Chapter Text
Morning came in pieces.
It arrived first as sound—Nano’s voice, loud and far too awake for the hour—followed by the muffled clatter of movement somewhere in the dorm. Then warmth. Deep, steady warmth that wrapped around Dylan’s waist and held him there like it had every right to.
Dylan frowned slightly, half-asleep, instinctively nuzzling closer to the heat. An arm tightened around him in response, solid and familiar, and his face pressed into the warm curve of someone’s neck.
He stilled.
Slowly, carefully, Dylan opened his eyes.
Blanket. Couch. Low ceiling. The faint smell of detergent and coffee lingering in the air.
Jun.
Dylan was very much on top of Jun.
Not awkwardly, either—comfortably. His leg hooked over Jun’s thigh, his torso curled into Jun’s chest, Jun’s arms wrapped around him like it was the most natural thing in the world. Jun’s head was tilted just enough for Dylan’s cheek to rest against his neck, breath warm, even, peaceful.
Dylan blinked.
Memory filtered in: the movie they’d put on “just for background,” the way Jun had tugged him closer when the couch got cold, Dylan’s head dropping onto Jun’s chest without thinking, Jun’s hand finding his waist like muscle memory.
They hadn’t moved since.
“Wow,” Nano whispered.
Dylan’s gaze shifted.
Nano was crouched directly in front of them, chin propped in his hands, eyes sparkling with delight. He looked like he’d just discovered a rare species in the wild.
Dylan stared at him blankly, then—without any particular urgency—snuggled closer to Jun. His arm tightened slightly around Jun’s middle, nose tucking into the warm hollow beneath Jun’s jaw.
Nano’s mouth fell open.
“Oh my god,” he breathed. “Oh my god, he’s not even pretending.”
Jun shifted beneath Dylan, letting out a low groan. His arm flexed reflexively, pulling Dylan closer before his brain fully caught up.
“Why… is it loud…” Jun mumbled.
Nano clapped a hand over his mouth to stop himself from screaming.
Jun’s eyes cracked open.
They landed on Nano.
Jun frowned. “Why are you… crouching like that?”
Nano pointed at them with shaking hands. “YOU’RE CUDDLING.”
Jun glanced down.
Dylan looked up at him, eyes still hazy with sleep, face pressed into Jun’s neck, hair a mess. For a long second, neither of them moved.
Then Jun yawned.
“Oh,” he said. “Morning.”
Dylan hummed softly in acknowledgment, making no move to get up.
Nano gasped again. “That’s it? That’s all you have to say?”
Before Jun could answer, Thame’s voice floated in from the kitchen. Calm. Amused. Entirely unsurprised.
“We have a meeting in two hours.”
Jun closed his eyes again. “Okay.”
Dylan shifted slightly, their foreheads almost touching. They stared at each other—silent, unreadable, too close.
Then Jun said, voice still thick with sleep, “Wake us up in fifteen minutes.”
Dylan nodded once.
They both promptly closed their eyes.
Nano made a sound somewhere between a whimper and a scream.
Pepper appeared behind him, took in the scene in one glance, and calmly placed a hand on Nano’s shoulder. “Don’t disturb them.”
Nano looked betrayed. “P'—”
Pepper leaned closer, lowering his voice. “Let them be.”
Nano stared at Jun and Dylan again. Dylan’s face was tucked into Jun’s neck now, fingers curling slightly in Jun’s shirt. Jun’s hand rested securely at Dylan’s lower back.
Nano raised his phone.
Click.
Click.
Pepper sighed. “Nano.”
“One for history,” Nano whispered reverently.
They retreated to the kitchen, Nano buzzing with disbelief, Thame pouring coffee with a knowing smile.
“Breakfast?” Thame asked.
Nano nodded wildly. “I just witnessed intimacy.”
---
Fifteen minutes later, Dylan was the one who woke up first.
Not because he wanted to—because responsibility kicked in, sharp and annoying. He carefully extricated himself from Jun’s arms, moving slowly so he wouldn’t wake him. Jun protested in his sleep, arm tightening briefly before relaxing again.
Dylan stood, stretched, and headed for the kitchen.
By the time Jun dragged himself to the shower, hair sticking up and expression deeply offended by the concept of consciousness, Dylan already had coffee brewing and eggs boiling.
Nano hovered.
“So,” Nano said casually, leaning against the counter. “About the cuddling.”
Dylan ignored him.
Nano leaned closer. “Was it intentional?”
Silence.
Nano squinted. “Was it romantic?”
Dylan cracked an egg into a bowl. “Meeting today?”
Nano huffed. “Coward.”
Pepper slid into the conversation smoothly. “We’re meeting a girl group. Potential signing.”
Dylan nodded. “I’ll compose.”
Nano perked up instantly. “They’re coming in person?”
“Yes,” Thame said. “You’ll like them.”
Jun emerged from the hallway towel-drying his hair just as Dylan handed him a mug of coffee and two boiled eggs.
“Diet,” Dylan said simply.
Jun accepted them like it was his birthright. “Thanks.”
Thame watched, amused. “You two are very… domestic.”
Jun shrugged. “We live together.”
Nano stared. “That’s your excuse?”
Jun glanced at Dylan, lips tugging upward slightly. Dylan didn’t look up—but his ears were red.
Thame sipped his coffee, smiling to himself.
Because from the outside—
Whatever Jun and Dylan thought they were doing—
It already looked like something more.
---
The meeting room at SYNC Entertainment looked exactly like what it was meant to be: clean lines, glass walls, muted colors meant to signal professionalism. Thame, Pepper, and Jun fit seamlessly into it—dress shirts neatly pressed, sleeves rolled just enough to suggest competence without stiffness. Jun’s hair was styled cleanly, expression calm, the kind of presence that made people assume he knew exactly what he was doing.
Nano, meanwhile, had shown up in loose pants and a graphic tee, unapologetically casual.
And Dylan—
Dylan was comfortable.
Too comfortable, Nano would later argue.
He tugged absently at the sleeve of the oversized cardigan draped around his shoulders. Jun’s cardigan. It smelled faintly like Jun—clean soap, something warm underneath—and Dylan hadn’t even realized he’d kept it on until Nano smirked at him earlier.
“I’m telling you,” Nano had said. “That’s his.”
Dylan hadn’t denied it.
Inside the meeting room, introductions were already underway. PiXie—a trio of sharp-eyed, soft-spoken girls with an air of quiet confidence—sat neatly together, flanked by their manager and two SYNC staff members. Thame led the conversation smoothly, outlining SYNC’s vision, tour plans, creative direction. Pepper chimed in with logistical details, Jun nodding along, occasionally adding short, precise comments.
Dylan slipped away toward the studio to grab his tablet, fingers brushing over keyboards and equipment he’d left scattered the night before. When he returned, he paused briefly outside the glass wall, catching sight of everyone already seated.
Including the fact that there was no empty chair left.
He sighed softly and stepped in anyway.
“Sorry,” Dylan said as he entered, voice even but polite. “Got held up.”
All eyes turned.
Thame smiled easily. “No problem. We were just getting started.”
Jun noticed the chair situation immediately. His gaze flicked from the table to Dylan, then back again. Without hesitation, he lifted his hand slightly and curled two fingers in a small, unmistakable gesture.
Come here.
Dylan hesitated for half a second.
Then he walked over.
Jun didn’t stand. He didn’t ask. He simply reached out, caught Dylan gently by the wrist, and guided him down—settling Dylan onto his lap with a natural ease that suggested this was an everyday occurrence.
The room went silent.
Not shocked silence—more like the kind where everyone collectively forgot what they were supposed to be paying attention to.
Dylan froze, heat rushing up his neck. “Jun—” he murmured under his breath.
Jun leaned in just enough to whisper, “No chair.”
Dylan exhaled, flustered, then glanced at Thame. “You can… continue.”
Thame, after a brief pause that held far too much understanding, nodded and carried on as if nothing unusual had happened.
Gradually, the tension in Dylan’s shoulders eased. He leaned back slightly, resting against Jun’s chest, the familiar solidity grounding him. Jun adjusted subtly, his cheek coming to rest against Dylan’s shoulder, breath warm through the fabric of the cardigan.
From the outside, it was intimate in a way that felt effortless.
Jun’s left hand settled at Dylan’s waist, thumb resting just above the waistband of his pants—not possessive, not performative. Just there. His right hand continued to jot notes on his tablet as if Dylan weren’t sitting on him at all.
Dylan focused on the meeting.
When PiXie began speaking, explaining their musical inspirations and the sound they were hoping for—something dreamy, sharp-edged, a little haunting—Dylan nodded along, already mentally sketching melodies. His posture relaxed completely now, back warm against Jun, voice steady when he spoke.
“I can work with that,” Dylan said. “We can lean into contrasts. Soft verses, heavier textures underneath.”
Jun glanced at the girls. “Any specific themes you want to explore?”
One of them smiled. “Identity. Growing up without losing ourselves.”
Jun nodded once. “That works.”
As ideas flowed, some of the staff exchanged glances—not at the screen, not at the proposal slides, but at Jun and Dylan. At how naturally Dylan leaned into Jun when he spoke. At how Jun’s hand tightened just slightly at Dylan’s waist when he agreed with a point. At the way Jun’s attention never wavered from either the meeting or Dylan.
Professional.
Focused.
Unapologetically close.
Nano, watching from the side, grinned to himself.
And Dylan—fully aware of the stares, fully aware of Jun behind him—didn’t move away.
He didn’t need to.