Work Text:
Dylan had been working in the studio for what felt like an eternity, focusing on the upcoming album as if it could alleviate heartbreak and address global issues. Meanwhile, Jun had settled into a lazy position on the couch at Mars house, stretched out like he was trying to be a modern art piece called "Boyfriend in Waiting."
Nano walked into the living room, holding a cup of tea that looked a bit judgmental. With lots of energy, like someone who wakes up before noon on purpose, Nano said, "You’ve been lying there for four hours, Jun. Are you going to grow moss or what?"
Jun rolled over and groaned, hiding his face in a pillow. “I miss him,” he said, muffled. “Dylan is in the studio with Thame, probably talking in strange music terms, I don’t even know what that means. I just want my boyfriend back and maybe a snack.”
Nano raised an eyebrow. “So you’re upset because you don’t have a schedule and your boyfriend is busy being productive?”
Jun sat up, feeling slightly offended. “I’m not upset. I’m… creatively sulking.”
“Okay.” Nano tapped his chin. “What if you stopped sulking and did something exciting and unexpected?”
Jun blinked. “Like... dye my eyebrows?”
“No. Like… surprise, Dylan."
There was a pause. Then Jun gasped dramatically. “I could cook for him!”
Nano squinted. “Are you sure? Last time you made rice, the fire alarm went off,you nearly burned the kitchen.”
Jun stood up with determination. “No! This time is different. This time it’s... lasagna. Dylan loves pasta. He once cried over good ravioli. He feels strongly about noodles, Nano. It’s serious.”
Nano smiled, already regretting this.
That afternoon, Jun approached his new mission with enthusiasm that one would usually save for high-stakes situations or the excitement of quick online sales.He lay flat on the floor, focused on his laptop screen. Around him, a messy mix of browser tabs displayed different pieces of information and strategies he was carefully putting together.
The screen glowed as he focused intently, casting shadows on the hardwood floor. Around him were various notes, leftover snacks, and empty energy drink cans, showing his strong dedication. With each click and scroll, he was not just looking for knowledge; he was searching for insights to make his project a success, driven by a strong sense of love.
“EASY LASAGNA FOR NON CHEF PEOPLE”
“Lasagna but make it hot and cheesy (literally)”
“Is it still homemade if everything is store-bought?”
Jun looked at a recipe that claimed “prep time: 20 minutes” and scoffed. “That’s not true,” he said. “Nothing takes twenty minutes except heartbreak and boiled eggs.”
Knowing he needed time without distractions, he made an important choice: he texted Pepper.
Jun: pepper
Jun: Can u please take nano on a date
jun: like please
Jun: he’s breathing near me and keeps looking at me like he is judging
Jun: I want to cook for Dylan
Jun: Please per
Pepper, feeling both doubtful and amused, called him within seconds.
“Are you sure about this?” Pepper said in a flat tone. “You tried to microwave water in a mug and it exploded.”
“That was once,” Jun defended. “And it was an emotional day.”
Pepper sighed.“Okay. But if Nano learns that I’m just distracting him to set up a lasagna plan, he will make me go on a seventeen-hour hike as punishment.”
Jun cackled. “Worth it.”
Jun moved on to phase two of the plan. He called Po, who answered calmly while painting tiny flowers on a ceramic cup.
“Po,” Jun said, sounding very dramatic, “I need you to do something.”
There was a pause. “...Go on.”
"Please bring Thame from the studio to your house. Keep him busy. Make him look at you with your big eyes and smile. I need Dylan alone."
Po hummed thoughtfully.
Po giggled. “ Okay, I’ll lure Thame home.”
Jun ended the call feelingJun ended the call feeling strong. Plans were underway. The house would be empty. Dylan would be surprised.
He rubbed his hands together like a cartoon villain. “I am a mastermind.”
“I am a mastermind.”
Jun had vision.
He’d rearranged the entire dining area and transformed it into what he called “The Romance Zone.” There were fairy lights stolen from a houseplant, an old vinyl record spinning something vaguely Italian in the background, and a tall candle stuck into an empty wine bottle because he saw it in a movie once. The table was set with mismatched plates—one of them slightly chipped but hidden under a fancy napkin—and two forks, because he wasn’t sure which side the knife went on.
In the middle of the table, he’d placed a tiny note card folded like a menu. It said in swirly marker:
Tonight’s Special:
❤️ Love-sagna ❤️
Jun stepped back, hands on hips. “Perfect,” he whispered to himself, like a mad artist admiring a sculpture made of pasta dreams and blind optimism.
Then came the cooking part.
At first, things were fine. He layered the dish with noodles, sauce, and cheese. His confidence grew, and he even hummed a little tune as he put the dish in the oven, feeling like a cooking expert.
Ten minutes later, things changed.
First, the sauce started bubbling like a volcano, as if it were making threats. In an instant, the top layer of cheese went from golden to mysteriously charred.
Jun opened the oven and was hit with a wave of heat.
“Oh no, oh no, OH NO—”
He grabbed a towel, tried to lift the lasagna, and immediately dropped it on the open oven door with a loud splat. Half the sauce slithered onto the floor like it was escaping a crime scene.
Panicking, Jun tried to scoop it back with a spatula. Instead, he burned his wrist and dropped the spatula. Then, in a bold attempt to multitask, he knocked over the salad bowl he’d lovingly assembled (read: dumped from a bag), which landed face-down on the table in a leafy explosion.
And then… the fire alarm went off.
A sharp, shrieking beep filled the house. Jun, flapping a dishtowel at it like that would do anything, yelled, “I GET IT, I FAILED, SHUT UP!”
In the middle of the chaos, the front door opened.
Dylan stepped in, sweaty from the studio, headphones around his neck, and instantly froze.
Jun was standing in the middle of the kitchen, sauce on his shirt, flour in his hair (where did the flour come from? No one knows), and the smoke alarm still screaming overhead. The table behind him looked like the world's strangest date night battlefield.
There was a full five seconds of silence as Dylan processed the scene.
Then, he laughed.
Not a polite chuckle. A full-body, bend-over, wheezing laugh.
Jun pointed at him, cheeks red. “Don’t laugh at me! I tried!”
Dylan dropped his bag, still giggling, and crossed the room to pull Jun into a hug, not even caring that Jun smelled vaguely of burnt cheese and stress.
“You look like someone who got kicked off a cooking show in the first round,” Dylan said, kissing his cheek. “But I’m flattered. This is the most romantic fire I’ve ever walked into.”
Jun pouted against his chest. “I wanted to surprise you with lasagna... but the lasagna surprised me.”
Dylan pulled back just enough to look into his eyes, still smiling. “Hey. This is perfect. You know why?”
Jun sniffled suspiciously. “Because you’re toonice to tell me I ruined dinner?”
“No,” Dylan said, brushing a flour smudge off Jun’s forehead. “Because it means you missed me. And that you tried to set the house on fire out of love.”
Jun melted, just a little. “I do love you. And also, we have… salad. Sort of.”
Dylan smiled and said, “Let’s order takeout and eat it under the fairy lights next to your burnt lasagna.”
Jun nodded seriously. “Okay, but you have to pretend it was good and write a review on fake Yelp.”
So, they sat down together, surrounded by twinkling lights, the smell of burnt cheese, and a lot of love.
Later that evening, as Jun and Dylan were sitting on the kitchen floor, sharing greasy garlic bread out of a paper bag and giggling at Jun’s tragic lasagna remains, the front door creaked open again.
First came Nano, looking suspicious. Then Pepper, looking tired. And finally, Thame, who paused mid-step like he was entering a crime scene.
The scene they walked into: Dylan, sleeves rolled up, wiping tomato sauce off the cabinets, and Jun with a broom, attempting to herd a stubborn patch of melted cheese under the table.
“Do we… even want to ask?” Pepper said, arms crossed.
“No,” Nano replied immediately. “We do not.”
Jun looked up, sheepish, with what might’ve been parsley in his hair. “Hi.”
Thame blinked. “Why does it smell like dinner and despair?”
Pepper took one look at the dining table—now holding a limp salad, a candle burned down to a stub, and what appeared to be a handwritten apology note to the oven—and sighed. “So you burnt the kitchen after all…?”
Jun opened his mouth, but Nano cut in, already stepping forward with the confidence of a judge delivering a verdict. “No. Nope. I don’t need the full story. I’ve seen enough.”
Nano pointed a finger directly at Jun like he was casting a spell. “You, Jun, are officially banned from cooking. Forever. For the good of the house.”
Jun gasped. “What! That’s not fair!”
“You tried to make lasagna and nearly summoned a fire,” Thame added helpfully, inspecting the oven with wide eyes. “This thing’s still steaming like it holds grudges.”
Dylan chuckled, tossing a dishcloth over his shoulder. “To be fair, it was very sweet arson.”
Pepper nodded slowly. Nano gave Jun a sympathetic pat on the head. “Next time, just take Dylan out. Less risk of property damage.”
Jun groaned dramatically and collapsed into Dylan’s lap. “Fine! Ban me! But just so you all know, I did it out of love.”
“We know,” Dylan said, grinning. “And we’ll all remember it forever. Mostly because the house smells like burnt cheese now.”
And as the rest of them joined in cleaning up the wreckage—laughing, teasing, stealing bites of garlic bread—Jun couldn’t help but feel proud anyway.
Because even if his lasagna dream had gone up in actual smoke, he still ended up with something even better: the people he loved, in one place, laughing together.
And that, at least, didn’t need seasoning.