Things Said to a Camera, Things Kept Offscreen

Po asked for Jun last.

Not because Jun mattered less — but because Po needed time to prepare himself.

They set up in one of the smaller studios, the kind used for interviews and concept recordings. The walls were matte gray, the light softened deliberately to flatter skin, to make honesty look effortless. A single chair stood in the center. A camera on a tripod. Nothing else.

“Just you,” Po said, adjusting the lens. “Everyone else is busy.”

Jun nodded easily. “Okay.”

He took the chair without hesitation, crossing his legs loosely, hands resting on his knees. He looked good like this — relaxed, open, comfortable with being seen. Jun always knew how to occupy space without dominating it. It was part of his charm.

Po noticed. He hated that he noticed.

“Whenever you’re ready,” Po said, stepping back.

Jun tilted his head slightly. “You’re far away.”

Po paused. “It’s fine.”

Jun smiled — that soft, disarming smile that made people feel chosen. “You always say that.”

He leaned forward just a little, elbows on his thighs, eyes lifted toward Po rather than the camera. “Do you want me to look at you, or into the lens?”

Po hesitated. “The lens.”

Jun laughed quietly. “You’re no fun.”

Po didn’t smile back.

From the hallway, Dylan stopped short.

He hadn’t meant to linger — told himself he was waiting for Nano, that he was checking messages. But the door was half open, and through the glass he could see Jun inside, light catching on his cheekbones, posture loose, familiar in a way Dylan felt possessive over without permission.

Po’s voice drifted out. Calm. Professional.

“Talk about the members. What they mean to you. Your place in MARS.”

Jun nodded, turning to the camera at last. The change was immediate. Performer Jun. Idol Jun. Still warm, still sincere — but sharper now.

“Okay,” he said. “MARS feels like… home. Everyone brings something different.”

He spoke about Nano first — loudness, joy. About Pepper — kindness, loyalty. About Thame — steadiness, leadership. His voice softened naturally when he said each name, affectionate, unguarded.

Po watched from behind the camera, arms folded loosely, expression unreadable.

“And Dylan?” Po prompted, evenly.

Jun blinked — just once.

Then he smiled.

“Dylan is… attentive,” Jun said carefully. “He notices things before anyone else does. He’s reliable. Strong.” He paused, lips curving. “Sometimes too serious. But he cares. A lot.”

From the hallway, Dylan’s chest tightened.

Jun shifted in the chair, crossing and uncrossing his legs, energy restless now. He leaned back, one arm draped over the chair, casual, charming. “Honestly, we’re lucky. There’s no competition between us. Just trust.”

Po adjusted the focus a little too sharply.

“Do you feel close to them?” he asked.

Jun met his eyes instead of the lens this time. “Yeah. I do.”

Something unspoken lingered there — Jun’s gaze curious, almost playful. He always did this. Drew people in without meaning harm. Without realizing what it cost others.

After a beat, Jun added lightly, “You’re very serious today, Po.”

Po stiffened. “Am I?”

Jun tilted his head. “Mm. You usually joke more.”

He stood suddenly, stepping closer to the camera. Too close. Dylan’s fingers curled into a fist outside the room.