The Ones Who Stayed

Jun trusted Thame without thinking about it.

It wasn’t something he questioned or weighed or earned — it had simply always been there, like gravity. From the first day Jun stepped into the MARS trainee room years ago, unsure and too polite for his own good, Thame had been the one to meet his eyes and smile like he belonged.

“Come sit here,” Thame had said then, tapping the empty chair beside him.

Jun had stayed ever since.

Now, years later, they sat on the floor of the smaller practice room, backs against the mirror, legs stretched out in front of them. Jun’s hair was still damp from washing his face, his expression loose, unguarded in a way it never was on camera. Thame handed him a bottle of water without looking.

“Thanks,” Jun said, bumping their shoulders together lightly.

Thame hummed. “You flirted again.”

Jun laughed. “I did not.”

“You absolutely did,” Thame replied calmly. “You leaned in. That’s your tell.”

Jun groaned, dropping his head back against the mirror. “I don’t mean anything by it. I just… like people.”

“I know,” Thame said gently. “That’s why it works.”

Jun turned his head to look at him. “You’re not mad?”

Thame shook his head immediately. “Never.”

And he meant it.

There were lines in Thame’s life he never crossed, and Jun was one of them — not because he didn’t love him, but because the love had settled into something permanent and safe. Jun was family. Jun was the person he would always choose, even if the world collapsed around them.

Across the room, Dylan pretended to stretch.

He’d been quiet since rehearsal ended, eyes tracking Jun and Thame in the mirror without meaning to. From the outside, they looked easy together — too easy. Comfortable in a way Dylan had once been, too.

A few years ago.

Back when Dylan didn’t know Jun yet.

Back when Thame had been the only one who noticed him.

Dylan remembered that version of himself vividly — sharp-edged, guarded, watching everyone like they were a threat. Thame had been the first to sit beside him without asking permission. The first to talk to him like he wasn’t something dangerous to handle carefully.

“You don’t have to glare,” Thame had said once, amused. “No one here’s trying to fight you.”

Dylan had scoffed. “You don’t know that.”

Thame had smiled anyway.

Dylan had fallen quietly. Thoroughly. With no expectation of return — except there had been something. Glances held too long. Hands lingering during late-night practices. A shared silence that felt almost intimate.

It hadn’t been one-sided.

But it had never been named.

And then Jun arrived, all warmth and softness and light, and Dylan’s attention had shifted without permission. He hadn’t stopped caring for Thame — he never would — but the pull changed direction. Became deeper. More dangerous.

Now, watching Jun laugh at something Thame whispered, Dylan felt the echo of that old ache — not jealousy, not exactly. More like recognition.

Thame noticed him watching.

Their eyes met in the mirror.

Thame’s gaze was steady. Knowing.

Later, when Jun left to help Nano with something trivial, Thame stayed behind. Dylan lingered, pretending to retie his shoes.

“You’re not subtle,” Thame said eventually.

Dylan exhaled sharply. “Wasn’t trying to be.”

Thame turned to face him fully. Up close, his expression was calm — not distant, not accusing. Just honest. It was the same look he’d always given Dylan.

“You don’t have to protect Jun from me,” Thame said.

Dylan frowned. “I’m not.”

“You are,” Thame replied softly. “And I get it.”

Silence stretched.

“I loved you once,” Dylan said suddenly. The words surprised even him.

Thame didn’t flinch. “I know.”

“And you—”

“I did too,” Thame said, without hesitation. “In my way.”

Dylan swallowed. That hurt — and healed — all at once.

Thame stepped closer, placing a hand briefly on Dylan’s shoulder. Solid. Grounding. “Jun is different,” he said. “But he’s not fragile. And neither are you.”

Dylan looked away. “I don’t want to hurt him.”

“Then don’t disappear,” Thame said simply. “That’s what hurts Jun the most.”

When Jun came back, breathless and smiling, Thame stood immediately, ruffling his hair affectionately. “Come on. They’re calling us.”

Jun grinned. “You always save me.”

“Always will,” Thame replied.

As they walked out together, Jun between them, Dylan felt something settle — not resolve, not peace, but understanding.

Some loves change shape.

Some loves don’t fade.

And some people stay — not as obstacles, but as anchors.

Dylan watched Jun’s back, the easy way he leaned into Thame without fear.

And he knew one thing for certain:

Whatever happened next, Thame would never be the one he lost.

Jun, though —

Jun was still terrifyingly possible.