Chapter Text
The dorm felt wrong.
That was the first thing Dylan noticed.
Not empty—not exactly. The furniture was still there. The lights still worked. The hum of the refrigerator still filled the background like it always had. But something essential was missing, something that made the space breathe.
Dylan sat alone on the living room couch, knees pulled up to his chest, a blanket draped loosely around his shoulders. The TV was off. He hadn’t bothered turning it on. Silence pressed against his ears in a way that felt heavier than noise.
Nano’s room door stood open.
Bare.
No messy piles of clothes. No random gadgets left charging. No laughter echoing down the hallway when Nano got too excited over something stupid. Just an empty room with faint rectangles on the wall where posters used to be.
Earlier that day, Nano had left with exaggerated dramatics—hugging everyone twice, promising to visit, threatening to spam the group chat with pictures of his sister’s cooking. Dylan had smiled, waved, laughed at the right moments.
But now that the door had closed behind him?
The loneliness arrived all at once.
Dylan exhaled slowly, fingers tightening around the hem of his sleeve.
First Thame.
Then Pepper.
Now Nano.
One by one, they’d all filtered out of the dorm—not because they wanted to leave him, he knew that logically—but because life moved forward whether he was ready or not.
Thame with Po.
Pepper with Gam.
Nano with Mond.
And Dylan?
Still here.
Still sitting in the same spot he’d sat a hundred nights before, except now the echoes had nowhere to land.
He tried to tell himself he liked quiet. That he needed it to write, to think, to exist. But tonight, quiet felt like being abandoned in a room where the lights stayed on too long.
He hugged his knees tighter.
Stop it, he told himself. You’re not alone.
But the feeling didn’t listen.
His chest tightened, a familiar pressure blooming under his ribs. Not panic—no, this was subtler. Sadder. The kind of ache that came from realizing something had ended without ceremony.
He swallowed hard, eyes burning slightly.
It’s just change, he thought. You’ll adjust.
Still, the couch felt too big.
The dorm felt too hollow.
The door to one of the bedrooms opened.
The sound was soft. Unintrusive.
Dylan stiffened slightly, heart jumping before logic caught up.
Footsteps—slow, familiar.
Jun.
Jun stepped into the living room, hair still damp from a shower, sleeves pushed up, posture relaxed in a way that suggested he’d been about to head to bed before noticing something wrong.
He stopped when he saw Dylan.
Didn’t speak immediately.
Jun had always been good at that—reading the room before barging into it.
“You okay?” Jun asked quietly.
Dylan didn’t look at him. “Yeah.”
The word came out automatically, reflexive and thin.
Jun hummed softly. Not convinced.
Instead of pressing, Jun nodded once and turned toward the kitchen. The light clicked on, bathing the counter in warm yellow. Dylan listened to the sounds: cupboard opening, ceramic clinking, water running.
He told himself he didn’t need company.
He told himself he was fine.
But when Jun returned a few minutes later with two mugs cradled carefully in his hands, something in Dylan’s chest loosened despite himself.
Jun held one out. “Hot chocolate.”
Dylan blinked. “You didn’t have to.”
Jun shrugged, sitting down beside him anyway. “I wanted to.”
The mug was warm against Dylan’s palms. Comforting. Familiar. He took a cautious sip, chocolate rich and just a little too sweet—Jun’s preference.
“…Thanks,” Dylan murmured.
They sat in silence.
Not awkward. Just… present.
Jun leaned back into the couch, one arm draped casually along the backrest. Dylan stared into his mug, watching steam curl upward, grounding him.
“I didn’t realize it’d feel this weird,” Dylan admitted quietly.
Jun glanced at him. “Nano leaving?”
Dylan nodded. “Everyone leaving.”
Jun didn’t rush to disagree. He understood too well.
“Yeah,” Jun said softly. “It hits harder when you’re the one staying.”
Dylan’s throat tightened. He nodded again.
The quiet stretched again—but this time, it shifted.
Not heavier. Just… different.
Dylan became acutely aware of how close Jun was sitting. Not touching—not really—but near enough that Dylan could feel warmth through the blanket, could hear Jun’s breathing when he exhaled slowly through his nose.
It made him oddly self-conscious.
He adjusted the blanket around his shoulders, suddenly unsure where to put his hands. On the mug? On his knees? Anywhere that didn’t look stupid. He settled for wrapping both hands around the mug again, staring a little too hard at the surface of the drink.
Jun, meanwhile, acted like nothing had changed.
He always did.
He took a sip of his own hot chocolate, hummed approvingly, then leaned sideways until his shoulder bumped lightly into Dylan’s arm.
Just once.
Casual. Absent-minded.
Dylan stiffened like he’d been struck by lightning.
Jun noticed immediately.
“Oh,” Jun said, amused. “You’re tense.”
“I’m not,” Dylan replied too quickly.
Jun smiled to himself, eyes flicking sideways. “You are. Your shoulders went up like this.” He exaggerated the motion, lifting his shoulders comically.
Dylan scowled. “Stop psychoanalyzing me.”
“I’m not,” Jun said easily. “I’m observing.”
“You’re annoying.”
Jun gasped softly, pressing a hand to his chest. “Wow. After I made you hot chocolate.”
Dylan huffed, taking another sip to hide the way his lips twitched. “I didn’t ask for it.”
“Yeah,” Jun said, stretching his arm along the back of the couch again, dangerously close to Dylan’s shoulders. “But you drank it anyway.”
Dylan hated that Jun was right.
He shifted again, pretending it was about comfort and not the way Jun’s presence made his skin feel too warm, too aware. Jun smelled faintly like soap and something clean—something unmistakably Jun. The kind of scent that clung to hoodies and lingered longer than it had any right to.
The awkwardness wasn’t sharp. It wasn’t painful.
It was… quiet. Soft. Like standing too close to someone in an empty room and not knowing whether to step back or stay still.
Jun tilted his head slightly, studying Dylan out of the corner of his eye. “You’re thinking too much.”
Dylan groaned quietly, tipping his head back against the couch. “You always say that.”
“And I’m usually right.”
Dylan shot him a look. “You enjoy this, don’t you?”
Jun grinned, completely unapologetic. “A little.”
That earned him a light shove to the arm. “Jerk.”
Jun laughed—low, warm, familiar—and the sound did something annoying to Dylan’s chest. It loosened something. Took the edge off. Jun had always been like that: loud where Dylan was quiet, irritating where Dylan withdrew, unafraid of filling space Dylan didn’t know how to claim.
Jun had always poked him. Teased him. Pressed buttons like it was a sport.
And Dylan had always snapped back.
“Stop smiling like that,” Dylan muttered.
Jun only smiled wider. “See? You’re alive.”
“Barely,” Dylan deadpanned.
Jun nudged his knee again, relentless. “You love me.”
Dylan scoffed. “In your dreams.”
But the truth—annoying, undeniable—sat heavy in his chest. Jun’s teasing wasn’t cruelty. It was attention. It was how Jun stayed. How he made sure Dylan didn’t disappear into himself completely.
Jun had never treated Dylan like he was fragile. Never lowered his voice around him. Never stopped being annoying just because Dylan was sad.
Especially now.
Jun had been doing this on purpose.
Not the teasing—Jun always teased—but staying normal. Staying him. Not tiptoeing. Not hovering. Just… showing up and making noise in the quiet.
“You know,” Jun said after a moment, tone lighter, “you could always rearrange the dorm.”
Dylan blinked. “What?”
“Move furniture. Claim Nano’s room. Make it a studio. Or a gaming cave. Or a shrine to your own ego.”
Dylan snorted despite himself. “Shut up.”
“I’m serious,” Jun continued, nudging him again. “Empty spaces don’t stay empty if you mess with them enough.”
Dylan stared down at his mug, steam curling up toward his face.
Jun wasn’t wrong. The dorm felt hollow because it was unchanged—like it was waiting for ghosts to come back. Like it expected Dylan to keep the space preserved, untouched, respectful.
“…Maybe,” Dylan admitted quietly.
Jun smiled, satisfied, then leaned back fully, hands laced behind his head. “See? Progress.”
They fell into silence again—but this time, it didn’t press in so hard.
Dylan’s irritation lingered, familiar and oddly comforting. Jun had always been like this—poking, prodding, dragging reactions out of him when Dylan wanted to fold inward and vanish. And Dylan had always pretended to hate it.
He didn’t.
He liked that Jun never gave up on him. Liked that Jun annoyed him into staying present. Liked that when everyone else talked over Dylan or left him alone, Jun chose him—again and again—as his target.
As his person.
Jun shifted, glancing sideways. “You’re unusually calm. Should I be offended?”
Dylan huffed. “Don’t get used to it.”
Jun leaned closer, eyes bright. “So you do admit you let me tease you on purpose.”
Dylan froze.
Jun’s words hung there—half joke, half truth.
“…Maybe,” Dylan said again, softer this time.
Jun blinked.
Actually blinked.
For once, he looked caught off guard—like he hadn’t expected permission. Like he hadn’t realized Dylan knew all along.
Then Jun grinned, slow and dazzling. “Wow. I knew it.”
“Don’t let it go to your head,” Dylan warned.
Jun leaned back, clearly pleased, still smiling like he’d just been handed something precious. “Too late.”
Dylan shook his head, but his mouth twitched despite himself.
He shifted slightly, just enough that his shoulder brushed Jun’s arm.
He didn’t pull away.
Jun noticed—but, mercifully, didn’t comment. Just stayed. Warm and solid and irritatingly close.
The dorm was still quieter than it used to be.
But for tonight, at least, it wasn’t empty.
And for the first time in a while, Dylan didn’t feel like he had to carry the silence alone.