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Dunk often finds himself watching Joong from across the room anytime they are in a large group of people. He has this way of being the brightest person in the room without trying. Conversations bend toward him naturally. Laughter follows him. Attention settles on him as easily as sunlight finds open windows.
Dunk used to be intimidated by that sparkle. Used to think it belonged to a version of Joong that existed beyond his reach. Used to be terrified that he wasn’t enough for him, or that he didn’t deserve to be by his side.
It’s not something he really thinks about anymore. At least not consciously.
Once upon a time, they didn’t understand how to let the other be themselves without completely destroying themselves in the process. Joong had burned too brightly, giving pieces of himself away to anyone who needed them, until there was almost nothing left for himself. Dunk had responded by pushing himself into the background, not wanting to seem like too much or that he was trying to stifle Joong’s shine.
They had spent years learning that caring about someone didn’t mean carrying them. That love wasn’t measured by how much they would sacrifice themselves to be what they thought the other wanted. That neither of them could survive if one person became the sun and the other spent their entire life orbiting around it.
It had taken time. A lot of it.
They had made so many mistakes as they tried to find their way to each other in a way that was healthy. There had been more than a few arguments and it even got to a point where they were both ready to walk away, thinking it would be easier that way. But eventually they found something steadier.
Now, when Dunk watches Joong from across a crowded room, it isn’t with anxiety. It isn’t because he’s waiting for Joong to need saving. It isn’t because he’s scared that if Joong isn’t constantly with him, it means he doesn’t want him.
It’s because he genuinely enjoys just watching him exist.
Across the room, Joong throws his head back laughing at something Pond says. The sound carries over the crowd easily. His hands move animatedly as he talks, nearly knocking a drink out of Force’s hand in the process. Force catches it without looking, clearly it’s not the first time it’s happened tonight.
Dunk smiles to himself. The years have changed many things, but not that. Joong still takes up space like he was born to. The difference now is that Dunk no longer feels threatened by it, because he knows what most people don’t.
The version of Joong everyone sees — the charming one, the loud one, the one that shines so effortlessly — is very much real. It’s not a charade that he puts on in order for people to like him. But it isn’t all of him.
Dunk knows the quieter parts too. The parts of Joong that second-guess himself and everything he says. The parts that worry, whether it’s about his family or his fans. The parts that carry guilt long after everyone else has forgotten things, especially for things that were never his fault. The parts that still sometimes look at happiness like it’s something borrowed or something that he only deserves if it’s earned.
And maybe that’s why his gaze always finds him. Not because Joong is the brightest person in the room, but because Dunk knows exactly what it took for him to become someone capable of shining without burning himself alive.
“He looks like he’s having fun,” a voice interrupts Dunk’s train of thought.
Dunk turns, finding Gawin sitting beside him. Gawin’s attention isn’t on him though. Instead, his gaze is fixed on the chaos unfolding across the room.
Specifically, on Joong. Who has somehow ended up on stage. Again.
The microphone is gripped dramatically in one hand as he sings far louder than the song actually requires. His complete lack of embarrassment would be impressive if it wasn’t so expected. Pond is doubled over in laughter beside the stage, nearly collapsing into one of the tables. Book, meanwhile, has fully committed to documenting the disaster.
His phone is held up steadily as he records every second of Joong’s performance, clearly intending to use the footage as blackmail later. Not that Joong would really care.
Joong points dramatically at the small audience he’s now gathered before rolling his hips to the rhythm of the song. The room erupts. Pond practically disappears into himself. Book’s recording shakes from laughter. Even some of the staff nearby are struggling to maintain composure.
Dunk feels his mouth twitch despite himself.
“Unfortunately,” he says, “he usually is.”
Gawin huffs out a laugh. “You two really surprise me sometimes.”
Dunk hums, turning to look away from Joong long enough to glance at Gawin. “Why is that?”
“I don’t know,” Gawin says after a moment. “Maybe because during these events you are hardly ever all over each other. You kind of just separate, as if you aren’t dating.”
Dunk blinks, digesting that as he turns to look back toward the stage. Joong is currently attempting to convince Aou to join him for a duet. Aou is refusing with the determination of a man protecting his own dignity. It’s not working.
“Is that what people expect?” Dunk asks.
“Honestly?” Gawin shrugs. “A little.”
Dunk lets out a quiet laugh. “That’s exhausting.”
The two of them watch as Joong finally succeeds in dragging Aou and somehow Pond toward the microphone. The room erupts into cheers.
Gawin shakes his head. “Most couples I know spend events attached at the hip. One person goes to get a drink, the other follows. One talks, the other stands next to them. Half the time they’re basically operating as a single unit.”
Dunk can immediately imagine how miserable Joong would be if he tried that. And how miserable he would be. The thought alone makes him smile.
“Joong would last about three minutes.”
“Three is generous.”
Dunk laughs. “Okay, maybe one.”
“Half.”
“Fair.”
Gawin grins before his expression softens slightly. “But that’s what I mean.” Dunk glances over. “You don’t seem worried about where the other person is.”
The observation catches him off guard because it’s true.
He isn’t, at least not anymore.
Years ago, maybe. Years ago he probably would have tracked Joong’s movements unconsciously throughout an entire room. Or done everything in his power to be right next to him, within arms length all night.
Not because he had been possessive of him, at least not entirely because of that. More so because he had always been so worried. Some part of him had always expected Joong to disappear, whether by burning himself out or by simply running away.
“It’s not that we’re ignoring each other,” Dunk says quietly.
Gawin nods. “I know.”
His gaze drifts back toward the stage. “It’s more like…” He pauses, searching for the right words. “You don’t seem like two people trying to prove you’re together.”
Dunk follows his gaze. Joong is laughing so hard now that he can barely keep singing while Book is still recording. Force looks seconds away from confiscating the microphone. The entire situation is a disaster but a very familiar disaster.
Dunk smiles.
“No,” he says softly. “I guess we don’t.”
Because proving it has never really been the point. Not after everything. Not after all the years it took to get here. Joong doesn’t need to stand beside him every second to make his presence known. And Dunk doesn’t need constant reassurance that Joong will come back to him.
The certainty exists independently of distance.
“Is it hard sometimes?” Gawin asks.
Dunk tears his gaze away from the stage, where Joong is still unsuccessfully trying to lure everyone that will look at him into public humiliation.
“Is what hard?”
“Being so different from each other?”
The question catches him off guard. Not because it’s offensive, more so because it’s a reasonable thing to ask. He’s just never been asked so point blank before.
Dunk looks back toward Joong.
Towards the man currently singing the wrong lyrics with complete confidence. Towards the center of the room. Towards the person who has never once entered a space quietly in his entire life.
A small smile pulls at the corner of Dunk’s mouth. “Not really.”
Gawin raises an eyebrow. “Seriously?”
“Seriously.” Dunk answers without hesitation. He thinks about it for a moment longer. “There were times when it was.”
That earns his full attention. “When?”
Dunk leans back in his chair. “When we were younger.”
His gaze remains fixed on Joong. “Back then we thought understanding someone meant making them think like you.” A laugh escapes him as he thinks about them from before.. “Which was never going to work.”
“No?”
“Have you met him?” Dunk asks, deadpan. “He’s the most stubborn man I’ve ever met.”
Gawin laughs. “Fair.”
“Joong feels everything loudly. He gets excited loudly. He loves loudly. When something matters to him, everyone in a five-mile radius knows about it.”
Across the room, Joong is currently standing on a chair as he tells Emi about something almost as if summoned by the description.
Gawin snorts. “Accurate.”
“And I’m…” Dunk pauses.
“Quieter?” Gawin finishes for him.
“Much.”
The understatement makes both of them laugh. Dunk watches as Joong finds a new victim in Fourth who is doing everything he can to get out of his clutches while Gemini cheers him on.
For a moment, affection settles warmly in his chest.
“Eventually I realized I didn’t actually want him to be more like me.”
Gawin glances over. “What do you mean?”
Dunk considers the question for a second before answering honestly.
“The things that make him different from me are also some of the things I love most about him.”
The words come easily. Because they’re true.
“I like that he fills rooms. I like that he talks to strangers. I like that he gets excited about things that most people don’t care about.” His smile softens. “I like that he is the center of the room. I like that he is just so authentically himself.”
Gawin studies him quietly. “That’s a very romantic answer.”
Dunk immediately groans. “Don’t make it weird.”
“Too late.”
Dunk shakes his head, laughing despite himself.
After a moment, Gawin’s expression grows thoughtful again. “And what about him?”
“What about him?”
“Does he ever wish you were more like him?”
Dunk doesn’t even have to think about it. “No.”
The certainty in his voice surprises even him. Although, maybe it shouldn’t.
“Why are you so sure?”
Dunk’s eyes drift back to Joong, for what feels like the hundredth time tonight.
As if sensing it, Joong looks over at exactly the same moment. Their eyes meet and for a second, the rest of the room disappears. Then Joong grins, his entire face transforming as he looks at him. His smile is bright and completely unrestrained, as if looking at Dunk is the best thing about the night so far.
He gives a small wave, to which Dunk returns before he turns back to whatever chaos he was creating.
Dunk smiles to himself. “Because if he wanted someone like him,” he says quietly, “he would’ve chosen someone else.”
The answer settles between them. It’s simple and maybe a bit too honest.
For a moment, neither of them says anything.
The noise of the room fills the silence instead — music, laughter, someone cheering far too loudly as Joong successfully convinces another victim to join him on stage.
Then Gawin speaks. “I’m glad you two have each other.”
Dunk glances over and finds Gawin’s gaze is fixed on the stage. On Joong. On the chaos. But there is something thoughtful in his expression now.
“It’s nice to know that even in this industry, a happy ending is still possible.”
The words aren’t dramatic, they’re spoken almost casually. It somehow makes them feel more sincere.
Dunk finds himself looking back toward Joong. For a second, he doesn’t answer. Because the truth is that when people look at him and Joong now, they only see the result.
They don’t see the years in between that they had to endure. The countless misunderstandings. The growing pains. The moments where timing was wrong. The moments where they were wrong. They don’t see how hard they both had to work to become people capable of loving each other properly.
They only see the ease that exists now.
The comfort.
The certainty.
Across the room, Joong throws his head back laughing at something Pond says. Santa and Aou have joined them on stage now, meaning they are probably about to perform. The sight makes warmth bloom in Dunk’s chest.
“It’s not really a happy ending,” Dunk says quietly.
Gawin looks at him, confusion written clearly on his face.
Dunk smiles. “It’s more like a happy middle.”
“Happy middle?”
“We’re not done yet.” His gaze returns to Joong.
To the future that still exists ahead of them. The arguments they haven’t had yet. The milestones they haven’t reached yet. The ordinary mornings and chaotic evenings and countless moments neither of them can predict.
The conversation shifts after that, to something lighter. Dunk stays for Joong’s performance before sneaking away. He doesn’t tell Joong bye, knowing that his boyfriend will find him when he’s ready to sleep.
The hallway outside feels strangely peaceful after the noise downstairs. Dunk makes his way back to their room, showering and changing into comfortable clothes before climbing into bed.
The silence settles around him easily. Years ago, he might have been torn up by anxiety. He might have texted him, asking when he would be coming back. He might have wondered if Joong was going to leave him.
Now he doesn’t.
He simply reaches for his phone on the bedside table and starts a live. He talks to fans for a while, announcing his pop up store and his new drinks being added to the menu. He waits for Joong to come home, although it’s more out of habit than anything else.
Dunk isn’t waiting because he thinks something is wrong.
He’s waiting because somewhere along the way it became his favorite part of the day. The quiet moment after everything else is over. The moment when the world stops demanding pieces of them. When it’s just the two of them again.
Dunk ends the live after a few minutes and just as he’s sent his goodnight voicemail, does the door finally open.
Joong steps inside, closing the door quietly behind him. His jacket is draped over his arm and the sleeves of his shirt are rolled up. His hair is slightly disheveled in a way that suggests someone spent the evening repeatedly running their hands through it.
For a second, neither of them speaks. Joong’s eyes find him instantly in the cozy hotel room. As though he expected to find him exactly where he is. As though he looked the moment he walked through the door.
“There you are,” Joong says and his voice is just so gentle. “I missed you.”
Dunk smiles. “I missed you more. Did you have fun?”
Joong’s expression brightens immediately. The answer is obvious before he even says it. “I did.”
He starts changing his clothes, stealing one of Dunk’s shirts even though he packed plenty of his own. Dunk doesn’t say anything because he never minds seeing Joong in his clothes.
“Pond almost left me three separate times.”
Dunk laughs. “Only three?”
“Actually, maybe five.”
“That’s more believable.”
Joong points at him as puts away his dirty clothes. “Exactly.”
He continues walking until he’s standing beside the bed, looking down at Dunk with the kind of fondness he’s never particularly succeeded at hiding.
“Book has approximately twelve hours of footage that should never see the light of day.”
“Which means it’ll be online by tomorrow afternoon.”
“Without question.”
Dunk laughs again. The sound seems to make something in Joong relax, his shoulders dropping slightly. Like he’s been carrying the energy of the party with him and is only now allowing himself to set it down.
“You should’ve stayed,” Joong says softly.
“You say that every time,” Dunk replies, hand reaching out to trace against Joong’s forearm.
“Because every time it’s true.”
Dunk rolls his eyes. “You were having fun.”
“I can have fun and still miss you.”
Joong’s response is immediate, said completely effortlessly. Like it isn’t even something he has to think about. Dunk feels warmth spread through his chest.Years ago, comments like that would have embarrassed Joong. Or he would’ve followed them with a joke.
Now he just says them.
Joong sits on the edge of the bed forcing Dunk to move over to accommodate him and reaches for Dunk’s hand automatically. His thumb brushes across his knuckles.
“Did you do your live?” He asks as he looks at their intertwined hands.
“Mm.” Dunk says, looking up at Joong.
“How was it?”
“Good. I told everyone about the pop-up and the new drinks.”
Joong nods seriously. “A very productive use of your time.”
“Unlike your karaoke performance,” Dunk bites back.
“Excuse you. I’m a great singer.”
Dunk laughs. “Of course you are puppy.”
Joong groans so dramatically that Dunk starts laughing harder. “Don’t call me puppy, that’s playing dirty.”
Dunk shakes his head fondly. “You’re too easy.”
The conversation drifts after that. To small things that seem so inconsequential. Stories from their respective evenings. Comments from the live. Their plans for tomorrow. It’s nothing important but it somehow is. The kind of conversation that only happens when two people know each other so well that silence and words carry equal weight.
Eventually Joong glances at the clock. Then back at Dunk who is now blinking up at him at him slowly.
“You’re tired.”
Dunk immediately frowns. “I’m not.”
“You absolutely are,” Joong says softly.
“I’m fine.”
Joong smiles knowingly. His expression says he has won this argument before it even started.
“Come here.”
Dunk doesn’t bother pretending to protest. He shifts closer as Joong opens his arms.
And just like that, the long day finally feels over.
“Thank you,” Joong says softly as Dunk presses his face into the crook of his neck.
Dunk hums sleepily. “For what?”
Joong’s arm tightens slightly around him. “For not asking me to change myself.”
The words are so quiet that Dunk almost misses them.
Almost.
His eyes open slightly against Joong’s shoulder. For a moment, neither of them moves. Then Dunk lets out a sleepy laugh.
“Joong.” There’s something fondly exasperated in the way he says his name.
“What?”
Dunk pulls back just enough to look at him. The hotel lamp casts a warm glow across Joong’s face, softening the sharp lines that usually make him look so composed.
“You act like I deserve a medal for that.”
Joong doesn’t smile. Which tells Dunk immediately that he’s serious.
“Most people do,” Joong admits.
The honesty of it makes something ache in Dunk’s chest. Because he knows exactly what Joong means. Not that people wanted him to become a different person entirely. But throughout his life there had always been suggestions.
Be quieter. Be less emotional. Care less about what others think. Give less of yourself. Take up less space. Be easier to understand. Be easier to manage.
Just be someone else.
Dunk reaches up and brushes his fingers through Joong’s hair.
“You know,” he says quietly, “there are definitely things about you that drive me insane.”
That finally earns him a small smile.
“Only some?” Joong says.
Dunk pretends to think for a moment. “Many things actually.”
“Rude.”
“Very.”
Joong laughs softly and it’s one of Dunk’s favorite sounds in the entire world.
“But none of those things are who you are.”
His fingers run across Joong’s cheek in a comforting manner. “You don’t ask someone to stop shining because sometimes they blind you.”
The smile on Joong’s face falters. It’s not from hurt but from emotion. Joong is a bit tipsy so everything is heightened for him at the moment. Dunk presses a soft kiss to his lips. When he pulls away he pushes Joong down until he’s laying down. Dunk settles back against him.
“Besides,” he murmurs, already drifting toward sleep again, “it would be really boring if you were exactly like me.”
Joong huffs out a laugh. “That’s your argument?”
“It’s a good argument.”
“It’s terrible.”
“Why is that?”
“Because I love you exactly as you are.”
The words are said quietly. They are not performative. They are said just for the two of them to hear.
Dunk doesn’t move at first.
For a moment, it’s as if even sleep pauses, hovering just out of reach. Then a slow smile forms against Joong’s shoulder.
“Mm,” Dunk hums, voice already heavy with drowsiness. “That’s unfair.”
Joong tilts his head slightly. “How is that unfair?”
“Because now I can’t win the argument.”
Joong lets out another quiet laugh, softer this time, almost relieved. “You were trying to win?”
“No,” Dunk murmurs. “Just wanted to be right.”
“That’s the same thing.”
Dunk makes a small sound of disagreement, but it doesn’t have any real energy behind it. His grip on Joong’s shirt loosens slightly as sleep pulls him closer again. Joong adjusts instinctively, pulling him in a little more securely, like it’s second nature now to make sure there’s no space between them unless Dunk wants there to be.
For a while, neither of them speaks.
The room settles into quiet again — the kind that doesn’t feel empty, just full in a different way.
Then Dunk’s voice comes again, softer than before.
“Joong?”
“Yeah?”
A pause. “I love you too.”
This time, Joong doesn’t laugh. Doesn’t deflect. Doesn’t turn it into anything lighter than it is.
He just holds him a little closer. “I know,” he says quietly.
Dunk smiles without opening his eyes.
As though he knew the answer before Joong ever said it.
And maybe he did.
Because after all these years, neither of them needs the other to change.
They just need the other to stay.