Chapter Text
He was addicted.
It had been three days since Jin had left for his out-of-town shoot, and Akin still felt like he hadn’t figured out how to function properly in his absence.
The apartment felt quieter. Not just in sound, but in energy, like something essential had been drained from the air. There was no quiet humming from the kitchen, no socks strewn across the floor, no sleepy laughter echoing down the hallway. Just muted light, stale silence, and the ghost of Jin’s cologne on Akin’s pillows.
He sat at the edge of the bed, barefoot and unmoving, the sheets still tangled around his legs from where he’d spent an extra hour that morning pretending to sleep, pretending Jin’s warmth still lingered.
The last few days had felt like a dream. A dream he hadn’t known he’d been waiting for until it was already over. Waking up tangled in Jin’s arms, cooking together without saying much, that one afternoon, they fell asleep on the couch mid-episode with the volume still playing at a soft hum. It had all been so stupidly domestic. So gentle. So unlike anything Akin had ever believed someone like him would get to have.
He’d never felt like anything was missing from his life before. He’d taught himself not to need anyone. And he’d been fine, comfortable, even until Jin had looked at him like he was more than just a body or a performance. Now, without that look anchoring him, Akin felt slightly off-balance. Hollow, in a way he couldn’t quite explain.
He leaned forward, elbows on his knees, rubbing his hands over his face.
He remembered Jin lying next to him in the stillness of the night, listening to him talk about his childhood and the grandmother who raised him like her own son. Those were the moments that stuck with him.
She was the reason he’d always been grounded, the woman who stitched his first stage costume, taught him to laugh at rejection, and reminded him after every failure that love wasn’t something you had to earn. It was given and kept. She had been his foundation, the one person he never hid from, no matter what.
That morning, before getting ready for the interview, he’d sat down and written her a letter.
He hadn’t meant to write much. Just a quick update, maybe a mention of work. But the moment he’d picked up the pen, the words had poured out messy, uneven, and true.
I think you’d really like him, he wrote, smiling faintly to himself. He teases me constantly, but he listens, too. Really listens. He makes me feel like I’m not too much, or not enough. Just… me. And it’s enough.
He told her how Jin had helped him prep for the upcoming interview, fussing over his outfit, fixing his collar, pretending not to look smug when he caught Akin blushing.
He calls me his lucky charm. Can you believe that? he added, underlining the words. I just wanted you to know that you don’t need to worry so much anymore. I’m okay. I’m happy. Really happy.
He sealed the envelope carefully, running a thumb over the edges like it might carry some of the warmth back home to her. If anyone deserved to know the truth of his heart, it was her.
He placed the letter on the side table, set a reminder to drop it off with his manager, then stood up to get ready.
Akin’s phone buzzed, then a calendar reminder flashed across the screen: Radio Interview – 1 PM. The one with Johnny.
He sighed heavily, pushing himself upright and walking to the wardrobe. He tugged out a shirt and slacks, crisp, dark, and camera-friendly. Jin had helped him pick the outfit before he left.
“Because you look too good in this not to make everyone fall in love with you,” Jin had said, grinning as he ran his hands down the lapels and smoothed the collar with that warm, possessive pride in his eyes.
Just remembering that made Akin pause. His fingers rested on the shirt’s fabric a moment longer than necessary.
Pull it together.
He moved mechanically as he dressed, buttoning up the shirt with practised precision. His reflection in the mirror stared back at him: neat, clean, composed. He looked ready.
But he didn’t feel ready. Not for Johnny’s smug face. Not for the fake laughs or the public charade.
Johnny hadn’t tried anything since that night, mostly because Jin’s presence on set had been a constant deterrent. But with Jin out of town, Akin couldn’t shake the gnawing unease in his gut. Johnny wasn’t dumb. He’d wait until the moment suited him just long enough to catch Akin alone, with no witnesses, no defence.
Akin clenched his jaw, forcing the thought out of his head as he touched the silver moon pendant hanging just a little below his throat. It didn’t make the anxiety go away, but it gave him something to hold onto. Akin tried to comfort himself with the thought that Jin would be back home today.
He slipped on his shoes, grabbed his phone and keys, and lingered at the door for just a beat. Long enough to take one last breath. The interview wasn’t about Jin. It wasn’t about Johnny either. It was about work, the thing he’d always been good at, the one thing no one could take away from him.
And yet, everything felt more complicated now that he had someone to come home to.
The interview went exactly as expected. The host was energetic, the studio was freezing, and the fans outside were deafening. Akin sat beside Johnny, smiling for the cameras, answering questions with a careful balance of sincerity and polish. He knew how to play the part. That was never the problem.
The problem was Johnny.
He didn’t miss a beat, leaning into Akin’s space, brushing his hand across his shoulder, slinging an arm too casually behind his chair. None of it crossed a boundary outright. Not enough to stop the show. But it was constant, calculated.
Akin didn’t react. Couldn’t. He smiled. He laughed at the right cues. He didn’t flinch when Johnny’s thigh pressed a little too close beneath the table. He didn’t let it show that every time Johnny touched him, his skin crawled.
Johnny had that look on his face again, the smirk that said, I know you can’t stop me here.
It made Akin want to peel off his skin and walk out.
As they were exiting the radio station, the fans surged forward. Akin braced himself, used to the chaos by now. But one girl got too close, her hands gripping his wrists in a way that might have been harmless on any other day. But after enduring Johnny’s suffocating nearness for an entire hour, the sudden touch sent a jolt through him. He flinched instinctively, stepping back too fast, nearly knocking into a signboard.
Thankfully, the security was able to escort them away and into the car. Akin took a small sigh of relief before Johnny joined him in the backseat. Akin pressed himself as close to the door as he could before pulling his phone out so he could ignore Johnny.
The plan had worked perfectly until they got back to the Sigma Company building.
The moment Akin stepped out of the elevator, Johnny’s games started again.
“Since we’re done for today, should we go find something fun to do?”
Akin froze mid-step. The rage hit him so fast it eclipsed thought. Before he could stop himself, he grabbed Johnny by the front of his shirt and shoved him hard against the wall.
“I still haven’t settled the score for that night,” he hissed, his grip tight. A warning. Back off, now, while you still can.
Johnny smirked, even pinned against the wall. “Oh, so now we have a score to settle? Funny… you’re not nearly as cute sober.”
Akin’s knee shot up fast, straight into Johnny’s crotch.
Johnny doubled over with a strangled gasp, collapsing to his knees, breath knocked out of him.
“That’s for messing with me,” Akin said coldly.
He pulled his fist back, ready to punch.
Click.
The sound sliced through the hallway.
Akin froze.
His head jerked in the direction it came from, but he saw nothing. No movement, no flash, just the usual hum of the floor’s overhead lights. The corridor was empty.
Was it real?
He scanned the corners. Empty. Silent. But the sound had been sharp and distinct. A camera shutter, he was sure of it. At least he thought he was
His heartbeat picked up. For a second, he stood frozen in place, the fire in his limbs gone cold with doubt.
“P’Kin”
Jin’s voice sliced through the noise in his head. Akin felt lighter, knowing that Jin was here. His gaze had been fixed on Johnny, who had pulled himself up to his feet, glaring, as if trying to figure out if he had something stupid again.
After Jin had introduced his junior to the team and managed to embarrass Johnny so thoroughly that the man all but fled the room, Akin finally allowed himself to relax.
“I missed you,” he said, his voice quiet but steady.
Jin’s face broke into a grin that made Akin’s chest ache. “I missed you, too, Phi.”
Akin wanted nothing more than to close the distance between them, to reach out and hold him. But this wasn’t the place. Not with so many eyes around. So he kept his hands to himself and maintained a measured distance, even as everything inside him leaned toward Jin.
“What are you doing here?” he asked. “I thought you were heading home directly.”
“I did go home,” Jin said, tugging lightly at the strap of his bag. “But then Naru called, and he didn’t have a ride. I brought him here for his auditions.”
Akin glanced toward the boy, still in uniform, and smiled faintly. “Seeing that uniform makes me think about the old days.”
“Oh, yeah,” Jin nodded, eyes lighting up. “You were in that school drama series, right? Wore a uniform like Naru’s.”
“Yes. I was very hot back then,” Akin said, smirking. “Just saying.”
“I believe it,” Jin replied without missing a beat.
He turned to Naru for a second, then looked back at Akin, and something in his gaze shifted warmth, mischief, and longing, all tangled together. Akin narrowed his eyes.
“Hey. Don’t even think about it.”
Later that day, Jin messaged Akin to meet him in one of the classroom sets in the building. Akin walked in, expecting maybe an impromptu rehearsal or a last-minute script run-through with the remake cast. What he did not expect was to see Jin standing there with a pressed school uniform folded neatly in his arms and that same damn mischievous glint in his eyes.
“What…?” Akin started.
Jin grinned. “I brought this for you.”
“Why? Are we doing promo pics?”
“Nope. Just us here,” Jin said, stepping forward. “No cameras, no crew. Just you and me.”
Akin crossed his arms. “Then why the uniform?”
“Because,” Jin said, voice dropping to a coaxing tone, “I want to see you in it again. Just once.”
“You’re ridiculous.”
“Please?” Jin stepped closer. “Come on. Just put it on for a minute.”
Akin gave him a flat look. “Why?”
Jin pouted. “Because I want to see how you looked back then. In person. Not through a screen.”
Akin turned to walk away, but Jin suddenly dropped to his knees in front of him.
“What the hell, get up?”
“I’m serious,” Jin said, his eyes locking onto Akin’s, all teasing gone. “Back in high school, a drama troupe came to perform at our school. They asked for volunteers, and I didn’t raise my hand. I thought it wasn’t for me. But sometimes I wonder if I had said yes that day… maybe I would’ve met you sooner.”
Akin’s breath caught.
“There’s nothing great about me back then,” he muttered, trying to brush it off.
Jin didn’t move from his knees. “That’s not true. I regret not meeting you earlier. Every second I didn’t know you feels like wasted time. Ten years of just… floating. Saying no that day meant saying no to everything that could’ve mattered. I didn’t even realise I was living without purpose until you showed up and everything finally made sense.”
Akin looked down at him, stunned into silence.
“I want to know everything about you,” Jin continued. “I want to be a part of every moment of your life, past, present, and future. I’m jealous of everyone who got to see the younger you. Your classmates, your directors, your co-actors. They all got to be there when you were becoming you. And I… I missed it.”
Akin knelt slowly in front of him. “You didn’t miss anything,” he said, voice softer now. “They saw parts of me. But you? You’re the only one who knows me. The real me.”
Jin blinked at him.
“They may have met me first,” Akin said with a small smile, “but you found me.”
Jin smiled, then reached for his hand, fingers threading through his slowly. “So… will you wear it for me?”
Akin rolled his eyes and sighed, but there was a hint of a smile tugging at his lips. “You’re unbelievable.”
“You like me that way.”
Akin sighed again, louder this time, as if to make it very clear how much he was indulging Jin. “You owe me for this,” he muttered, grabbing the neatly folded uniform out of Jin’s hands. Jin beamed like a kid handed a treasure chest. “Anything you want.” “Careful,” Akin warned. “I might hold you to that.”
He disappeared behind the classroom divider, a mock partition used for set dressing, and Jin stood there, waiting, hands clasped behind his back, bouncing on his heels. He heard the rustling of clothes, the soft thud of shoes kicked aside, and a low curse under Akin’s breath. It was a few minutes, but it felt like hours.
Then
“Okay. You happy now?”
Jin turned.
And his breath caught.
Akin stood there, backlit by the warm overhead lights, wearing the dark blue blazer, white shirt, and striped tie of his old character’s school uniform. The fit wasn’t perfect; it was a size too snug at the shoulders and slightly loose at the waist, but somehow, it made Akin look even more like a memory come to life. His hair was longer now, his frame sharper with time, but there was something disarmingly boyish in the way he shifted his weight, one brow arched in quiet challenge.
Jin’s smile faded slowly, not from disappointment, but from the weight of something deeper settling over him.
He stepped forward, quiet, reverent. “You really wore it.”
Akin looked away, rubbing the back of his neck. “You begged.”
“I didn’t think you’d actually do it.”
“You think I’m that heartless?”
“I think,” Jin said, his voice softening as he came to a stop in front of him, “that you’re more generous than you let on.”
He reached out and straightened Akin’s tie, fingers brushing the edge of his collar. His touch lingered, too long to be casual. Akin didn’t move away.
“You wore this and made millions of people fall in love,” Jin said, looking up into his eyes. “But I don’t care about any of them. I just wanted to see this for myself.”
Akin let out a slow breath, tension bleeding out of his shoulders. “You’ve seen it now. Happy?”
Jin didn’t answer.
He just stepped close enough for their breath to mingle, close enough for Akin to feel the heat rolling off him in slow, unbearable waves.
The silence stretched, thick with everything neither of them could say out loud. Akin's eyes flicked to Jin’s mouth, then away, jaw tight. His heartbeat felt too loud in the stillness.
Without thinking, he reached behind and unscrewed the cap of the water bottle on the desk. He took a small sip, cool, sharp against the heat in his throat and was about to set it down when Jin moved.
He leaned in. His gaze dropped to Akin’s lips.
And then he licked the droplet at the corner of Akin’s mouth.
Not hurried. Not careful. Just a slow, deliberate drag of tongue that sent a shiver straight down Akin’s spine.
Akin inhaled sharply, but Jin was already closer, close enough to blur the line between restraint and hunger.
The kiss landed with no warning. Harder this time. Deeper. No hesitation, no space left between them. Akin’s hand curled into the front of Jin’s shirt, anchoring himself as their mouths collided again and again, mouths greedy and breathless.
They moved together without a thought, driven by instinct. Jin pushed forward until Akin’s thighs hit the desk behind him. Akin didn’t resist. He let himself be lifted, seated, legs parting to let Jin slot in. The edge of the desk bit into the backs of his thighs, but he barely noticed.
Clothes shifted, fingers tugged and pulled. Jin’s hands slid beneath the blazer, pushing it off Akin’s shoulders. His tie was loosened next, shirt half-untucked, the fabric crushed between them.
Akin heard a soft clicking again. Right went Jin’s face buried itself in his neck. He had turned his head, trying to see where it was coming from, but when Jin’s mouth opened and his tongue swiped at the juncture of his shoulder, Akin’s eyes flustered closed, and his head leaned back. Akin had quickly forgotten what had distracted him when Jin’s hand gripped his waist tightly.
Heat built under skin, under breath. There was no need for words anymore. Everything they felt was there in the way their bodies met, in the desperation of hands not wanting to let go.
The classroom around them faded, walls, lights, and air all falling away as Jin pressed him down. Akin pulled him with, until wood creaked beneath them.