touching now. A hand on a shoulder. Knees pressed together at breakfast. Dylan stealing Jun's hoodie. Jun saving Dylan the last dumpling. And now Jun playing with Dylan's hair in front of everyone like it was the most ordinary gesture in the world.

Nano couldn't take it anymore.

"Okay, I have to ask," he announced, sitting up and muting the movie despite Pepper's protest. "Are you two together? Like, actually? Because I was told it was dead, and now you're—" he gestured wildly at the hair-petting, "—that. So which is it?"

Thame looked up from his phone. Pepper paused mid-handful of popcorn. Both clearly interested in the conversation, but wise enough not to intervene.

"No," Dylan replied immediately, not even opening his eyes.

"Kind of, yeah," Jun said at the exact same time.

There was a beat. Dylan's eyes opened. He tilted his head back to look up at Jun, upside down, eyebrows raised.

"Kind of?"

Jun looked down at him, unbothered. His fingers didn't stop moving through Dylan's hair. "We're in a relationship. It's just not the kind people picture when they hear the word."

Nano made a strangled noise. "I knew it. I knew something was—"

"It's not what you think," Dylan cut in, sitting up a little. "Calm down before you sprain something."

"Then what is it?" Nano demanded.

Dylan and Jun exchanged a look—a quick, wordless thing that the others all caught, the kind of look that only exists between two people who are able to share a silent understanding.

"It's—" Dylan started, then huffed, trying to find the words. "I'm still ace. That hasn't changed and it's not going to. I don't feel romantic stuff. I don't get the crush thing, the falling-in-love thing. None of that."

"But," Jun picked up, "we like being around each other. We're close. We cuddle, we sleep in the same bed sometimes, we do the—" he gestured at Dylan's hair again, "—the this. We take care of each other.”

"So it's like..." Nano's face scrunched up as he tried to fit it into a shape he understood. "You're dating, but aren’t in love?"

"It's a relationship," Dylan tried to explain. "I just don't want anyone slapping the wrong label on it. People hear 'relationship' and they assume romance, and sex, and exclusivity, and all this stuff that isn't us. Jun still sees other people—he's free to. I'm not jealous, I can't be. There's no romance on my end. But we're committed to each other in our own way. We're each other's person, I guess." He shrugged. "It just doesn't look like what you've got in your head."

"It's a Dylan-and-Jun shaped relationship," Jun added cheerfully. "One of a kind."

Nano stared at the two of them for a long moment, and slowly, slowly, a grin spread across his face. Not the manic shipping grin from before.

"That's actually kind of beautiful," he praised.

"Don't make it weird," Dylan warned.

"I'm not! I just—" Nano flopped back against the couch, hand on his heart. "You made up your own thing. You looked at all the normal options and went, nah, we'll build our own. That's the most you two thing ever." He pointed between them. "My ship sailed!" he crowed. "It just sailed to a port I didn't know existed!"

Thame laughed softly from the armchair. "I think it's nice," he offered. "You found something that works for both of you. That's more than most people manage."

"See?" Jun preened, looking down at Dylan with a smug little smile. "Thame gets it. Thame's wise."

Dylan rolled his eyes, but he leaned back into Jun's knees again, settling against him, and after a second Jun leaned down to kiss his head, and grinned when Dylan melted into it.

"Can we unmute the movie now?" Dylan pleaded.

Pepper unmuted the movie. The murmur of explosions filled the room again. Thame went back to his phone, smiling. Nano kept grinning down at them, the screen completely forgotten.

And Dylan closed his eyes, comfortable, the weight of Jun's fingers in his hair and the warmth of Jun's knees against his shoulders, the soft hair and skin from Jun’s leg under his fingertips. It wasn't what anyone else pictured, but it was theirs.

A few years went by, and almost nothing had changed between them. They still fought over stupid things and bickered like an old married couple who'd long since memorized each other's buttons and pressed them purely out of habit and affection. Dylan's tongue was as sharp as ever, and Jun's ego still bruised in all the same easy places, and neither of them would have had it any other way.

Thame left first. It had always been heading that way with Po, and one spring he simply packed up and moved in with him. Then things turned serious between Nano and Pepper—nobody was surprised; everybody had seen it coming for years—and the two of them decided they wanted their own place. With three of the five gone, the big shared house didn't make sense anymore.

So Dylan and Jun found a condo. Two bedrooms. Officially flatmates. A little more than that, unofficially, but two bedrooms all the same—because Jun still liked his fun, and occasionally brought someone home. Dylan had his own room too, his own quiet space where he could write and have his peace when life got too much, though more nights than not he ended up in Jun's bed anyway, curled up under the weight of an arm he'd grown so used to he barely registered it anymore.

It worked. They'd found their equilibrium years ago and settled into it like a well-worn groove. Trust, rules, honesty, and a closeness that didn't need a name.

Then came Pride. MARS had been booked to perform at one of the big pride events, and the band had never made their private lives a public matter, but that morning, getting ready, Dylan had pulled on a shirt and then, almost as an afterthought, pinned something over his heart. An asexual pride flag: black, grey, white, purple.

Jun came out of the next room a moment later with a bisexual flag over his own heart—pink, purple, blue—and the two of them looked at each other and chuckled at the same thought passing their mind.

"You sure?" Jun asked quietly.

"Yeah," Dylan nodded. "I'm sure."

The crowd was enormous, a sea of color and joy. MARS performed, and afterward came the part Dylan usually dreaded: the press and its invasive questions.

It was a reporter near the front who asked the question with the same faint, pitying edge underneath that most people used. Something about the flag. And whether the famously cold, sharp-tongued Dylan of MARS, who'd never once been linked to anyone, who everyone had quietly decided would simply always be alone, expected that to ever change.

The assumption sat right there in the question: You'll always be alone, won't you.

Dylan smiled. And then he surprised every single person in that room.

"Actually," he said into the microphone, calm and even, "I'm in a relationship. Have been, for a while now."

The reaction rippled through the crowd of reporters instantly—a wave of murmurs, cameras refocusing, pens scribbling. Dylan? In a relationship? It went against everything they thought they knew. And it was a big scoop.

"I won't say who," he continued, before anyone could pounce. "That part stays mine. But I'll tell you this, because I think it matters, and because of why we're all here today."

He touched the flag on his heart.

"I'm asexual. It means I don't experience sexual attraction. And for a long time I thought that meant I'd never have anyone. That's what everyone around me seemed to assume too, as you just did. That someone like me just doesn't get to have a partner, doesn't get to be loved or to love in my own way. That I'd always be on the outside of all of it." He paused. "A lot of ace people grow up hearing that, in one way or another. That we're broken and we're cold. That we'll end up lonely because we can't give people the one thing everyone says relationships are for."

The crowd of journalists had gone quiet now, hanging on it.

"I want to say, clearly, that's not true," Dylan went on. "I'm ace, and I'm in a relationship that's one of the most important things in my life. It doesn't look like what most people picture. It's not built the way they assume relationships have to be built. But it's real, and it's mine, and I'm not lonely." He let that land. "The things that actually hold two people together aren’t the things everyone obsesses over. It's trust. It's communication. It's two people being honest about who they really are and building something that fits them, instead of forcing themselves into a shape someone else drew."

He glanced, just briefly, off to the side.

"If you're ace and you're listening to this thinking you'll always be alone, I assure you you won't, unless you want to be. There are people who'll love you exactly as you are. You just have to be brave enough to be honest about what you need, and patient enough to find someone willing to build something new with you. Don't let anyone tell you you're missing out on a life. You're not. You just get to design your own."

He stepped back from the microphone, proud of himself for having stated his truth.

He hadn't named anyone, and possibly never would. But he didn't have to. Because off to the side, just out of the camera's main focus, Jun had been watching him the entire time. And the look on Jun's face—brimming pride—said everything that Dylan had left unsaid. He wasn't even trying to hide it. He just stood there with his bisexual flag, looking at Dylan like he hung the moon.

And next to Jun, Nano had both hands clapped over his own mouth, biting down hard on his lip to physically stop himself from screaming the truth into the nearest microphone.

The fans watching—and there were thousands, in the crowd and online—did the math in about four seconds flat.

Dylan: I'm in a relationship.
Jun: staring at Dylan like that.
Nano: visibly dying to tell.

The internet did the rest. By the time Jun and Dylan got back to the condo that night, the clips and theories were everywhere.

Dylan dropped onto the couch with a sigh and let his head fall back against the cushions. Jun flopped down beside him, still wearing his flag, and immediately draped himself half over Dylan.

"You realize," Jun said, grinning, "you basically told the whole world without telling them."

"I told them what mattered. The rest is their problem."

"Nano nearly combusted. I've never seen a man fight so hard against his own nature."

"Mm." Dylan's eyes were already closing. "He held out longer than I expected, to be fair. I always thought he’d spill the tea without meaning to."

Jun’s fingers found their way into Dylan's hair, manoeuvering him to lie down on his lap.

"Hey, Dylan?"

"Hmmm?"

"What you said up there." Jun's voice had gone soft, the teasing gone. "About not being lonely and building your own thing. I want to say something. And I need you to just let me say it, okay? I'm not asking for anything back."

Dylan opened one eye. "Okay."

Jun took a breath. "I know you don't feel it the way I do. I've known that from the start, and I'm not expecting you to suddenly say it back, and I'm not saying this to put you on the spot." He swallowed. "But I love you, Dylan. The whole of you. Romantically, and every other way there is. I've known it for a long time now, and I just—I wanted you to actually hear it out loud. Once." A small, almost embarrassed laugh. "And the wild part is, I'm happy. I'm really happy. None of this looks anything like what I pictured when I was a kid dreaming about who I'd end up with. But it's better. It's us. And I wouldn't trade it for the version I imagined."

Jun visibly braced, ready for Dylan to deflect and gently remind him of the line they both knew. But Dylan didn't hesitate.

"I love you too," he replied softly.

Jun went still, his heart kicking up a notch and eyes going wide. "Dylan, you don't have to—"

"I'm not just saying it." Dylan opened both eyes to face him properly, his expression as plain and honest as possible. "I know what I am. I'm never going to feel the romantic part, or the rest of it, the way you do." He held Jun's eyes. "But love isn't only that one thing. I trust you more than anyone alive. I'm happy when I'm with you. And the truth is, I can't picture my life without you in it. I don't want to. So if that's not love, I don't know what people think love is supposed to be." A faint smile. "I love you, Jun. In my own way. For whatever that's worth."

For a second Jun didn't say anything at all. His eyes had gone bright and wet.

"For whatever that’s worth," he managed to repeat. "You enormous, infuriating idiot. It's worth everything."

Jun bent down at an impossible angle, managing to slot their mouths together in a sideways, sloppy kiss, and Dylan let him, one hand coming up to rest at the back of Jun's neck. Maybe Jun’s hands on him didn’t turn him on, maybe it didn’t provoke goosebumps and a wild heart, but Jun’s mouth against his, and his hands in his hair was the closest thing to peace and happiness Dylan knew. And he really hoped he’d never lose it, no matter what came their way.