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The plane touched down late, and by the time Joong and Dunk reached their hotel in Rome, exhaustion had set in. Still, Dunk had insisted on walking a little—just to breathe in the night air, the cobblestones under their shoes, the glow of streetlamps brushing old stone walls.
By the time they returned, Dunk was out like a light,he sprawled across the bed, wrapped like a burrito, clutching his skincare sheet mask packet like it was a prized possession. Within minutes, he was fast asleep. Beside him was the wrapper from the face masks Dunk had packed, shiny and silver in a way that—at first glance—looked… questionable.
Joong grinned. His phone was already in his hand.
Click.
The photo caught Dunk in all his unguarded glory, soft and beautiful even in sleep—with that incriminating wrapper right next to him. Joong hesitated for about three seconds before uploading it to his IG story.
By 2 AM, X (formerly Twitter) was already on fire.
“HELLO IS THAT A—???”
“JOONG WHAT ARE YOU POSTING 😭😭😭”
“SOMEONE WAKE DUNK.”
“I can’t breathe, this man is CHAOTIC.”
The hashtags were climbing. Joong shut off his phone, smirk tugging at his lips, and slid into bed beside Dunk.
Dunk woke to the sound of buzzing. His phone was blowing up. Half-asleep, he opened X—only to freeze at the sight of Joong’s post. His own face. His own sleeping form. And right there, the skincare wrapper looking like something very different.
Dunk sat bolt upright, heat rising to his cheeks. Slowly, he turned his head. Joong was right there, still half-asleep, hair messy, looking way too innocent for someone who caused international chaos.
Without a word, Dunk smacked him with a pillow. Whack!
Joong groaned. “Ow! What—”
“Erase it. Now.” Dunk’s voice was low, dangerous. “Or explain to everyone that it’s skincare. I swear, if you don’t, I’ll ignore you the whole trip.”
Joong blinked at the screen, then smirked. “Ah. They noticed.”
Dunk smacked him again. “JOONG—!”
“Relax.” Joong stretched, clearly enjoying the chaos. “It’s skincare. They’ll figure it out. Besides, you look good. So soft. So… mine.” He let the word hang in the air, low and teasing.
Dunk’s ears went red instantly. “Don’t—don’t say it like that!”
“But it’s true.” Joong leaned closer, voice dropping to a whisper. “Ignore me? You couldn’t even if you tried.”
Dunk glared at him, but Joong’s grin was impossible to shake off. Finally, Dunk shoved a pillow in his face and rolled over, muttering, “I hate you.”
“Why erase,” Joong murmured, “when I like the world seeing you’re mine?”
Dunk’s breath caught. He wanted to yell, to argue—but Joong’s hand was already on his waist, and the heat between them burned hotter than the Roman sun outside.