THERES A NEW RESIDENT VEIL GANE WJTB CLAIR ETDFIFELG FOJMG OMG WAAAWHAYTHEUFCK
♡ 🐇
GASPING 🫢 WAIT REALLY!?! I lowkey love video games but I don’t play too much anymore. Resident Evil has been one of the trilogies I’ve wanted to play but I’m scared to bc it looks so hard 😭😭 I just watched the trailer tho and the graphics LOOK AMAZING!!
synopsis : You and Minho pretend to be dating just to get a special discount for couples at a cafe, and from that day forward he decides it’d be a funny idea to treat you as his girlfriend. Just for funsies, yes, ofc.
📝 writing lino is so fun he’s so tsundere-like. Also I almost named this as ‘case 143’ but I thought it wouldn’t really convey the fic vibe idk 🤷♀️ anyways i hope u enjoy it !! <3
tags : Lee Know x fem!reader, fluff, friends to lovers, fake dating as a starting point, ‘what are we’ kinda vibe, sarcasm, mixed signals (not on purpose tho, you’re both just confusing with your emotions lol), lino is referred as Minho
reminder: this is all a made-up fan-fiction just for fun!
It was hard to describe your relationship with Minho. Well, you’re friends. At least that’s what you’re supposed to be.
It was known he wasn’t that open with his emotions and always had a sarcastic comment to make instead. It was hard to tell what’s on his mind, but maybe that’s why you both clicked so well. You were more reserved yourself after all. Just like that, what began as jokes and sillyness evolved into a strong friendship like no other. Over time he became the most trustworthy person you knew. And funniest. And very, very good looking. You might also have this tiny little crush on him. But that’s only a detail, of course.
At this point, you were used to hiding what you felt. However things started getting complicated after that stupid idea. And now you couldn’t tell if he might feel the same or not.
evidence i.
“There’s a discount for couples today,” Minho commented as you both read the big letters on the cafe poster you were about to enter.
“You’re not thinking what I’m thinking,” you say already laughing, and the mischievous look on his face told you everything.
“It’s 35% off, that’s almost a free extra drink!” He chuckles. “Come on, I think we can be very convincing if we try,” he adds already taking your hand on his, intertwining your fingers and leading you inside. You can’t hold back the big smile that forms on your lips.
You both go straight to the attendant to ask for the promotional drinks, hoping for the best.
“Yes, our smoothies are on a special promotion for love birds,” the lady on the balcony explained politely. “Choose two flavors and you get the 35% off.”
“Great!” Minho cheered, his hand leaving yours to go firmly on your waist, bringing you closer, and you hope the way your eyes slightly widen isn’t obvious. He takes the menu. “I think I’ll go with strawberry banana. What about you, love?”
It took you a second to realize he was actually talking to you. Like yes, you’re ‘love’.
“Oh, I… I’d like the same as you, honey,” you say fast so you wouldn’t have to think too much, the pet name sounding strangely nice.
The woman nods as she registers your order. You’re opening your purse to get your wallet when Minho interrupts you.
“I’ll pay, don’t worry babe,” he winks, making you pause in confusion.
“Huh?” You tilt your head. You then steal a glance at the lady and remember you’re supposed to be playing along. You quickly try to disguise your surprise. “We can split, darling, I don’t mind.”
“Come on, it’s our anniversary, of course I’ll pay for us,” he improvises, already tapping his card on the payment terminal before you could protest.
“Oh, anniversary?” The lady looks up at you with curious eyes. “How long have you been together if you don’t mind me asking?”
“One year,” he replies promptly. You nod.
“Aw, that’s sweet. You two look so lovely together, I can tell just by the way you look at each other,” she compliments.
“We get that a lot,” he comments with a small laugh, his hand squeezing your shoulder. You grin to be polite, a bit too aware of his hand on you. It almost makes you miss the way his ears get redder.
“I’ll get your drinks, wait just a moment, please,” the attendant smiles as she turns her back to prepare the drinks.
“Copy cat,” Minho whispers when she’s not looking anymore. “You were supposed to choose a different flavor so I could steal from you.”
“I didn’t expect this to work, I’m nervous!” You whisper back.
“Why wouldn’t it work? You thought they’d ask us to kiss as proof or something?”
“Of course not, that’s not what I meant!” You hiss with your voice low, your cheeks getting a bit warmer.
“Here’s your order,” the friendly woman comes back with tasty smoothies, making you cease your banter immediately. “I hope you have a very special day today. You’re very lucky to have such an attentive gentleman by your side,” she says playfully glancing at you.
“Of course, thank you so much,” you shyly reply, trying to ignore the smirk that was growing on Minho’s face.
You sit on a table near the window, smoothies in hand. You can’t help but feel distracted by all that just happened.
“Wasn’t the discount the whole point of doing this?” You finally ask when you felt your cheeks weren’t on fire anymore.
“Yeah, she did discount it.” He shrugs with the straw between his teeth, already finished with almost one quarter of his drink.
“Then why did you pay for both of us? You ended up spending more anyways.”
He averted his eyes for a second before that smirk returned to his face. “Can’t I be a gentleman to my girlfriend?”
“We’re not actually dating,” you manage to say.
He pinched your cheek. “I got you a 100% discount, so stop complaining.”
evidence ii.
After that day at the cafe, for some unknown reason, Minho thought it’d be a funny idea to treat you as his girlfriend from time to time and started using pet names nonstop. Ironically, of course, as if it was an innocent inside joke. Or at least that’s what it looked like. But your heart couldn’t differentiate a joke from the real thing apparently.
That Tuesday you were at his place helping him with ideas to finish writing a sketch needed for a project which deadline was like, yesterday.
“Can you get the red pen for me, princess?” He asked you after taking some notes.
“Sure.”
“Thank you, honey,” he gave you his signature smirk before going back to writing frantically.
It all sounded like teasing, it definitely was, but it was starting to drive you crazy. Minho’s mixed signals were getting to you, and you couldn’t tell anymore if that was his way of flirting or if he was messing around as usual.
“Shoot, Chan’s already coming to get this paper,” Minho woke you up from your thoughts as soon as his phone screen lid up with a notification. “He’s gonna nag at me the whole day if this isn’t done when he gets here…”
“You kinda deserve it,” you chuckle.
“It’s not like he didn’t finish his part on the last minute either,” he pouts, still writing.
“Ask him to buy snacks or cat food on his way,” you suggest. “That will buy you at least 15 minutes to finish it.”
“Ooh, genius,” he snapped his fingers and quickly picked up his phone to type the message to Chan, but not without teasing you first. “You’re not just a pretty face after all, huh?”
You didn’t know whether to feel complimented or insulted. He glanced at you and immediately laughed at your expression.
“Can you at least thank me properly for saving you here?” You lightly push his shoulder as retort, the tips of your ears redder.
He looks up at you, that stupid grin still plastered on his face. “Sorry, sorry. You know I’m just messing with you.” The corners of this mouth relax into a more genuine smile. “I’m aware you’re very smart and you’re really, really helping me a lot today. Even if you didn’t have to, you are,” he emphasizes in a sincere tone, carefully tucking a hair strand behind your ear, fond eyes looking straight into yours.
“Of course,” you play it off, trying not to sound as shy as you were getting. “You’ve helped me a lot before too so… It’s only natural.”
“Hm-hum. We’re partners in crime,” he nods, and pauses as if he realizes what he just said. He then gives you a look, his smirk making a return. “Who else would I call in this situation if not my beautiful lover?”
Oh, this again.
“Yeah, sure. Now finish this quickly before Chan gets here,” you chuckle, trying to disguise the way your heart skipped a beat.
evidence iii.
“Horror movie? I’m not sure…” You mumble as you both stand at the movie theater entrance, Minho’s film suggestion not being exactly to your taste.
“This one is not that scary, it’s just a bunch of silly jumpscares. Come on, it will be fun! I’ll even let you embrace me if you’re that terrified, since I’m so reliable.” He bumps your shoulder trying to convince you. “Seriously, you’ll like this one, I promise!”
“You’re insufferable.”
You end up agreeing to go anyways.
He guided you to the tickets balcony with a hand securely on your shoulder. The attendant showed you the available seats on the computer screen. It wasn’t sold out, but it wasn’t empty either, so you still had a few options to choose from.
“Wanna get the seats for couples in the back?” He suddenly suggested.
You knew what he was talking about. The last seats on that movie theater were reserved for couples because you could fold up the center armrests in order to cuddle your partner closer. Now why was he offering that.
You turned to look at him, and he playfully lifted his eyebrows at you. Gosh. He was just teasing you wasn’t he. Why would you cuddle in a horror movie session anyway.
“No thanks,” you answer without thinking, but your heart was thumping on your ears. “Let’s just stick to the seats next to the stairs,” you say, avoiding his eyes this time.
“Pshh, you’re no fun,” he breathes out a small laugh, but selects the seats you picked anyways. He went a bit quieter as he bought popcorn. Meanwhile, you just stood there not sure how unserious he was with all of this.
You couldn’t really focus on the movie that day.
And he didn’t try anything the whole session besides laughing when you got scared.
evidence iv.
“I kinda missed you,” he said with a genuine smile when you bumped into each other by coincidence.
“It’s been barely a week,” you shrugged, trying to keep it together.
“Doesn’t matter,” he replied, his lips curving into a smirk. “Can’t I miss my girlfriend?”
Yeah, sure.
You sigh. How you wish this could be true. But what if you speak up your mind and make a fool out of yourself? Would it ruin your friendship? What if he laughed at your face?? One hundred different scenarios go through your head to make you give up. …but suddenly your eyes lid up as an idea came to mind. If he was just teasing you, you could correspond jokingly as well. Just to test the waters.
“If you wanted to see me that much you could have asked me out on a date.”
He stiffens instantly, like he didn’t expect you to actually play along. You never did until now.
“Date?” He echoes just to make sure, eyes slightly widened.
“Yes, honey. That’s what lovers usually do.”
“Really?” He tilts his head, trying to get the teasing tone back to his voice without much success. “So you won’t run off if I ask you out?”
“Run off? You’re ridiculous,” you can’t help but chuckle at his reaction, but you try to stay in character. “Why would I? We’ve been on dates before, haven’t we? The movies and that cafe.”
“…I see.” He finally nod, a tint of red coloring his cheeks. He clears his throat, and you could swear you’ve never seen him act so shy, his behavior changing so suddenly. “In that case, would you like to go out with me? I could… pick you up tomorrow afternoon.”
You felt like your heart was going to burst.
evidence v.
That day, there weren’t pet names. There weren’t couple jokes either. Actually, you were both a bit tense about the date.
“You know, I chose the cat cafe in hopes it wouldn’t be so awkward but I guess it didn’t work,” he says eventually with an embarassed laugh.
“No, it did work, the cats are cute,” you say quickly while caressing the feline sitting next to you. “I’m just a little distracted today.” A beat. “You’re also quieter.”
“Maybe,” he murmured, eyeing the kitten sleeping close to his leg.
“Yet you’re the one who was entertaining the whole lovers thing the most,” you comment. “I thought you’d be full of that today.”
“Well, yes, I was. But actually, I wanted to tell you that... How do I say it…” he bites his lip. “Today isn’t just teasing or playing pretend. I meant it when I asked you out.”
You feel your heart skip a beat. “I know,” you nodded. “I’m glad you did.”
“Yeah?” His tone softens. “I wasn’t sure if you were a fan of the idea since you were kinda pushing me away,” he admits as he fidgets with the straw of his drink.
“What? No, I wasn’t! Really,” you immediately try to explain, the cat next to you meowing in complain of your sudden move. You take a deep breath before continuing. “I’ve actually been overthinking it because I didn’t know whether it was all just a joke or if there was something more to it, so I was afraid of… you know… playing along and end up liking you even more to the point there wasn’t going back anymore,” you quietly finish.
He finally meets your eyes, taking a moment to really look at you.
“…That was the risk I was taking too.”
Your breath catches on your throat. He notices your silence and speaks again.
“I started this couple play-pretend thing because… You know.” He scratches the back of his neck, trying to find the words. “It felt like this way I could say and do all that stuff without scaring you off or sounding weird. Since we’ve been close friends for so long.”
Oh. Oh my.
“It wouldn’t sound weird. It would have worked from the beginning if you were just honest,” you say sheepishly, still trying to process his words.
“Yeah, I realize it now from that cute blush of yours,” he points out, making you redder.
“Oh, shut up,” you look down at the cat peacefully lying beside you again. It was almost impossible to contain the big smile forming on your lips.
“So…” he clears his throat. “May I take you to that cafe again this week? So we can get another couple discount and so I can do things for real this time. No play-pretends.”
And just like this, that excited, insistent smile you’ve been trying to hold back appears on your lips.
“…Will I get that 100% discount again?” You can’t help but tease.
“Sure, pretty.” He breathes out a laugh, not hiding his heart eyes either.
— ahhh this was longer than I expected but it’s kinda rushed at the same time..? anyways i think I’m happy with how it turned out ig dkdndjdj Lemme know what u guys think :))
Chapter Synopsis: Two weeks pass of indescribable emptiness. Seungmin talks to Chan and by the end of it, Chan is trapped in a cycle of regret and love he can no longer act on.
Authors Note 💌: Hi Loves! Welcome back. Another chapter posted today. As always, I hope you guys enjoy and thank you for the amazing support and love 🩷 reblogs, likes, and comments are appreciated (plz talk to me, I don't have any friends:)
If you want to be added to the taglist, please fill this form out. If you've already filled it out and your @ isn't included, please comment and I'll be sure to add you!
୨୧ ───────────────── ୨୧
Two weeks slipped by, indistinct at the edges. Sometimes, if you’re quiet enough, you can still taste the salt on your lips from that last kiss—how it lingered, sharp and uncertain, long after he was gone.
Memories circle, never quite settling, their edges blurred and shifting. You find yourself tracing them in the quiet, fingers brushing over what might have been yours, or maybe just something you invented to fill the silence. Sometimes it feels like memory is just another way to keep yourself company, even if it means believing in a story that never happened.
You let the phone ring until it fades, the knocks dissolving into the hush that fills your apartment. It’s easier to disappear this way, to let yourself drift into a place where no one can reach you. Lost, but it feels almost expected—like you’ve been here before.
୨୧ ───────────────── ୨୧
Chan moved through the days without sleep, food untouched. Apologies from Han blurred together, soft and repetitive, while Minho’s voice drifted in from somewhere behind, saying there was nothing to be sorry for, that maybe Chan should have ended things long before.
He typed messages he never sent, thumb pausing over your name, the blue glow of the screen painting his hands in the dark. The words always felt wrong—too much or not enough. He told himself that silence was a kind of mercy, even if it left everything unfinished, suspended in the space between.
When he closes his eyes, the first date comes back in pieces: your voice, steady and soft, talking about school, about wanting to make things better. He remembers the way you spoke about your dreams, the small changes you hoped for. There was a goodness in you that unsettled him, something effortless, unreachable. It pressed against the places he tried to hide, made him feel smaller, less certain. Being near you felt like stepping into a room he wasn’t meant to enter, a quiet perfection he might ruin just by staying too long.
In time, Chan understood—this was the moment to let you go, truly this time. The ache was familiar, like slipping beneath water and watching the world blur, distant and unreachable.
୨୧ ───────────────── ୨୧
One Sunday night, a knock comes from your door.
You sigh, standing up to open the door, thinking it's the food you ordered.
You open the door and are met with your dad; you freeze. “What are you doing here?”
He holds up a take-out bag, “I picked up some food.”
You roll your eyes, “Thanks, but I already had it handled.”
You go to close the door, but his hand stops you, “Please, Y/N-ah.”
“No,” you snap. “I’m tired of letting people into my life, my space, just for them to disappoint and lie to me.”
Jin-young looks at you, guilt flooding his body. “I didn’t mean for—”
“You did, you wanted this to happen.”
“Y/N,” he says softly.
“Please go.”
He drops his hand from the door, letting you close the door fully this time.
You listen to his footsteps fading down the hall, the soft crinkle of the bag trailing behind. Leaning into the door, you feel your eyes sting, the quiet settling over you like a second skin.
Even your father feels far away now, trust slipping out of reach like something you forgot to hold onto.
୨୧ ───────────────── ୨୧
Jin-young leaned in the doorway, arms folded, watching Chan at the mixing table—headphones slipping off, laptop open, the blue light from the monitors cutting through piles of lyric notebooks and empty cans. The whiteboard behind him still held the week’s schedule, deadlines and rehearsals layered in red marker. Chan’s phone buzzed again, another reminder from the company chat, another revision, another deadline. The room felt heavy with it all—the music, the pressure, the weight of what everyone expected.
“Have you eaten?” JYP asks the younger boy softly.
No response.
“You should go home and sleep.” He suggests.
Chan lets out a scoff, “I am home. I need to get this shit done, or else we can’t raise sales, remember?”
Park looks at Chan for a second longer, then he looks down at his feet, “I’m sorry.”
“Yeah,” he scoffs. “I’ve heard that a lot from you recently.”
“Doesn’t make it any less true.”
“It doesn’t exactly matter either,” Chan says back. He turns in his chair, eyes settling on the older man. “You know, I’ve taken a lot of shit from you over the years. A lot. But this…this takes the cake.” Chan shakes his head.
“It’s not all my fault,” JYP counters. “You could’ve said no.”
“But you knew that I wouldn’t. Not when it came to the group or the company,” his tone is sharp, analyzed. “Because no matter how fucked up this industry is or how ass-backwards some of the people here are, this is my dream. This is what I’ve wanted for over a decade.”
JYP looks at Chan; he sees someone he hardly recognizes. It’s not because of the bags under his eyes or the fact that he looks like he hasn’t showered in days. It’s the emptiness, the lack of light in his eyes.
Chan swallows thickly, “So tell me why that now that I’ve accomplished this dream, it’s no longer enough?”
Park glances away from Chan. “I’m sorry.”
“I know…” Chan says weakly. “But it’s not what I need.”
୨୧ ───────────────── ୨୧
Nights slipped by, the others drifting through the studio, their presence barely more than a shift in the air.
Sometimes Felix would appear in the doorway, setting a cup of tea on Chan’s desk without a word, gone before the steam faded.
Minho lingered for a few moments longer, fidgeting with the sound equipment and breaking the silence with a dry, "You know the room smells like feet, right?"
Jeongin watched Chan from the corner of his eye, uncertain, as if afraid to be caught caring. Hyunjin offered a quiet pat on the back one night, then disappeared before Chan could say anything. Seungmin kept his distance, and Han did too—worry flickering in the spaces where words should have been.
Sometimes the others nudged Seungmin toward Chan, as if he might be the last one who could reach him, even for a moment.
“Stinks like ass in here,” Seungmin says as he walks into the studio.
Chan looks up, something close to relief flickering in his eyes before it fades.
Seungmin studies him, anger still simmering beneath a thin layer of concern. His voice is quiet. "You look terrible."
Chan lets out a small laugh, “Thanks.”
“I’m serious, Hyung.” Seungmin walks over to the studio couch and slowly sits down. “This is going to be a stupid question, but are you okay?”
Chan hums, looking down. He nods before answering, “No.”
Seungmin sighs, “I won’t lie, you kinda deserve this shit, man.”
Chan looks at Seungmin. “Yeah,” he mumbles.
“But you’re scaring everybody. Han doesn’t even want to talk to you; he’s scared out of his mind that you hate him.”
“I don’t.”
“Well, he doesn’t know that, hm?” The silence lingers. Seungmin watches Chan, noticing the way he sits, shoulders drawn in, eyes fixed on the floor. He’s never seen someone look so lost, guilt and loneliness settling over him like a shadow.
"I miss her," Chan says, voice barely above a whisper. "And it hurts."
Seungmin stays silent, offering a small nod to encourage him to keep talking.
Chan exhales, voice thin. "That’s all. I miss her. It’s my fault she’s gone." He shrugs, but it doesn’t cover anything.
“Don’t pretend this isn’t hard for you.”
“It’s not.”
“But it is,” Seungmin says. “I mean shit, dude. You loved her.”
“But-”
“No buts. That’s what it is. You loved her, and you let her go because you loved her.” Seungmin's voice is steady as he speaks. “I’m not saying to chase after her. Give her some time, but this doesn’t have to end here.”
“I can’t let what happened happen again.” Chan shakes his head.
“It’ll be different next time.”
“How do you know?”
Seungmin sighs, “Because hyung, it won’t be based on a lie. You’ll love her because you want to, not because you need to.”
Chapter Synopsis: Chan shows up at Y/N's apartment after she finds out that their relationship was built off of a deal with her dad.
Authors Note 💌: Hi Loves! Welcome back. Another chapter posted today. As always, I hope you guys enjoy and thank you for the amazing support and love 🩷 reblogs, likes, and comments are appreciated (plz talk to me, I don't have any friends:)
If you want to be added to the taglist, please fill this form out. If you've already filled it out and your @ isn't included, please comment and I'll be sure to add you!
୨୧ ───────────────── ୨୧
Chan moves through the hallway as if something unseen is at his heels, breath snagging in his chest. He can’t remember ever moving this quickly, not for anything that felt like it mattered.
You don’t get credit for feeling guilty about something you’re still doing.
Seungmin’s words hang in the air, sharp and unfinished, echoing in the hush between each hurried step. He tries to catch up to you, but the hallway stretches out, impossibly long, as if distance itself is conspiring to keep you apart.
By the time he reaches the lobby, you’re already getting into the backseat of a cab. The door closes with a hush, a soft finality that settles in his chest.
He stands there, fingers tangled in his hair, watching the taillights dissolve into the night.
୨୧ ───────────────── ୨୧
Midnight slips in quietly. Through the window, laughter drifts up from the street, voices weaving in and out—some returning home, others just beginning to wander the night.
It’s strange, how the world keeps moving, how joy can exist so close to the quiet collapse blooming inside you.
You sit on the couch, blanket gathered at your knees. The lights hum overhead, a faint ache in the silence. If you listen closely, you can almost hear the electricity, restless and low, threading through the quiet.
You turned your phone off as soon as you left the studio. You know there are calls you’re missing—Chan, maybe Han. But you can’t bring yourself to be angry with Han. He did what was right, even if it slipped out by accident. It’s more than you can say for Chan.
The knock at your door is insistent, almost desperate. You know it’s him before you even move, the certainty settling somewhere beneath your ribs.
“Y/N, please just open the door,” Chan said. His voice was breathless, like he’d run a marathon. “Please, let me explain.”
You stand, the blanket slipping away, and cross the room. Anger and hurt settle into your bones, heavy and familiar, as you open the door before you can think better of it.
Chan’s fist hovers midair, caught in the act of knocking again. When he sees you, his hand falls. His voice is small, almost apologetic. "Hey."
“Hey?” The word tastes strange. “You lie to me for months, and all you have to say is 'hey?'”
Chan sighs, “Please, let me in, and I’ll explain everything to you.”
You look at him for a long moment, as if the truth might surface if you wait quietly enough.
You step aside, just enough for him to pass. It’s barely a gesture, but somehow it’s enough.
He exhales, slow and shaky, as if he’s been holding his breath for years. He moves carefully, as if any sudden motion might undo this fragile permission.
You don’t close the door right away. The air is heavy. When it finally clicks shut behind you, the sound feels distant, as if the room itself is bracing for what comes next.
You turn to find him standing in the middle of your living room, eyes tracing the unfamiliar space. He always said it was easier at his place. Now you wonder if it was just distance, dressed up as convenience.
“Your place is nice,” he mumbles.
You say nothing, watching his back. When he turns, there’s uncertainty in his eyes, as if the words he practiced have slipped away.
You move past him, sinking into the couch. Your voice is quiet, almost lost. "I want the truth. All of it."
He nods, hesitating before sitting on the edge of the coffee table. His posture is rigid, hands restless in his lap.
“Do you remember when we first met?” He asks softly.
You watch him, vision blurring at the edges, but you make yourself listen.
“We met on the balcony at your dad's birthday party. It was fucking freezing, but I guess we both needed an escape that night.” He looks at his hands, not able to look up at you. “I remember talking to you, and it immediately felt like breathing after drowning for so long.”
You swallow, the memory of that night pressing in.
"I didn’t know you were his daughter when I met you on the balcony."
"Okay." The word feels strange in your mouth, unfamiliar and thin.
He sighs, “When I walked back into the party and saw your dad, he’d explained to me that you’d just gotten back from studying abroad. That he was worried about you, that he had to force you to even show up to his own birthday party.”
“I don’t—”
“Please, just let me explain.” He cuts you off desperately, his eyes finally finding yours.
You nod, unsure, the movement barely there.
Letting out a breath, he continues. “It was then that he told me that Stray Kids wasn’t doing well. We weren’t making enough sales, and our engagement levels were dropping. He had a plan to make us better… relevant.”
You hold yourself still, confusion settling deeper with every word, heavy as rain.
“I was confused by his plan. I didn’t understand how seeing you would help with Stray Kids' popularity, not until the paparazzi showed up at the restaurant.”
“Wait,” you cut him off. “My dad told you to see me or date me in order to help the group?”
He nods.
“And you agreed?”
He nods, hesitantly, “Well, that was before I knew it was you.”
“And that makes it okay? Knowing you would’ve done this to another girl?”
Chan pauses, and guilt washes over him. He looks at you, speechless.
“And the paparazzi?”
He pauses, “That night, I got a call from your dad after I dropped you off. He basically told me he planned for the paparazzi to show up.”
“What?” You look at him, dread coursing through you.
Chan nods, “I know, I know. I had no idea he was going to do that. But because there was a swarm of paparazzi there, fans caught wind of what was going on. He had no idea that what happened with that fan would happen.”
Chan looks at you, gaze soft. “I was so confused about why being with you would make us better, not until that night. I realized that was just the first step in his plan.”
“I kept remembering the look in your eyes that night. The fear. I couldn’t let that happen again. If that was just the first step, I didn’t want to see what the second or third would mean for you. What it would do.”
You look at him, heart thudding in your chest. "So you pulled away from me?"
“I thought I was doing what was best for you.”
You cut him off, your voice shaking. "You did so without my input; you decided what was best for me. You lied to me, Chan."
Chan looks down at his hands, voice subdued. "I should've done things differently. The guys kept telling me..."
"The guys?" The words come out sharper than you mean. "How long did they know?" You thought it was just Han, the one who let the truth slip tonight.
“I told them everything the day before they met you.”
You let out a breath, half a laugh, half disbelief. "That long?"
Chan keeps his gaze on his hands.
"Jesus, Chan." Your voice cracks as you stand, the sound brittle in the quiet.
“I know—”
“No, you don’t, Chan!” You raise your voice as you turn to look at him. “So all those comments from Seungmin?”
“He’s upset with me.”
"He’s not the only one." You cross your arms, holding yourself together as Chan stands, the space between you growing colder.
“I’m so sorry, Y/N. I am. You have no idea how sorry I am.”
You stare at him, disbelief settling in. "You lied for months. We kissed, and you let me believe it meant something. I thought that maybe you loved me."
“I do!”
"Where?" Your voice splinters, thin and sharp.
Chan pauses, his eyes glistening. “Wh-what?”
"Where’s this love?" Your eyes shine, tears threatening. "You lied to me for months. You only saw me because you needed something."
Your voice softens, the truth settling in. "You needed something, and it was never me."
Chan opens his mouth and closes it, “I need you now…that’s enough, right?”
You look at him, tears slipping down your cheeks, silent and unstoppable, as if they belong to someone else.
Chan shakes his head, voice breaking as he knows what you’re about to do. "No, don’t go. Please." Tears streak his face, and something in him unravels.
“You need to go,” you whisper.
“No,” his voice cracks.
"Please go, Chan." The words tremble between you. "If you love me, you’ll leave. I need you to love me enough to let me go."
He stands there, looking at you for a moment before he walks over, slow and careful. He takes your face in his hands. You don’t know why you let him, but you do.
He kisses you, slow and soft, as if he’s trying to memorise something sweet before leaving you with such bitterness.
This is the moment everything shifts, quietly, the world tilting beneath your feet.
His goodbye lingers in the space between you, quiet and unfinished.
In some other life, maybe there’s a girl and a boy who look like you, like him. Maybe there, it was never a deal. Maybe there, it was always real. And maybe, in this life, too, a part of both of you will keep searching for that place where it could be different—where, one day, the timing is right, and you find your way back to each other, just a little braver, just a little more whole.
Chapter Synopsis: Silence follows Y/N and Chan as he continues to pull away without explanation, leaving her confused and heartbroken. Han accidentally reveals the truth as to why Chan's been pulling away, leaving Y/N in disbelief.
Authors Note 💌: Hi Loves! Welcome back. Another chapter posted today. As always, I hope you guys enjoy and thank you for the amazing support and love 🩷 reblogs, likes, and comments are appreciated (plz talk to me, I don't have any friends:)
If you want to be added to the taglist, please fill this form out. If you've already filled it out and your @ isn't included, please comment and I'll be sure to add you!
୨୧ ───────────────── ୨୧
The walk home felt hollow, each step echoing louder than it should, as if the city had emptied itself out just for you. There was a slow ache blooming in your chest, the kind that arrives quietly, unnoticed until it’s everywhere. You couldn’t name the moment it shifted, only that it had. The silence between you and him had thickened, no longer just quiet but something dense and pressing, crowding out everything else.
Somewhere between the hush of streetlights and the threshold of your door, it settled in your bones: Chan was holding something back.
It sat low and heavy, a quiet weight curling in your stomach. Your body moved on, but the city blurred behind you, each step carrying the hush of something left unspoken. The elevator’s hum clung to you as you unlocked the door, the shift from night air to hallway light too abrupt, too sharp.
“Maybe I don’t need to be reached for.”
“You’re too much right now.”
His words lingered, sharp-edged and circling. You tried to understand how someone who once looked at you like you were sunlight could let their gaze grow so distant.
“Maybe if I’d approached him differently,” you think to yourself.
That was when you began folding your own pain, turning his words over and over, as if holding them gently might make them less sharp.
୨୧ ───────────────── ୨୧
Days slip by. Chan tries, in the way he knows how. Messages arrive every few hours, small signals that he hasn’t disappeared.
His words come clipped, careful. There’s something beneath them—guilt, maybe, where warmth used to be. You keep circling the question of what he’s sorry for.
You watch your phone the way you’d watch the sky before rain, every vibration a flicker of unease. You never know which version of him will appear, or if he’ll vanish altogether.
Sleep drifts out of reach. Meals blur or disappear. Your replies shrink to fit his, words growing smaller, more distant each time.
Still, Chan must sense you’re holding back. You’ve always been the one who says too much, especially with him.
You’d tried to hang out with the boys.
But even they feel different now, a little off-kilter, as if everyone is speaking in a language you almost remember.
Han is louder than usual, his laughter too bright, as if he’s trying to fill the space before anything real can slip in.
Every time you try to bring up Chan, Han says the same thing: “Chan Hyung’s just under a lot of pressure lately.” The words hang between you, but you know it’s more than that. It’s the way the comeback schedule devours his nights, choreography shifting beneath his feet, meetings where every decision feels too heavy. There’s always a camera, a fan, a trainee needing something, and Chan lets it all settle on his shoulders. Some days, you watch him chase deadlines, fighting to keep the group from slipping, even for a moment. The pressure isn’t just exhaustion—it’s the impossible weight of always being strong, always being perfect, never letting anyone down.
Felix’s eyes are wide, holding something you can’t quite name—sadness, maybe, or something softer. He lingers near you, and when he hugs you, it’s gentle but fiercely warm, arms wrapping tight, his chin resting on your shoulder a moment longer than anyone else’s. The scent of vanilla clings to him, a trace of the cookies he bakes after practice. His voice stays soft, threading in those little endearments he’s known for, his questions gentle enough to melt some of the ache inside you. Felix’s presence is a quiet reassurance, steady and warm, just as everyone says he would be.
Seungmin surprises you the most. There’s a quiet anger in him now, never pointed at you. It’s always Chan. Seungmin has always watched more than he speaks, his eyes tracking Chan’s unraveling and your own silent self-blame.
He offers small truths, quiet words that land heavier than they sound.
“Communication isn’t hard when someone wants to do it.”
“You’d be surprised what people can hide when they’ve already convinced themselves it’s for a good reason.”
“If someone keeps making you question where you stand with them… you probably don’t stand where you thought you did.”
When Seungmin speaks to Chan in front of everyone, it sounds like banter at first, but you start to hear something sharper underneath.
Seungmin clicks his pen every few seconds in the studio, and you can feel Chan growing more and more irritated. Only a minute passes before Chan snaps.
“Can you stop?” Chan’s voice was full of annoyance and anger. But that’s never really scared Seungmin before.
Seungmin looks at Chan quickly, “Can you?”
His words used to skim the surface, but lately they cut deeper, exposing things you were never meant to see.
He’d told you one time, “You trust people very easily.” You laughed it off, not thinking anything of it until you saw the way Chan stiffened.
“I don’t think you’re the problem here.”
“You ever feel like everyone in the room knows something except you?”
That one stops you. You don’t know what to say or who to turn toward.
୨୧ ───────────────── ୨୧
You never hear what’s said behind closed doors, but you imagine Seungmin’s words don’t soften when no one else is listening.
Game night at Chan and Jeongin’s. Felix and Han had to push for it, as if even being together felt fragile now.
Seungmin sits on the loveseat, body loose but gaze unyielding. He doesn’t look away from Chan, who sits across from him, beer balanced between his thighs.
Chan's jaw was clenched as he spoke, “You just gonna keep staring at me all night, Minnie?” His voice was cold, thick. He took a sip of his beer.
Seungmin scoffs, “Does she even know how much of a dick you are?”
The others keep playing, voices dropping, ears tilting toward the tension threading between Seungmin and Chan.
Chan looks at Seungmin, “Excuse me?”
“I’m assuming not, considering she’s still around, hoping you’ll let her in.” Seungmin shrugs, taking a sip of his beer.
“I’m doing what’s best for her.” Chan’s voice comes through a little sharper, his eyes never wavering from the younger boy.
“Are you?” Seungmin tilts his head, “Because to me, you’re a guilty piece of shit who should’ve told her the truth a long time ago. So is this really what’s for the best?”
Everyone turns, no one arguing, just startled by how plainly Seungmin says it. He stands, crossing the room, eyes never leaving Chan.
Chan looks up at Seungmin, swallowing thickly.
“Do us all a favor, Chan, grow a pair and stop dragging her through your little guilt trip pity party.”
Seungmin leaves, the door closing behind him. Changbin follows him, rushed with words lost in the space they leave.
Chan looks around at the rest of the boys. He lets out a laugh before taking another sip of his beer, “What? You assholes got something you want to say too?”
Minho shakes his head, arms crossed. “He’s right, and you know it.”
Han looks down at his hands from beside Minho, and he nods hesitantly. “You’re not being fair to her, Hyung.”
Minho stands, Han trailing after him. They slip out, leaving the room quieter than it was before.
The rest stay, shifting in their seats. Hyunjin presses play, the game’s noise filling the silence, Felix and Jeongin letting themselves drift back in.
୨୧ ───────────────── ୨୧
A week slips by before everything unravels. You’re at the JYPE building, surrounded by the boys.
Chan left earlier with Jeongin and Changbin to get food. The studio empties out until it’s just you and Han, quiet settling in around you.
Han talks about some new anime he’s making Minho watch. You try to listen, but your stomach twists, sadness curling quietly inside you.
Han stops mid-sentence, noticing the way you’ve gone quiet. He reaches out, hand warm on your shoulder. "Are you okay?"
You manage a small smile. "Yeah."
Han watches you for a moment, then lets his hand fall away. "We’re all worried about you," he says, voice soft. "And Chan, too."
"I’m worried about him, too," you say, voice barely above a whisper.
Han looks down, hands folding in his lap. "What’s even happening between you two? It seemed fine, and then suddenly it wasn’t."
You shake your head. "I wish I knew. I keep asking myself, but I never find an answer."
"He hasn’t said anything?" Han asks, voice uncertain.
“He keeps saying he’s fine, but he keeps pushing me away. Sometimes I wonder if he only keeps me around because he feels bad, or maybe he’s afraid of what my dad would do if he broke up with me.” You try to laugh, but it doesn’t sound right.
Some nights, you wonder if this was always inevitable, because it started out strange from the beginning. He came out of nowhere, you piquing his interest too quickly. Your dad being too involved, more than you’d let yourself believe.
Han shakes his head, "It’s not your dad. He’s worried about us—the group." fake anymo—” Han pauses, his eyes going wide. “Um…”
Your heart stutters, waiting. "Fake?"
“I just meant that—”
The door opens before he can finish. Chan, Changbin, and Jeongin walk in, laughter trailing behind them. Chan stops when he sees you and Han, but it’s the way you’re both looking at him that quiets him.
Han’s eyes go wide, panic flickering there, as if he’s seen or heard something he can’t name.
And you—he’s never seen you look at him like this. Your eyes are sharp, questions rising, disbelief settling in.
“Hey, we got you guys some Japchae,” Jeongin says with a smile before pausing, noticing what Chan had seconds prior. “What’s going on?”
Han stands, taking hurried steps towards him as his hands shake. “Hyun—”
“What’d you do?” Chan asks, his gaze not moving from you. The two of you are holding eye contact.
“It slipped out, I didn’t—”
“What slipped out?” Chan’s eyes move to Hans, his gaze cold and full of warning.
You stand, slow and steady. "He just said what should have been said a long time ago." You grab your bag, moving past them before anyone can reach for you.
Chan looks at Han with wide, glassy, panicked eyes. “What the hell did you do? What did you say?”
“I—” Han hesitates, his gaze flicking to Jeongin and Changbin. “We were talking, and I asked her what was going on between you two, and she said she thinks you only keep her around because you’re scared of what her dad would do if you broke up with her.”
“And?” Chan asks carefully.
Han bites his lip, looking down. “I told her you’re not worried about her dad…but that you’re worried about us.”
Jeongin and Changbin look at each other, knowing what’s about to be said.
Chan, on the other hand, forces himself to ask, “Why would I be worried about the group?” He asks, his voice still careful, calculated. “What’d you tell her? Hm?” He tilts his head.
“Because it isn’t fake anymore.” Han mumbles.
For a moment, silence falls over the room. Chan’s face changes, tension flickering in the brief clench of his jaw. He looks at Han as if the world just tilted, staring but not seeing, breath caught in his chest. Something breaks through the careful calm he’s worn for weeks—a flicker of panic, a flash of hurt tangled with anger and confusion. His fingers tighten around his phone, knuckles pale. You see that his eyes are shining, but he blinks them away before anyone can say a word. “What?” His voice is barely more than a rasp, heart sinking to his stomach.
“That’s what I told her,” Han says, looking at Chan again. “I told her that what you two had wasn’t fake anymore.”
Chan stares at Han with wide eyes. He shakes his head. “Fuck!”
The others watch as Chan leaves, the room echoing with everything left unsaid.
Chapter Synopsis: Y/N spends days lost in silence as Chan pulls away without explanation, leaving her confused and frustrated. When she finally confronts him at his dorm, he insists nothing is wrong, but his distance feels deliberate. She leaves with the unsettling uncertainty that he's hiding something.
Authors Note 💌: Hi Loves! Welcome back! I'm so sorry for the late posts, they'll be coming in hot within the next few days. I had exams, school always gets in the way but it's important LOL. I also got around to watching Weak Hero on my short summer break. It's so good. Currently, I'm watching Mr. Plankton and I may have another series coming soon *wink, wink*. As always, I hope you guys enjoy and thank you for the amazing support and love 🩷 reblogs, likes, and comments are appreciated (plz talk to me, I don't have any friends:)
If you want to be added to the taglist, please fill this form out. If you've already filled it out and your @ isn't included, please comment and I'll be sure to add you!
୨୧ ───────────────── ୨୧
The call never came.
A week passed without a word from Chan. Each day, his messages dwindled—first, a few scattered updates. Then less. Each offered a new excuse, but none of them was enough.
“Things are busy at the studio.”
“We had meetings all day.”
“We ran into some management issues.”
“Rheserals were intense, can we talk later?”
You tried to swallow the ache. You watched him, absorbed in his work—the heartbeat of his world, everything he lived for. Still, you craved to be part of it, to lose yourself in the pulse of his dream, not just waiting at its edge, left behind.
On day nine, silence is complete. Your phone stays dark—no message, no knock. Still, you wait and watch the screen for him. The quiet thickens, almost tangible. Each message you send disappears, unanswered. The distance becomes a wall.
You ache for him, for the outlines of a love slipping away. Underneath the ache, jagged hope claws up—fragile, stubborn, impossible to quell. Doubt gnaws at you, and you sit in the shadow of it, every breath weighted with confusion and pain.
How do you reach someone who seems to be so unreachable?
୨୧ ───────────────── ୨୧
“Okay… what’s going on with you?” your dad asks, leaning against the kitchen counter, arms crossed but not as firm as he wants them to be.
He’s been watching—longer than you realize.
Chan is unraveling in quiet ways. He snaps at the staff. He locks himself in the studio, as if the walls might swallow the noise for him. He throws himself into the upcoming release, desperate, like it’s the only thing holding him together. The pressure’s gotten worse lately—eyes everywhere, opinions multiplying online, every move under a microscope. Then, last week: the moment Chan pushed back, sharp and unfiltered, before walking out.
Jin-young hadn’t said anything then.
But he didn’t forget it either.
You glance up at him, spoon hovering over the ice cream before you drop your gaze again. “Nothing,” you mumble, digging back into the tub, like you can bury the question under something cold and sweet.
“Is it Chan?”
Your hand stills.
The ice cream melts on your tongue, sticky-sweet and sickening, a comfort that curdles rather than soothes.
Jin-young exhales slowly. “I know we don’t usually… talk about this kind of thing,” he says, more carefully now. “But something’s off. With both of you.”
You look up at that. “What do you mean?” There’s a flicker of urgency in your voice now, something fragile and searching.
He hesitates.
Just for a second.
“He’s been tense,” he says finally. “Snapped at me last week.” His gaze drifts, then comes back to you, measuring. “More than usual.”
You frown. “Because of the restaurant?”
An uneasy pause lingers, heavy as an accusation.
“Among other things,” he says, too lightly.
It’s subtle. Easy to miss.
But something about the way he says it doesn’t sit right.
“You knew about that?” you ask, quieter now.
He lets out a breath. “Of course I did.”
Silence wraps around you like a shroud. You gaze down, absently stirring the melting ice cream, watching it fade into shapelessness, echoing the emptiness inside.
“I don’t know what’s going on,” you admit. Your voice emerges, so faint it almost dissolves into the air.
“What do you mean?”
“I’ve barely heard from him.” The words come out sharper this time, frustration cracking through. “He used to at least text. Even if it was late. Now it’s just… nothing.”
Jin-young straightens, something unreadable passing over his face before he moves toward you. His hands settle on your shoulders, steady, grounding—almost too deliberate.
He pulls you into a hug.
You don’t resist.
Tears spill before you can stop their sting.
“I don’t know what to do, Appa,” you choke, gripping his shirt. “I don’t— I don’t get it. One second everything’s fine, and then he just—” your voice breaks, “he’s gone.”
“Shh,” he murmurs, resting his chin lightly against your head. “It’s okay.”
But his hand pauses for just a second against your back.
Like, there’s something he isn’t saying.
After a while, he gently pulls away but keeps his hands planted on your shoulders. His grip is firmer now, as though he’s making a decision.
“You should talk to him,” he says. “Go to his place.”
You blink at him.
“If he won’t answer his phone,” he continues, his tone tightening just slightly, “Then don’t give him the option. Make him talk to you.”
There’s something in his eyes when he says it.
Not just concern.
Something closer to expectation.
Like this conversation matters more than it should.
Like he’s waiting to see what happens next.
୨୧ ───────────────── ୨୧
The hallway stretches out, distance growing in absence.
You linger outside his door, hand raised. Last time, laughter and shouting filled the space. Now, the quiet feels thick.
You knock.
Nothing.
Your chest tightens. You knock again, this time softer, your knuckles barely tapping as if afraid of what an answer or more silence will bring.
Footsteps. Slow. Then the handle turns.
The door opens, and there he is.
For a moment, Chan’s face softens—relief flickering before vanishing.
Then it’s gone.
His shoulders draw tight, posture straightening. Something shutters behind his eyes so quickly you wonder if you imagined the softness. He clears his throat, gaze sliding past you.
“Why are you here?”
The words hit harder than expected. You blink, unsteady, but compose yourself.
“I just… needed to see you,” you say, quieter than you meant to. Your fingers curl into your sleeve. “Can I come in?”
There’s a pause. He studies you like he’s trying to solve something, jaw tight, eyes unreadable. Then, finally, he steps aside.
You slip past him through the slightly open door and step into the dorm, glancing over your shoulder to see him close it behind you.
The room is dim, lit only by a faint glow from the hall. The air feels untouched, as if no one’s lived here in days. No music, no voices, none of the warmth you remember.
The silence presses against your ears.
You glance back at him as he shuts the door firmly behind you. The click of the latch echoes unnaturally loud in the silent room.
“Is Jeongin not here?”
Chan shakes his head, already turning away from you. “No. He left. Hasn’t been home much.”
Something about that feels off, but you nod and shift your weight. You twist your hands, following him into the dim dorm.
“My dad says you’ve been kinda… tense lately,” you start carefully. “That you’ve been snapping at people?”
“I’m fine,” he says immediately.
Too fast. Too flat.
“I didn’t say you weren’t.”
He exhales sharply through his nose, steps around you, and heads into the living room. You follow, your feet dragging and your posture still tense.
The room hasn’t changed, but it doesn’t feel like the same place.
Weeks ago, it was loud and alive. Cluttered with noise and movement. Now, it’s hollow; something essential is missing.
“I guess I’m just trying to figure out where you’re at,” you say, stopping a few feet behind him.
He switches on a lamp. The light is harsh, slicing across his face, catching on the tightness in his jaw.
“I already told you I’m fine.”
“But are you actually?” Your brows knit together, frustration slipping in. “Because you’ve been distant for weeks.”
“I’ve been busy, Y/N.”
“And I get that,” you say quickly, stepping closer. “I do. I know your work matters. I’m not trying to take that away from you.” Your voice softens, but it doesn’t hide the edge underneath. “But it doesn’t take more than two minutes to send a text, Chris.”
“I don’t have two minutes.”
“But you do.”
Your voice steadies. You square your shoulders and look him in the eyes, searching for something real.
“You had the day off,” you continue. “You could’ve texted me. Called me. Let me know you were still—” you stop, swallowing the rest. “Still here.”
"I don’t owe you anything," Chan spits, the words slicing through the air, raw and brutal.
The words hang between you, sharp and sudden.
“I don’t have to update you on every single thing that’s going on in my life.”
You blink as something inside you shatters. A broken laugh ripples out, sharp and wounded, closer to a sob than a sound.
“I’m not asking you to,” you say, shaking your head as you take another step forward, despite wanting to hold back. “I’m not your mom, Chris.” Your voice is gentler now. “But you’ve been distant. You can’t pretend you haven’t.”
He shrugs, eyes slipping away from yours, unable to hold the weight. "Okay. Yeah. I’ve been distant."
“Okay—why?”
He doesn’t answer.
“Why, Chan?” you press, your voice tightening.
“Because,” he says, like that’s enough.
You stare, disbelief on your face, grip tightening. "Because what?"
Your voice cracks before you can stop it.
"Chris, I’m unraveling," you whisper, voice trembling. "I’m lost. I can’t reach you." Your hands shake at your sides.
Silence settles between you, heavy and unmoving.
You search his face, eyes flickering over every subtle change, desperate to find something familiar, anything soft to hold onto.
But his expression is closed, distant. It feels like standing in front of someone you used to know.
“Maybe I don’t need to be reached for,” he says quietly.
Something in you breaks, sending pain flooding through every part of you, hollowing you out with one wordless ache.
“What are you trying to say, Chan?”
“I’m saying I need space.”
He steps closer. It reduces the physical space between you, but the emotional gap only seems to widen. The proximity feels more like a barrier than an invitation.
“I’m saying you’re too much right now.”
His words cut, sharp and merciless, leaving you raw in their wake.
You let out a short, disbelieving breath. “Too much?” Your voice rises despite you trying to keep it down. “You haven’t seen me in eleven days, Christopher.”
“Because I didn’t want to see you!” he fires back.
The sharpness of his voice makes you flinch.
“I can’t look at you,” he continues, voice cracking at the edges now. “After what happened that night—with the paparazzi, that fan—I can’t—” He cuts himself off, dragging a hand through his hair, pacing once as he needs somewhere to put the energy. For a second, something raw flickers in his eyes. It’s not just anger or frustration, but something more vulnerable, like shame tangled with fear. Maybe it’s the memory of you caught in the chaos, the way his own mistakes didn’t just hurt him but spilled over onto you. The guilt seems to weigh heavily across his shoulders, and for a breath, you sense how much he wishes he could take that night back, or at least protect you from the mess his life has become.
You shake your head immediately. “No. No, I don’t buy that.”
Your voice steadies, resolve carving out space in your chest.
“You’ve been like this before that,” you say. “You were already pulling away.”
“No, I wasn’t—”
“Yes, you were.”
You step closer, unwilling to let him disappear behind half-answers.
“Chan, I can’t even remember the last time we talked, and it didn’t feel forced.”
That lands.
You see it—a flicker, a crack. Guilt, maybe, or something heavier.
For a moment, it looks like he might say something. The truth hovers, just out of reach.
His mouth opens.
Closes.
The silence that follows is heavier than any answer he could’ve given.
You swallow. Your voice is quieter now, edged with something new.
“Is there something you’re not telling me?”
He freezes.
Not dramatic. Not loud. Just still.
Too still.
Your heart stutters.
“Chan,” you say, softer this time. “Look at me.”
He doesn’t.
Your chest tightens. Something cold settles where warmth once was.
“Look at me.”
Slowly, he lifts his head.
For a second, you hope something real might break through. That he’ll finally say what he’s been holding back for weeks.
But it doesn’t come.
Instead, what comes is smooth. Controlled.
Wrong.
“I already told you,” he says, voice steady in a way that feels practiced, like he’s said it before, maybe not to you, but to himself. “There’s nothing going on.”
For a fleeting second, his hand curls tighter around the edge of the table, knuckles pale. His gaze drifts toward the window, lingering on something out of sight, and for a moment his jaw twitches as if holding back words he can't quite let slip.
The words land, but they don’t settle.
Now you see it—the hesitation before he spoke, the way his jaw tightens after, as if he’s holding something back so tightly it hurts. There’s a version of this conversation somewhere else, one where he tells the truth.
But he doesn’t choose it.
Something shifts in your chest.
Not sharp. Not loud.
Just a quiet, sinking realization.
This isn’t just distance. This isn’t just stress.
This is hiding.
You nod, slow and delayed, as if your body is only now catching up to what your heart already knows.
“Okay,” you say.
The word feels thin as it leaves you.
Because it isn’t okay.
And somewhere between the way he won’t look at you and the way he chooses silence over honesty, something else settles in.
Not just hurt.
Not just confusion.
But the quiet, creeping understanding settles in—that whatever is between you now isn’t just yours anymore. You start to wonder if maybe something or someone else is tangled up in this, too. Maybe it is the pressures from his label, or people whispering in his ear. Maybe there is trouble with one of the members, or something with his family, or even shadows from the company always hanging over him. The uncertainty is sharp, making your mind spiral with possibilities.
Chapter Synopsis: Y/N realizes she's in love with Chan. Between confessions, laughter, and quiet moments, their bond deepens—but unspoken truths still linger, making the future feel both thrilling and uncertain.
Authors Note 💌: Hi Loves! Welcome to the fourth chapter of my new series. I hope you guys enjoy and as always thank you for the amazing support and love 🩷 reblogs, likes, and comments are appreciated (plz talk to me, I don't have any friends:)
If you want to be added to the taglist, please fill this form out. If you've already filled it out and your @ isn't included, please comment and I'll be sure to add you!
୨୧ ───────────────── ୨୧
The days drift past after meeting the boys. You replay the night in fragments: laughter echoing, Chan’s hand finding yours in the dark, the hush that fell when you spoke. For a while, you let yourself believe you belong. Then something shifts—quiet, unnamed—and the air between you and Chan grows thin, as if a window has opened somewhere, letting the warmth slip out.
Chan stays close, his smile bright but careful, as if he’s rehearsing it for someone else. There’s a hush inside him now, a quiet you can’t touch. Conversations unravel, his eyes drifting to his phone. You tell yourself it’s just work, just tiredness, but the explanation never settles. Sometimes he pulls you in, too quickly, as if he’s afraid you’ll slip away before he remembers how it feels to hold you.
You keep telling yourself it’s nothing—just exhaustion, nerves, the way life knots itself when you’re not looking. Still, worry grows, quiet and persistent, at the edges of your days. You watch him, tracing the lines on his brow, his gaze drifting somewhere you can’t follow. You try to remember the last time his hand felt like a promise, not a question.
Sometimes you reach for him and wonder if he feels the same ache, or if he’s already somewhere else. You miss the ease you once had, when laughter came without searching, when words didn’t hide. Still, you hold on, pretending it’s enough just to be near him, even as the silence presses in.
Confusion settles in, but Chan isn’t the only weight you carry.
Lately, your dad keeps finding reasons for you to see Chan. He calls, asks you to drop something at the JYPE building, and when you arrive, he’s already with Chan, leaving the room before you can hand him whatever it was. You wonder if it’s coincidence, or if there’s something he isn’t saying. Maybe he wants you and Chan together, or maybe he just wants to keep an eye on Chan for reasons you can't quite figure out.
There are times he lingers in the doorway, watching the two of you with a look you can’t decipher—pride, maybe, or calculation. You remember how he once said, almost offhand, that trust in this business is never simple. Maybe that’s what this is: his way of testing both of you. Or maybe there’s another reason for these small orchestrations, something he’s keeping close for now.
You try not to read into it, but the thought tugs at you, especially when you catch him watching you both, his eyes sharp and unreadable.
Sometimes you run into the boys: Han and Hyunjin are all easy smiles and hugs, making things feel almost normal with their jokes and teasing. Han would lean over the table, fingers drumming a restless rhythm, and grinning as he tosses a sly joke your way, but his gaze flickers to Chan every few minutes, searching Chan's face for a reaction; Han even leaned back, glancing between the two of you before nudging Chan's shoulder. His laughter lifts the energy, but his eyes always look for some unspoken answer in both of you.
Hyunjin would throw himself onto the couch beside you, flicking a stray lock of hair from his cheek. He’d tell a story about their latest dance practice, voice animated, making exaggerated faces. He'd laugh brightly, grabbing your wrist to reel you into his story, but the laughter comes softer when he'd catch your expression, offering you a quick squeeze on the arm. He often murmured things quietly, trying to convince you, or maybe everyone, that things will be okay.
The others are quieter now. Minho sits across the room, half-hidden by his phone. Sometimes you catch him watching. When your eyes meet, he nods and looks away, tension in his jaw.
Felix hovers over Chan, smiling warmly and giving an encouraging words. His gaze often found Chan, full of concern for his leader.
Seungmin and Jeongin sit on the floor, backs to the wall, talking in low voices. When you laugh at Han's joke, Seungmin glances up and offers a hesitant smile, while Jeongin, once the loudest, stays quiet, fiddling with his hoodie strings. When you meet Jeongin’s eyes, he looks away for a split second, a shadow crossing his face. Then he manages a small smile, but it doesn't reach his eyes—his gaze is always uncertain, as if he wants to say something but can't find the words. Their smiles feel practiced now, words measured.
You feel their eyes on you and Chan, glances flickering from the corners of the room. The warmth from that first night has faded, replaced by a hush you can’t quite name. It settles between you and them, a quiet shifting—loyalty, worry, something you can’t hold. Doubt lingers, soft and insistent, no matter how you try to brush it aside.
You don’t know who to turn to. Everyone you trust is tangled up with Chan, and the words you want to say catch in your throat. Maybe it would be easier to ask him, to let the questions spill out and see what’s left when the silence settles.
୨୧ ───────────────── ୨୧
You sat on the studio couch.
Studio dates had become a regular occurrence recently, Chan's become more tangled with work lately.
“Chris,” you pick at your nails.
He hums, not turning around to look at you. “Yeah?”
“Have you noticed how my dad’s been acting recently?”
Chan stills, the studio comes to a pause before he moves again, continuing to type on the keyboard of his computer. Chan has to clear his throat before he speaks, trying to gather himself. “Weird how?”
“He’s been pushy since he found out we're dating.” You glance up, pausing your movements of picking at your nails. “I don’t know, he’s just been weird.”
Chan hums, not offering an immediate response, his shoulders still tense.
“I’m sure he’s fine,” Chan mumbles after a beat.
You nod, but the movement barely registers. Your hand rests in your lap, still. The room feels colder, as if trust has slipped out quietly, leaving only the faint outline of what was there before. You think about asking him again, but the words dissolve somewhere between your chest and your mouth.
There’s a tiredness that settles in your bones. Not anger exactly—just the slow ache of wanting something you can’t name. It feels like waiting at a door that never opens. You watch his back as the space between you grows, silent and unmoving. You tell yourself it’s nothing, just nerves. But the thought rings hollow. For the first time, you wonder if holding on is just another way of letting go.
୨୧ ───────────────── ୨୧
The next night, you and Chan sit across from each other in a restaurant washed in low light. A single flower sits between you, petals catching the glow. Outside, the air is warmer than it should be, the sky clear. Laughter drifts from other tables, the sound of friends and couples folding into the night. It should feel perfect.
Chan pushes his fork through his pasta, slow and absent. His gaze flickers to you, then away. You keep your eyes on your plate, letting the quiet settle. Something uneasy lingers—a hollow space neither of you names.
He clears his throat, “We learned new choreo today.”
You glance up before looking back down at your plate, “Really?”
He hums nodding, “Han tripped over his feet a few times, almost planted into Minho’s back.” He laughs softly.
A small smile finds you, brief and uncertain. He exhales, as if that’s all he needed. "He'll get the hang of it."
Chan looks at you, silence filling the space between the two of you again.
“I’m sorry," he says softly.
Your eyes meet his, “What?” Your eyebrows are furrowed.
He clears his throat again, “I know things have been a little busy,” his phone buzzes.
He glances at it before looking at you again, “I’m trying to get back on track with—” his phone goes off again.
"Chan, just answer it," you try to make sure your voice isn't too harsh.
He picks up his phone, not mentioning that you called him 'Chan' instead of 'Chris.' His shoulders tense. The name on the screen is JYP. His thumb hovers over the answer button. You watch his jaw clench, a bead of sweat gathering at his temple. His gaze drops for an instant, eyes shadowed. His free hand curls tightly in his lap. For a moment, it looks like he wants to say something, but the words die before they reach his lips.
Inside, you sense his thoughts tumbling, a wildfire of worry behind his practiced calm. The conversation slips away, unfinished. You can’t shake the feeling that Chan is holding onto something he can’t say. The timing of these messages is always wrong, always interrupting, leaving a quiet question hanging in the air.
Once dinner's done, Chan pays. The two of you are walking to the restaurant entrance when you notice a group of people outside waiting, cameras in hand, some flashing already.
You look at Chan, confused, and he curses under his breath before gripping your hand.
“Chan—” you begin to say, but it’s too late, he’s already dragging you outside.
Cameras immediately flash around you. If it weren’t for his hand dragging you to the car, you would have tripped over your own feet.
Shouts from paparazzi and fans fill the crowded streets.
“Bang Chan over here!”
“Is that JYP’s daughter?”
“Bang Chan, are you two dating?”
“Y/N!” Someone yells your name.
Your heart slams against your ribs. You and Chan are almost to the car when someone yanks you from his grip—a girl, stunning and intense, brunette with big brown eyes locking onto yours. Panic flares, cold and electric, your hand still tingling from where Chan held you.
“What’re you doing with him?”
The camera's strobe flashes in your vision, dizzying, your mind buzzing with static. A grip clamps around your arm; your breath catches. Then you hear Chan, his voice strained but sharp, cutting through the chaos.
“Back off! Give her space.” He all but yells at the paparazzi and crazed fans.
His iron grip rips you from the crowd, quickly dragging you to the car and unlocking it. He throws the passenger door open and runs to the driver's side.
Upon entering the car, he immediately locks it, starts the engine, and peels out of the parking spot with ease.
Your heart thuds, too loud in the small space. You sit up straighter, one hand pressed to the dash, the other digging into the center console. The car feels smaller, thick with the noise neither of you can quiet.
Chan’s grip on the steering wheel is tight, his knuckles turning white. He mutters curses and ‘sorry’s’ under his breath.
“How’d they know we were there?” You ask, voice shaky. Your heart is pounding in your ears.
“I don’t know,” his voice is thick and harsh.
“Did someone call them?”
“I don’t know.”
“How did they know we were there, Chan?” Your voice rises.
“Fuck, Y/N, I don’t know!” He yells.
You both freeze. You stare at him with wide eyes as his face pales. He shakes his head, "I’m sorry. I’m sorry, baby, I just don’t know how the fuck any of this happened." His voice quivers, and there’s a rawness in his eyes, like he’s fighting to hold something back, struggling not to fall apart in front of you.
There is something underneath his words that you can almost reach, a secret trembling between you. You watch his hands tighten on the steering wheel, knuckles white as he looks anywhere but at you. He swallows, jaw clenched, as if the truth is pressing up hard against his teeth. For a moment, his gaze flickers to his phone, and you see something ripple across his face—panic, and then a shadow of resignation.
Something flickers across his face—a flash of guilt, maybe fear, as if he’s carrying a secret that might break free if he lets down his guard. You remember rumors you’ve heard before, the way Chan hesitates before speaking about management, the way he changes the subject when certain things come up. "I’m sorry," he whispers again, tears filling his eyes.
“Chan,” you whisper, voice full of empathy. 'You can’t think about yourself, he needs you too.' you remind yourself. “It’s okay.”
“Someone put their hands on you," his voice is raw, filled with so much guilt.
You shake your head, body slightly trembling from the adrenaline. “I’m fine.”
“Are you?” he snaps again, his eyes find yours before looking straight ahead that road.
୨୧ ───────────────── ୨୧
Chan drops you off and walks you to your apartment door. The two of you stand there, looking anywhere but at each other.
You swallow, voice barely more than a breath. "Everything’s going to be okay," you look up, searching his face for something to hold onto, some sign that the ground won’t give way beneath you. "Right?"
He looks down at you, guilt and pain flickering in his gaze, something colder underneath. He nods. "Yeah." His voice is thin, he swallows thickly.
You look up at him, desperation and heartbreak threading through your voice. "Call me tomorrow?"
He doesn’t answer, he offers the smallest nod. If you'd have blinked then you would've missed it. He steps closer, leans down, and presses a kiss to your forehead. His eyes squeeze shut, silent tears slipping down his face.
You close your eyes as his lips brush your forehead, the warmth lingering after he pulls away. When you open them, he’s already turning, his figure growing smaller with each step down the hallway.
Chapter Synopsis: When Chan invites Y/N over to meet the boys, he comes clean to his bandmates and best friends about the deal he made with their boss. While she steps into Chan and Jeongin's shared dorm, she's greeted into a world of warm, chaotic, friendship. But Chan carries a secret that shadows every smile and touch.
Authors Note 💌: Hi Loves! Welcome to the first chapter of the second act of the series. I hope you guys enjoy and as always thank you for the amazing support and love 🩷 reblogs, likes, and comments are appreciated (plz talk to me, I don't leave my house:)
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୨୧ ───────────────── ୨୧
“What?” You stare at Chan, who’s sat across from you, shock coursing through your body.
He smiles, clearly enjoying your panic. “I want you to meet the guys.”
You chew the piece of tteokkboki slowly, your eyes looking down at the table. “Like the guys...or the guys?”
Chan laughs, “They’re the same people, love.”
“I know, but they’re important to you,” You say softly, “I just don’t want to mess it up with them.”
“You won’t, besides, you’re my girlfriend, they should probably meet the one who keeps me distracted during schedules.” he glances up at you and notices your glare, he laughs.
It’s only been a little over a week since you and Chan started calling it real. He’d come to your door in the middle of the night, the hour when the world is quiet and you’re always awake. You remember the way he blurted it out, words tumbling over themselves, his voice catching on nerves he couldn’t hide. For a moment, your heart stopped, a twist of hope and fear pulsing together. You tried to steady yourself, caught between disbelief and giddiness, but what lingered beneath was an ache of longing—because if you lost each other now, you’d lose so much more than the excitement of something new. You’d lose trust, this fragile spark, the promise of being truly seen. You laughed, sharp and bright in the hush of the hallway, and for a heartbeat, it felt safe to say yes. He looked at you then, a soft, almost shy smile on his face, as if he was afraid the possibility might slip away. He had something to gain, too—someone who saw past everything expected of him, someone who could see him. And what he risked was just as sharp: the fear that you’d turn away if you ever truly understood him. You said yes, your cheeks aching from smiling, hands trembling with something that felt like hope. Later, you’d tease him about it, and he’d let you, but sometimes, when you miss him, you replay that night in your mind—the sound of his voice, the way the world seemed to pause, just for you.
You sigh, “You don’t think it’s too soon? To meet them, I mean.”
He furrows his eyebrows, “Do you?”
“I just don’t want to jinx us.”
Chan snorts out a laugh, “You’re not gonna jinx us by meeting my mates.” He reaches over, grabbing one of your hands. “Everything will be fine, it’s better sooner than later.”
“Why would it be better?” It’s your turn to be confused.
“The boys have been extra dramatic lately.” He says simply. “And by boys, I mean Hyunjin and Han.”
You laugh, looking at him as he takes another bite of tteokkboki. You sigh, “When?”
୨୧ ───────────────── ୨୧
The next day, Chan gathers the boys. Hyunjin and Han sit close on the long couch, Felix folded in beside Han, Minho leaning against Hyunjin’s shoulder. Seungmin curls into the lounge chair, Changbin and Jeongin cross-legged on the floor. Chan stands at the edge, watching them, the air heavy with something unspoken.
“So,” Seungmin starts, “Why are we all here?”
“Is this one of those family meetings?” Han asks, his eyebrows furrowed.
“You mean an intervention?” Hyunjin looks at Han, who nods, snapping his fingers.
“Yeah, that.”
Chan shakes his head, “No...but this is kinda important.”
All the boys stare at Chan, anticipating. Chan just stares back before clearing his throat. Why were his palms so sweaty? “Okay, so I may or may not be dating our boss’s daughter.”
“What?!” almost all the boys scream in unison, except Seungmin. “He has a daughter?”
“Yeah, he has a daughter,” Chan says.
“Wait, how’d you guys meet? She’s like never around.” Changbin asks.
Chan laughs softly, not a funny laugh but one underlined by unease. “So about that-”
Han cuts in, bouncing in his seat. “They met at JYP’s birthday party back in December. He originally wasn’t going to go for it, but then JYP said we needed to up our sales because we were losing a bunch of money, and they made a deal: Basically, Chan dates his daughter, JYP would put more effort and money behind pushing our music to up our sales. They would prioritize our comebacks and give us better opportunities, thereby boosting profits. So they’ve been going on all these dates, and he’s slowly been realizing that he’s in love with her, and now he kinda wants to cut the deal off.”
As Han says it, Chan feels a knot in his stomach. He hates that the beginning of all this was never about real feelings, only about pressure and doing what was best for the group. Every time he looks at you now, guilt digs a little deeper, reminding him that even though he never meant to hurt anyone, he can’t undo how things started. He wishes he could say he was proud of the decision, but mostly, he just wishes he had chosen differently. The relief he feels when he’s with you is always haunted by the fear of what will happen if you ever find out.
“Huh?!” All the boys, aside from Minho, Hyunjin, and Han, stare at Chan, eyes wide.
Chan glares at Han, “You didn’t have to dump it out like that.”
Han shrugs.
Felix nods a little, “Yeah, I think we’re gonna need the whole story.”
Chan tells them everything: how you met, the awkward first date, and even last night, when he asked you to meet them. The boys’ disappointment is quiet, settling in the way Seungmin looks away, in the hush that follows. No one asks if you know. They don’t need to. Chan’s eyes flicker to the floor, his hands restless. The secret sits between them, silent and heavy, changing the shape of the room.
“I know it sounds bad—”
“Sounds bad?” Changbin says.
“Dude, you’re stringing this girl along, and it’s not just any girl,” Felix chimes in.
“But I actually like her; the deal doesn’t really even matter anymore,” Chan says, slightly defensive.
“And, uh,” Minho leans forward. “Have you actually canceled this little deal yet?”
“Um, I,” Chan stumbles over his words. “I’m going to.”
Han nods, “Yeah, he said he was going to talk to JYP.”
“And is this before or after she finds out you’ve been using her?” Seungmin crosses his arms as he leans on the back of the lounge chair.
“Hopefully before,” Han looks at Seugnmin as if he’s the stupid one for asking the question.
Chan gives Seugnmin a look. “I’m not using her,” Chan says, his tone so sure. “Okay, maybe I was in the beginning, but for one, I was doing that for us as a team, and for two, I actually like her now.” Chan winces at his words.
“You’re kind of a dick, dude,” Jeongin says. “I honestly didn’t think you’d be capable of this,” he laughs in disbelief.
Chan shakes his head, choosing to ignore Jeongin's words. “Anyway, we’re serious now, and I want her to meet you guys.”
Changbin shakes his head, “Nuh-uh.” He points his finger at Chan, “You’re not dragging us into this messed-up game.”
It’s not a game,” Chan says, but the words land wrong, too loud in the hush. There’s a small shift then—your eyes narrow, just slightly, as if trying to read the meaning behind his insistence. For a split second, you wonder if you’ve missed something, a joke you don’t understand or a story he hasn’t told. The feeling hums at the edge of your awareness, a faint prickling between your shoulder blades. But before you can catch hold of it, Chan looks down, the room closing in around him. Guilt presses against his ribs, sharp and restless. He imagines your face if you knew, the way your eyes might shutter, the quiet that would follow. Fear settles in his hands, cold and unmoving. Sometimes, when your laughter drifts to him, or when you catch his gaze across a crowded room, he wonders if this is the last time. If you’ll turn away when the truth finally finds you. He wants to tell you, to let it spill out, but the words knot and tangle, caught somewhere deep.
“I really like her,” he says, voice barely above a whisper. “I know it didn’t start right. I wish it had. But she’s warm. She notices things no one else does. With her, the world softens. Sometimes I feel like I’m just another face, but then she looks at me, and everything else slips away. She makes me want to be better. It isn’t about the deal anymore. She’s the best thing that’s happened to me. When I’m with her, I forget who I’m supposed to be.”
The boys, even the three who knew about all of this beforehand, stare at Chan, shocked.
“Chan-ah,” Minho starts softly.
Seungmin lets out a small laugh, “You’re a pabo.”
“What?” Chan asks.
Felix shakes his head, a small smile on his face. “You’re in love.”
୨୧ ───────────────── ୨୧
Sleep slips away. Chan lies on his back, watching shadows drift across the ceiling. Restlessness pools in his bones. The question circles, quiet and insistent: is this what love feels like?
He’s watched you, quietly. The way your fingers worry at your nails when you’re nervous, how you pocket small stones from every place that matters. You complain about lens cleaner, saying it only makes things worse. He knows you—maybe better than he knows himself. He’s memorized the words you trip over, the way you laugh at your own mistakes. Sometimes you just lie beside him, listening to whatever song he plays, eyes on the ceiling, no phone, no distractions. He’s seen you call strangers pretty, never expecting anything back. He loves that. He remembers your handwriting, the way you smell—sweet, familiar, like home. He knows—oh. Oh.
He’s in love.
He is in love with you.
By morning, he sends the message: the boys want to meet you tonight. The words feel strange, as if they belong to someone else. Jeongin keeps glancing at him, unsettled by how much Chan is cleaning, even for him. The hours stretch thin. Chan checks the clock, again and again, nerves coiling tight in his chest. What if they don’t like you? What if you see through him? He rehearses what he’ll say, every version of tonight looping in his mind. The moment creeps closer, and he isn’t sure he’s ready.
You check your phone again, scrolling through Chan’s messages, wishing you’d said something different, something that didn’t sound so strange. Your hands are clammy, thumb hovering over his name before you lock the screen. Blue light flickers across your face. The room is thick with quiet, broken only by the radiator’s low hum. Each glance at the clock sends a rush through you—excitement tangled with dread, your heart too loud in the hush. Your fingers tap a nervous rhythm on the desk. What if they don’t like you? What if you say the wrong thing, or trip over your own feet? You replay introductions in your mind, voices borrowed from Chan’s stories. You change your outfit again, smoothing the fabric, wiping your palms on your jeans. Hope and fear knot together in your chest. All you can do is wait.
୨୧ ───────────────── ୨୧
You hesitate at his door, heart pounding. You fix your hair and adjust your shirt again and again. Too dressed up? Not enough? Does your makeup look okay? Did you remember deodorant? The questions tumble, restless and small.
Before you can second-guess yourself again, the door opens. Chan’s face, tense a moment ago, softens when he sees you. “Hey,” he says, and pulls you into his arms.
You immediately wrap your arms around him, “Hi,” you pause a little. “How did you know I was here yet?”
He shrugs into the hug, “Spidy senses.”
You snort as he pulls away, looking down at you with a smile. “Come on, they’re all waiting. I swear, Hyunjin and Han have been restless.”
He opens the door wider, and noise spills out—voices tangled, someone shouting. You step inside, glancing at Chan. He laughs, “They’re playing Mario Kart.”
You laugh softly, about to respond before being cut off by a loud voice.
“Is she here?” someone yells, voice filled with excitement. Running footsteps approach, and suddenly, Han is in view. He gasps and walks over to you — arms stretched out. He pulls you into a bone-crushing hug, “Oh my god. I literally have heard way too much about you.”
Your eyes widen, patting his back at an awkward angle since your arms are trapped beneath his. “It’s nice to meet you, too,” you let out a small laugh.
Chan shakes his head, “Yah, give her space.” Chan pulls Han off of you.
“I’ve had to endure you talking about her for the past few months. Let me have this moment,” Han glares at Chan but doesn’t make any effort to crowd your space again.
“Is she here, Han?” Hyunjin walks around the corner, and he meets your eyes. He smiles brightly, “I honestly was kinda thinking you were fake. I couldn’t really find any photos of you online.” He walks over and gives you a quick hug.
“Hyunjin,” Chan looks at him.
You laugh, “It’s fine.” You tell Hyunjin.
It takes nearly five minutes for you and Chan to make it past Han and Hyunjin and into the living room. The game pauses the moment you step inside.
Changbin is the first to stand, grinning as he pulls you into a sideways hug. “You're kinda crazy to want to date Chan.” His confidence is easy, unforced, and you find yourself smiling back, surprised at how quickly the nerves begin to slip away.
Felix bounces up next, eyes crinkling with a smile that feels like sunlight. He hugs you, warm and genuine. “It’s really nice to finally meet you,” he says, voice bright. His energy is contagious, and for a moment, you understand what Chan meant when he said Felix lights up a room. You laugh, relief blooming quietly in your chest.
Jeongin shifts, a little awkward, “Hi,” he says, a small smile flickering as his eyes dart away, then back. The gesture is quiet, careful. He fidgets with his hoodie. You recognize the nerves in him, something familiar, and offer your best smile in return.
Seungmin and Minho raise their eyebrows in greeting, nodding with the smallest of smiles. Minho’s smirk is almost a challenge. “It’s a good thing you’re here. We need another good player.”
Seungmin’s voice is dry. “Hope you have thick skin. Han and Hyunjin are the worst winners and losers out of all of us.” They’re harder to read, but their glances say enough—they’re watching out for Chan. You nod back, cautious, wanting them to see you mean well.
Seungmin raises an eyebrow, something hidden behind his eyes. “So where did you guys meet again?”
You smile, eyes glinting. “Oh, we met at my dad's birthday party.”
Seungmin hums, “And you guys just started hanging out like that?”
You nod, forcing a laugh. “Kinda, yeah.”
Seungmin nods, lips pursed. Minho glances at Seungmin — catching his eyes, you notice the look they give each other before Seungmin speaks again. “Interesting,” he holds your gaze for a beat.
Changbin shakes his head, clearing his throat. “Don’t mind him. He’s just upset because he doesn’t get Chan’s attention as much anymore.”
The room erupts in laughter, voices tumbling over each other, and Chan glares at Seungmin, who stares back, anger flickering in his eyes. Anger because every boy in this room knows what Chan is doing to you, behind your back, and can still see how good you are.
Across the room, Minho forces a tight smile, fingers drumming restlessly against his knee. He is always the first to call people out, but this time he bites his tongue, his loyalty to Chan fighting his discomfort about the secret.
Beside him, Felix's laughter fades just a little too soon, his eyes darting to Chan with something like worry. Guilt pinches at the corners of his smile; Felix hates dishonesty, and keeping this from you feels wrong, yet he stays quiet for his friend’s sake.
Jeongin keeps laughing, but there's a nervous edge to it, his hands tightening around the controller. He avoids your gaze, not trusting himself to keep the secret if you ask him something directly.
Han bites his lip, gaze flickering between you and Chan. His leg bounces incessantly, torn between his affection for you and his deep loyalty to Chan. Han dislikes being in the middle, but worries the truth will hurt you both even more if it stays hidden.
For a moment, all the boys are caught between wanting to protect you and knowing it's not their place to say a word. Each of them carries the weight of it differently: frustration, guilt, anxiety, or silent resignation. It hangs between them now, invisible but thick as smoke.
You don’t notice the tension in Chan’s shoulders or the sharp look Seungmin gives your boyfriend. What you do notice is that, for the first time tonight, you feel the edges of belonging, the possibility that you might fit here after all.
Maybe tonight won’t be as hard as you feared.
୨୧ ───────────────── ୨୧
You glance at the screen, then back at them. “Okay, wait—are we actually playing or just arguing about playing?”
“Both,” Changbin says.
“At the same time,” Felix adds.
“That sounds stressful,” you mumble.
“It is,” Jeongin nods.
Han scoots over on the couch, patting the spot next to him. “Sit, sit—before Hyunjin picks something annoying again.”
“I heard that,” Hyunjin says, already scrolling through characters.
“That’s the point,” Seungmin mutters.
You sit, tucking your legs in a little as you balance the soda in your hand. “I feel like I’m being thrown into something.”
“You are,” Minho says.
“Great.”
“What character do you use?” Han asks, already leaning too close.
“Um… usually Yoshi?”
Han gasps. “Safe choice.”
“What does that even mean?” you laugh.
“It means you don’t want problems, you stick with what you’re comfortable with,” he says.
“You got all that from a character? Maybe she just likes Yoshi, Han.” Felix says.
Hyunjin clicks his tongue. shaking his head. “No, it says a lot.”
“It says nothing,” Chan cuts in.
Seungmin snorts quietly.
“Okay, but,” you say, looking back at the screen. “Who’s actually good?”
A beat.
Then everyone starts talking at once—
“Me—”
“Not him—”
“Definitely not Chan—”
“Yah—”
You blink, then laugh, shaking your head. “So, I’m assuming not Chan then?”
“Exactly,” Minho says.
Han hands you a controller. “You’ll figure it out.”
“Yeah,” Jeongin adds, “just don’t trust anything he says,” he nods to Han. “He’s a schemer.”
“Why is everyone against me today?” Han frowns.
“It’s fun,” Seungmin says.
“You literally lost the last round,” Changbin adds.
“I was sabotaged.” Han furrows his eyebrows in defense.
“You drove into a wall.”
“It was trying to throw you guys off.”
You laugh under your breath. Felix nudges your shoulder, his smile easy. “Don’t worry, you’ll do just fine.” You nod, a small smile blooming.
You glance over at Chan for a second. His eyebrows are furrowed as he looks down at his phone. He glances up and sees you looking at him.
You hold his gaze for a beat, questions flooding your eyes, but you ignore it. You promised you wouldn’t doubt him anymore. You shake the thoughts, smiling a little more genuinely as you look at him.
He smiles back, a little slower, and the tiniest bit of relief fills his body.
“Yah,” Seungmin says suddenly, not looking away from the screen. “Pay attention. You’re going to lose.”
You turn to the screen, fingers curling around the controller. Chan keeps watching you, his gaze soft yet filled with something else. Beside him, Minho bumps his shoulder, gently.
He leans in, “She’s good for you,” he whispers softly.
For a moment, Chan goes still.
୨୧ ───────────────── ୨୧
Later that night, Chan offers you a place to stay. Jeongin groans, but you say yes.
It’s 2 a.m. Chan is still awake, his gaze tracing your back, now wrapped in one of his shirts. He didn’t want you to sleep in something uncomfortable, so he handed you an old white t-shirt, soft and a little too big. He’d gotten a text from JYP, another update on profit increase. It was small but still better than it was.
Minho’s words echo: she’s good for you. Simple, true, and somehow it unsettles him. You are good for him, and that’s the problem. You still don’t know about your father, about the deal. It won’t matter how real this feels when the truth comes out. Guilt burns in his stomach, sharp and constant. In the dark, he turns the question over and over: does he tell you now, or keep pretending it might stay hidden a little longer?
Part of him wants to let it spill, to be free of it, but something holds him back. He watches your breathing, steady and soft, and wonders if he’s brave enough to risk it. The way you trusted him tonight, the way you smiled at him, clings to him long after the lights go out. He knows all it might take is one unexpected question from you or the boys—a single moment where the truth nearly slips out—for everything to unravel. Maybe tomorrow. Maybe soon. The thought settles over him: he can't keep this buried, not when you're starting to let him all the way in. Would he still have you like this? Unguarded, content. Happy.
You rolled over in your sleep, facing Chan. You slowly opened your eyes, expecting Chan to be asleep, but the moonlight peeked through, and you saw his eyes open, blinking softly as he looked at you.
“You’re still awake?” you whisper to him.
He hums, not fully responding.
You stare at him, “You okay?”
He hums again, and you laugh softly. “I’m gonna need more than some hums, Chris.”
He smiles soflty, almost forced. “Nothing, just can’t sleep.”
“And why’s that?”
He shrugs, “My head just won’t stop thinking.”
You furrow your eyebrows.
“Nothing bad,” he lies, but he’s quick with it. So quick that you don't even catch the way his voice trembles slightly and how his hand clenches. “You were good with the guys tonight. They really liked you.”
“Well,” you smile softly. “I’m glad I didn’t make a fool of myself.”
He shifts closer, hand at your waist, fingers tracing the loose fabric. There’s a quiet warning in your chest, a sense that something is off, but the words to reach him slip away. For a moment, you wonder if you’ve said something wrong, or if he’s holding back words he can’t give.
His smile is gentle in the moonlight, but a shadow flickers in his eyes, and you shiver. You want to ask, but the question catches in your throat. The room feels colder. You study his face, searching for a crack in his calm, something left unsaid. Suddenly, you remember a moment from earlier in the night, his hand pulling away just a beat too fast when Han made a joke, the way he laughed, but didn't quite meet your eyes. There’s a small crease at his brow that he only gets when he’s holding something back.
Doubt stirs, sharp and unwelcome. You replay his words, wondering if there is something you're missing. Underneath it all, your chest tightens as fear and hope mix together, leaving you caught in a strange limbo. Is it just nerves that make everything feel so fragile, or is something slipping through your fingers without you noticing? You want to trust him, to believe in this fragile happiness, but confusion gnaws at the edges. For a moment, you wish he would just tell you whatever it is that sits between you. The feeling lingers, restless, refusing to leave.
Chan’s gaze meets yours, silent and searching. For a moment, his eyes soften, and the worry slips away. But it doesn’t last. He remembers the promise he made to Han, the conversation he still owes JYP. But what’s done is done. It was too late the moment he said yes.
“Ya know,” he whispers, his eyebrows a little furrowed. “You’re kinda becoming my favorite person.”
“Kinda?” you joke slightly, but you notice the strange look on his face.
He hums, “You are. You are my favorite person.”
Your heart stutters, you smile softly. “Don’t let Seungmin hear that.”
He snorts softly, tensing a little at the mention of his member’s name.
You smile at the sound, reaching up to rest your hand on his cheek, and your thumb traces his skin. “If it means anything, you’re kinda my favorite person.”
Chapter Synopsis: Y/N realizes she's in love with Chan. Between confessions, laughter, and quiet moments, their bond deepens—but unspoken truths still linger, making the future feel both thrilling and uncertain.
Authors Note 💌: Hi Loves! Welcome to the fourth chapter of my new series. I hope you guys enjoy and as always thank you for the amazing support and love 🩷 reblogs, likes, and comments are appreciated (plz talk to me, I don't have any friends:)
If you want to be added to the taglist, please fill this form out. If you've already filled it out and your @ isn't included, please comment and I'll be sure to add you!
୨୧ ───────────────── ୨୧
Chan eventually walks out to stand next to you. He slips his hand effortlessly on your waist as he comes to a stop next to you. You don’t flinch; he feels you relax in his arms. He watches you watch the fireworks.
You glance at him and notice his stare, “You’re missing the fireworks.”
“But if I looked away, I’d be missing you.”
You let out a breath that almost sounds like a laugh, “You can’t just say things like that.”
He smiled, turning his gaze to the fireworks. You watched him instead—the line of his nose, the softness of his mouth, the way his lashes caught the light. He was beautiful in a way that made your chest ache. You hadn’t known what was missing until he filled the space, made you feel seen, precious. For a moment, you let yourself believe you were rare, and he was the only one who could find you. The feeling had been there all along, quietly growing. You realized then what you’d been feeling earlier that morning.
love.
You were falling in love with Bang Chan.
You were falling in love with Chan.
You were in love with Chris.
You pause as you look at him; he somehow notices the shift. He looks down at you, “What?” with a small smile on his face.
You swallow thickly, eyes held on his, you shake your head softly. “Nothing.” You breathe in, “I just want to thank you.”
“Thank me? You’ve thanked me twice for dinner alre-”
“No, not that. I mean, thank you for that, but not that. Thank you for being here. For seeing me.”
He turns to face you fully, and you face him back. “I’ve spent so much of my life looking for ways to fit in, to be seen by someone other than my father, or be a part of some scheme for someone else’s benefit.” You smile softly, “I just-I want you to know that this means a lot to me; that you mean a lot to me.”
Chan swallows, his heart beating so hard in his chest that he can feel it in his throat.
“You said earlier that you don’t want to date me because of what I can offer, but because of who I am.” You nod softly, “I still don’t see what you see in me,” you let out a breathy laugh. “But I know that when I’m with you, there’s no awkward silence, no second-guessing where I stand in every conversation.”
Chan stares at you, his eyes soft. Shock, guilt, joy, love, everything flooding his system at once.
“But I also kinda owe you an apology.”
Chan furrows his eyebrows, “You have nothing to apologize for.”
“I do,” you glance over at where the fireworks are still going off. “I questioned you a lot during the time that I’ve known you. I may not have been direct about it, but I did...I still somewhat do.”
Chan’s heart sinks at your words, guilt overcoming him. You had every reason to doubt him, every single reason, and you didn’t even know that half the stuff you questioned him about was almost all true.
“You’ve proved me wrong, Chris. A lot. So I’m sorry.”
He shakes his head, "You have every reason to question me," he says softly. "Things happened fast, but that doesn’t mean I regret it." But he does, in ways he can’t admit. He regrets how it started, how open you are, how you’re apologizing for doubting him.
Under the soft colors of the fireworks, a flicker of guilt crosses his face, so quick you almost miss it. There’s a part of him that aches to tell you everything, as if confession might bring relief, but fear knots his tongue. Memories crowd his mind: the agreement made before he ever texted you, the promise whispered in a manager's office, the way your father's hopes had pulled subtle threads between all his choices since the beginning.
He wonders if you’d take the apology back when you find out the truth, and whether the secret sitting heavy behind his ribs will change everything. Deep down, a single thought circles: if you knew that his first message to you was never only his idea, would any of this feel the same? Some truths, he tells himself, are too tangled to speak aloud. Not yet.
You look up at him, “I don’t regret it either.”
୨୧ ───────────────── ୨୧
By the time Chan dropped you off at your apartment and headed into the studio to distract himself, it was almost 2 am.
Chan sat hunched over the mixing console, notebook open and pages crowded with restless handwriting. Piano chords filled his headphones, the melancholy notes echoing something he couldn’t quite name.
The keys were so loud that he hadn’t heard Han walk into the studio. He’d called out to Chan three times before finally putting a hand on his shoulder. Chan jumped, throwing the headphones off.
“Jesus, Han.” Chan put a hand over his heart, as if that’d calm him down.
“Sorry,” Han says, looking at Chan with concern. “I called you a few times, and you didn’t hear me.”
Chan mumbles that it’s fine, and Han takes a seat next to the older boy. “What’s going on with you?”
Chan shakes his head, “Nothing.”
Han hums, not believing him.“How’d your date go with JYP Jr.?”
“First off, her name is Y/N,” Chan says, his full focus on the younger member. “Second, it was good.”
“Just good?” Han raises an eyebrow.
“Yes.”
“Really?”
“Yes.”
“Actually?”
Chan and Han look at each other, holding each other's gaze. The heavy silence stretches, just long enough for Han to smirk and wiggle his eyebrows. "You sure you two didn’t elope and forget to invite us?" he teases, nudging Chan with his elbow.
Chan can't help the faint smile tugging at his lips before he finally breaks, sinking back into the chair. "Okay, no, it was perfect. She’s perfect, which makes all of this so much more fucked up."
Han grins, shaking his head. "You sound like Hyunjin when he lost his AirPods—absolutely tragic. Should I call Minho and tell him you finally lost it?" Chan lets out a reluctant laugh, the familiar warmth of his members' teasing settling over him.
A beat later, the studio door creaks open, and Hyunjin pokes his head in, drawn by the commotion. "Oh? Are we gossiping about Chan's love life again?" Minho isn't far behind, already rolling his eyes but with a crooked smile.
Hyunjin drops onto the couch, tossing a knowing look Chan's way while Minho sits on the armrest, arms folded. "He hasn't shut up about her," Hyunjin says to Han, "Every time his phone dings, he acts like he got called up by the president."
Han snorts, and Minho adds, "At least now his love songs are less Fifty Shades of Grey. She must be good for him."
There's a gentle camaraderie in the room, everyone quietly rooting for Chan, even in their teasing. When Chan glances around at his friends, the relief and solidarity soften something inside him. In their own chaotic ways, the others rally around him, making him feel like whatever happens next, he won't be facing it alone.
Han watches his leader, eyes soft. “You really like her.” It wasn’t a question; he could see right through Chan. He’d seen how he was in his last relationship, but somehow everything was amplified when it came to you.
Chan nods.
Minho lets out a breath, “So be honest with her.”
Chan’s eyes widen, “What? I can’t do that.”
“Chan, you’ll only be hurting her more if you drag this lie out further,” Hyunjin says softly, “And if there’s one thing I’ve learned since you’ve begun this whole thing, it’s that you don’t want to hurt her.”
“She’ll hate me.”
“Maybe...but I don’t think she’d have stuck around after the night you met if she didn’t think you were going to be worth a fight.” Han fidgets with his hands a little.
Chan looks at Han, completely shocked at the boy's words. He’d never seen Han so sure of anything before. It gave him hope that maybe, just maybe, everything would work out for the better. You’d know the truth and still stay in his life. “Fine, but I’ll have to talk to Jin-young.”
They spend the next hour looking at what Chan’s been working on. The three other boys may or may not have made fun of Chan for being all lovey-dovey and cryptic all at the same time.
Alone in bed, morning pressing at the window, Chan realized how much lighter everything felt with you in his life. Breathing, speaking, even thinking—it all came easier, as long as he knew you were there. Yet beneath that ease, a familiar ache stayed with him, quietly gnawing at his chest. He wondered when he would finally tell you the truth, and if the trust you’d given him could survive it. Fear crept in, but so did hope, threading through the uncertainty like gold through darkness. Some part of him believed you might still reach for him, even after everything, and he found himself wanting to be worthy of that. As his eyes drifted shut, a quiet promise settled in his heart: he would hold onto this growing love, nurture it, and fight for the future flickering just out of reach. He was falling, faster than he ever had before, and for once the prospect didn’t scare him—it felt like hope.
Chapter Synopsis: As things between Y/N and Chan begin to deepen, both struggle to stay out of each other's thoughts. Through quiet moments, late-night calls, and a Lunar date, their connection grows into something more real - and more dangerous. Y/N opens up about her past and insecurities, Chan measures her in ways no one else ever has. But while she begin to trust him, Chan struggles with the hidden truth behind how this all began. By end of the night, one thing becomes clear to the two of them; this isn't casual anymore and it might already be too late to turn back.
Authors Note 💌: Hi Loves! Welcome to the third chapter of my new series. I hope you guys enjoy and as always thank you for the amazing support and love 🩷 reblogs, likes, and comments are appreciated (plz talk to me, I don't have any friends:)
If you want to be added to the taglist, please fill this form out. If you've already filled it out and your @ isn't included, please comment and I'll be sure to add you!
୨୧ ───────────────── ୨୧
He lingered in your mind long after you closed your apartment door, the echo of his arms around you still warm on your skin. It was almost embarrassing, how quickly he’d become a part of you—how safe you felt, without him even trying. Each morning, you woke with his name on your lips, half-expecting him to appear if you whispered it softly enough. At night, you carried him into your dreams, hoping he’d meet you there so the waiting wouldn’t feel so endless.
Chan’s messages arrived at odd hours, a little bolder each time. Blurry selcas from the studio, Hyunjin making hearts in the background, Han flashing a peace sign—small snapshots of their world, sent just for you. Sometimes he slipped in inside jokes, the kind only you would catch: a complaint about Felix stealing his hoodies, a note about his favorite spicy ramen, even though he couldn’t handle the heat. He started calling more than texting, finding pockets of time between rehearsals, as if your voice steadied him. There were moments he’d ask your dad about you, and your dad—contrary to what most believed—seemed delighted, almost too amused.
Your dad saw the shift before you did—the way your shoulders loosened, how your smile slipped out without effort, how your eyes darted to your phone at every vibration. You found yourself reaching out, words spilling in a way they hadn’t since childhood. Later, your dad sent Chan a message: 'I’m not sure what you’re doing, but keep doing it.' Gratitude, quiet and steady, settled somewhere deep, lingering long after the words faded.
Chan’s anxiety lingered, but something in him eased. The others—Minho, Hyunjin, Han—noticed the shift, the guilt that once pressed heavily was now lighter, almost bearable. When your name appeared on his phone, his shoulders relaxed, just a fraction. Even JYP’s sudden arrivals didn’t shake him the way they used to. The boys agreed, quietly, that you were good for him. Maybe he’d needed that, even if he hadn’t realized.
୨୧ ───────────────── ୨୧
You visited your dad the night before the Lunar New Year. He’d insisted, knowing you’d be busy for the holiday. You hadn’t said much, but something in you sensed he already knew what you’d be doing, maybe even who you’d be with.
In the kitchen, you leaned against the island, your two little sisters perched beside you. You fed them strawberries, eating a few yourself, while your dad chopped vegetables for dinner.
He glances over his shoulder at the three of you before looking back down at the cutting board. “So...”
You glance up at your dad’s tone, “What?” you ask as your sisters dig their hands in the bowl holding the cut-up strawberries. “What’s that tone?” you laugh softly.
Your dad glances again, “It seems one of my idols had taken a liking to you.” He smiles at you with a raised eyebrow.
Your cheeks flush immediately, your neck heating up. You force out a nervous laugh, “Really?”
Jin-young nods, a smile on his face. “I’m happy for you two. I mean Chan needs someone to make him relax more, and you, well, you’ve been...brighter lately.” His words were full of sincerity.
Your heart stuttered at the mention of Chan. The words meant more than you could say—enough to make you want to cry, though you weren’t sure why. Maybe it was the hope you’d been holding onto, the quiet prayers for proof that this was real, not some beautiful illusion or a dream you’d wandered into by mistake.
“Well,” you stand up straighter, “I am happy.”
He smiles at you, “Good, that’s all I want.”
୨୧ ───────────────── ୨୧
Morning crept in, gold spilling through the curtains, painting your small loft in soft lines. You woke from dreams of him, a fullness in your chest edged with emptiness. It was hard to tell if the ache came from wanting something impossible or from realizing it might already belong to you.
Chan woke with a familiar knot in his stomach, reaching for his phone before his eyes had even opened. No message from you yet. You filled his thoughts, pushing everything else aside, and he couldn’t seem to stop it. The wanting was restless, almost sharp, but he let it linger.
He didn’t know how to quiet his mind, how to move through the day without you pressing in at the edges. Once, he almost messaged JYP to call everything off—he didn’t need a reason to want you anymore, and that was the part that unsettled him most. Still, he remembered what Minho had said. He’d made his choice, and he wasn’t the type to leave when things got tangled.
He was grateful for the day off, for the space to let his nerves settle and anticipation gather. The thought of seeing you again—just holding your hand—blurred everything else. It frustrated him, how deeply you’d settled inside him, how impossible it was to shake you loose.
He managed only three hours of sleep, tossing and turning, staying up too late, distracting himself with a new track that sounded suspiciously like a love song. He sent you a simple good morning, told you to be ready by five, and reminded you to wear something a little nicer.
When his name appeared on your screen, your heart tripped over itself. The rush was dizzying, too much and not enough. You tried to fill the hours until evening with anything that might quiet your nerves, but nothing really worked. This felt different—sharper, more real—than the first time you met him, or the easy comfort of late-night calls.
By 4:30, you were ready. The cherry-red dress skimmed your skin, ribbon soft against your collarbone. Sheer tights for the lingering cold, gold rings on your fingers, a bracelet catching the light. Your hair fell smoothly down your back, ends curling just so. Everything felt simple, intentional—enough to say you cared, but not so much it looked like you were trying.
Chan texted just as you finished, asking if he could be a little early. You cursed yourself for not needing more time. You told him to wait a few minutes, slipped on your heels and jacket, grabbed your purse and phone, and rushed out, locking the door behind you.
You paused at the elevator, then again at the front doors, nerves prickling under your skin. Still, you stepped out into the evening. His car stood out, sleek and out of place. He was already out, waiting, and your smile slipped out before you could stop it. Across the street, his heart stuttered as he saw you.
Once you’re in front of him, he wraps his arms around you. “Hey,” he says with a smile, his ears slightly red. “Happy New Year.”
You hug him back, smiling into his neck. “Happy New Year.”
As you pull away, you notice the two of you matching. He wore a maroon-red silk suit, a black undershirt, and dress shoes. “We totally look like a couple,” you say without thinking as you gesture to his outfit.
His cheeks redden, his smile bigger.
Your eyes widen as you realize what you said, “I didn’t mean-”
He laughs, “We make a good couple then.”
Your cheeks redden, he turns and opens the passenger door. “We should go; I don’t need any fans seeing me with such an exceptional woman.”
“Flatterer,” you murmur, sliding into the passenger seat. Through the window, you catch the shape of his smile as he circles the car. Your heart trips over itself, almost annoyed at how easily he unsettles you in the best way possible.
He slips into the driver’s seat, and you face him as you buckle yourself into his car. “Where are we going?”
He laughs softly, “This is giving me deja vu.” He starts the car, “I made reservations at Bicena.”
You stare at him with wide eyes, “Bicena? Chris, that place is expensive.”
He glances over at you as he begins to drive. “You’ve been?”
“It’s expensive, of course, I haven’t been there.”
He furrows his eyebrows, “Your dad talked about it quite a bit when he went a while back.”
“I didn’t go with him.” You stare out the window, pulse quickening at the thought of what tonight might cost—not just in money, but in what you might risk by letting yourself enjoy it. The idea of accepting something this extravagant, letting Chan spoil you, feels both exhilarating and unsettling. You wonder if taking this step will mean risking your guarded heart, letting him see the softer parts of you that long for love and celebration.
Blinker on, he glances over at you, a proud smile on his face. "Well, this isn't simple. It's a date, and it’s Lunar New Year's, and an early celebration of your graduation from university." He glances at you again, pride evident in his features. "You deserve to celebrate properly."
You roll your eyes, glancing at him. Though your annoyance is clearly fake with the small grin plastered on your lips, “Now you’re just trying to find reasons to convince me to go.”
He shrugs, “Maybe, but we’re still going no matter what.”
He reaches for your hand, squeezing it three times—steady, certain. You realize, quietly, that this is going to be a long road.
୨୧ ───────────────── ୨୧
Chan’s hand found yours as you stepped into the restaurant, unhurried, unhidden. He moved through the room as himself, not shielding you from curious eyes. The openness unsettled you, but there was beauty in it, too.
The host, a younger man, shows you to your private table, away from others’ dining. Chan pulls your chair out for you and helps you in before sitting across from you.
“I don’t even know how these places work,” you laugh lightly, a little embarrassed.
Chan smiles at you, “It’s okay, I don’t really enjoy these kinds of places much. Too much happening.”
“Why’d you pick it then?”
He looks at you, gaze softening. “You deserve it.”
You looked at him, words caught somewhere between your chest and your throat, unable to move.
He turns his gaze to the menu, “Do you like red wine?” He glances up, and you have to force yourself to nod.
The waiter comes to the table with a smile on his face, a cart being pulled behind him, full of the welcome starters, and says, “Welcome to Bicena, I’ll be your server for this evening. Can I get you guys started on any of our alcohol selection?”
The two of you smile at the waiter. Chan nods, “We’re interested in the...”
You watched him speak to the waiter, the world fading to a hush. The way red suited him, the line of his jaw, the quiet confidence in his voice—it felt unreal, as if someone had carved him from memory and longing.
The waiter leaves, and Chan looks at you. You blink, eyes dropping to your lap. A quiet sigh escapes, a smile tugging at your lips before you can stop it.
“What?” Chan asks with a smile on his own face, yours having caused his.
You shake your head, “I don’t know if I like you or the places you take me.”
He laughs softly, “You mean the little restaurant owned by an older woman who reminds me of my mother, and then this place with way too many fork options?” He shakes his head, “You like me...when did that happen?”
“I liked that little restaurant.” You laugh a little. “I think when you showed up, and you didn’t cancel on me.”
He hums, “It’s what I do best, showing up for the people I care about.”
You nod, “You do. No hesitation, no fear.”
He tilts his head, “Why should I be scared to care about you?”
You swallow softly, “It’s not just that. It’s all of this. The dinners, you picking up the bill, driving me around. You’re investing a lot in me.”
He looks around, the warm lighting making his dark eyes gleam. “I just want our dates to be romantic.”
“How expensive or cheap a meal is makes the date romantic?”
“Doesn’t it?”
You furrow your eyebrows, looking at him.
“When we first met,” he starts, hands folded in his lap. “You’d asked if knowing that your dad was my boss would make a difference. Does it?” He asks you gently.
“Does it what?”
“Does it make a difference that your dad is my boss?”
You lick your lips, shrugging a little. “I don’t know. Does it?”
He stares at you, you stare back. Your hands are in your lap as you lean against the back of your chair. “I won’t lie, I’ve been a little,” you pause, trying to find the right word. “On edge, skeptical since you’ve come into my life.”
Chan’s heart drops to his stomach, but it doesn’t show. He just tilts his head and asks why.
“You came into my life out of nowhere. We met at my dad's birthday party, and then the next day you’re texting me.”
He nods, heart thumping in his chest. “So why does that make you skeptical?”
“Because you work for my dad, maybe you need something from him.” You purse your lips a little before looking down and laughing a little. “It sounds paranoid, I know. I just... I've seen people try to get close before, all friendly smiles and borrowed affection, and it always ends with them needing something only my dad could give.”
If his heart didn’t already feel like it was in his stomach, it might as well have been ripped from his chest. Things were adding up for him, your words only further proving that when you found out about all of this, you’d be a wreck. He could almost feel the space widening between what he wanted to tell you and what he was allowed to say. As you spoke, a single phrase echoed in his mind—the reason he’d first reached out, the promise that still pressed at the edges of every moment with you. He wondered if you would ever forgive the one thing about your story that he had never made his own choice in. That secret pulsed quietly inside him, desperate for daylight, even as he forced himself to stay silent.
You continue softly,”Once, when I was fourteen, a girl in my class suddenly wanted to be my best friend. She showed up at my place every weekend, joined all our family dinners, always talking about how lucky I was. I thought she really wanted to get to know me, but then I found out she’d been asking my dad for backstage passes and introductions to the artists he worked with. He thought I was going with her to these things, that’s why he did it so willingly.”
“After that, the texts stopped. There was another time, not that long after I came to live with my dad, when a caretaker at the orphanage started calling my dad all the time, giving him advice on how to be a good parent, all in hopes that he’d make it in the industry if he was helpful to my dad.”
Chan listened silently. His eyes never wandered; they were solely on you.
“I started to feel like an opportunity instead of a person. Sometimes I wonder if I built this wall so high because I had to, or if I’m just scared of being fooled again.” The low murmur of the restaurant swells around you, the faint clink of glasses and the distant laughter making me feel alone even across this candlelit table.
“It's hard to believe someone wants me for myself, not because of who adopted me, or the doors only I can help open.” The table is cool beneath your palms, and through the window, the city glows in blurred halos. My chest aches, tight with memories, and the taste of longing is bitter at the back of my throat.
Chan looks at you, he stares, taking you and all your beauty in, worried this might be the end. He’s already thinking of what he’d tell your dad, already calculating how many hours he’d work extra just to keep his mind off of you. He watches as you lean forward, elbows resting on the table.
“But then you took me out on our first date. You took me somewhere meaningful to you and asked me questions about myself like you were genuinely interested.”
“I am.” He says quickly.
“I know.” You say just as fast.
Silence fills the space between you. The waiter comes back with the opened wine, pouring it into the wine glasses that were set on the table when the two of you’d arrived. He places the specials on the table, briefly explaining the items, sensing the shift in tone, and quickly walks away.
Chan looks at you, “So are you still nervous? Skeptical?”
“Yeah,” your voice is soft, heart pounding in your chest.
“Why?”
“Because you could do so much better than me.”
He raises an eyebrow, tilting his head. “Can I?”
You raise your eyebrows now, a silent ‘are you kidding me’ look. “Chris, you know you can. In the world we live in, there are hundreds of women and men fawning over you, publicly and privately. If they don’t know you, then there are people out there praying to meet a man like you. You’re like a unicorn.”
He lets out a laugh before he can stop it, “A unicorn?”
You nod, “You are an impossible fantasy. All of the boys in your group are unicorns. The reason why so many people can’t lower their expectations is that, against all odds, no matter how shocking it is, men like you do exist.”
Chan looks down, “I’m sure there's something wrong with me.”
You shake your head softly, a small smile on your face. “You’re perfect.”
Chan looks at you as you continue, “You’re smart, you have ideal income, the dream job, ideal lifestyle.” You look at him, eyes softened. “You’re good-looking, you have a great body, you’re charming, and kind. But it's more than that. You care deeply about people, you notice the little things, and you make everyone around you feel understood. You’re resilient, too, even when things get tough. You have empathy for people most would overlook, and I admire how you never turn away from someone who needs help.”
“Maybe I’m just a good person,” he says softly.
You hum, nodding. “Maybe, but you can take a girl to any place, fancy or not, and not even blink when the bill is handed to you. You don’t have a drug habit, alcohol addiction, or sleep with random women when you’re bored.” You look at his outfit, “You even know how to dress.” You shake your head, “You have taste. You are a 10/10. A complete package.”
Chan watched you, eyes gentle, a faint line between his brows.
“So, I don’t know why you’re trying to throw it all away on someone like me.”
That hurt him more than he’d like to admit. Because not only is it not true, but he can’t admit that he wants you deeper than the deal ran through. Chan shakes his head, scoffing a little. “And what’s someone like you?”
You shrug, “I don’t know. I’m younger than the woman you could be dating, which means we’re on two completely different paths of life right now. The things I’ve yet to experience, you probably have gone through twice. I’m still in college, barely even starting my career. And as much as I would love to be a mom, I’m not ready for kids.”
“You think I am?” he laughs softly, trying to lighten the mood.
You shake your head. "I was born poor, raised in an orphanage until I was eight, until this man with money and a dream to be a father walked in and chose me. Even with an amazing dad, I’m terrified he’ll wake up one day and realize he made a mistake." Your hands twist under the table, knuckles white, breath caught somewhere between your chest and throat. Heat rushes to your cheeks, shame prickling along your skin, your heart squeezing the air out of you.
You laugh, not because it’s funny, but because something inside you is cracking and you need to keep the pieces together. "I have nothing to offer you."
“Does it look like I need you to offer me something?” Chan’s words come out a bit condescending, more than he’d like to admit.
“It doesn’t make sense. I’m not the girl you’d spend the rest of your life with, and I’m definitely not who your fans would expect you to be with. So what are you doing with me?”
Chan stares at you for a moment before shaking his head. “You say you think I’m smart, but you’re talking to me like I’m a caveman. I wouldn’t date you or take you on dates if I didn’t see the value in you. I’m not like other idols or millionaires you may know or have met. I’m not looking for the prettiest rich girl who likes me back.”
You swallow thickly as he continues, “I don’t want to date you because of who your father is, or for your material assets, though I do think you’re underselling them by a significant margin. Material Assets are cheap.” his eyes soften as he looks at you. He leans forward, his arms on the table.
“They don’t last. I want to be with you for your intangible assets. What motivates you, what keeps you going. Those are good investments. They don’t degrade, they get sharper. Besides, I have enough material assets for both of us.” He tilts his head, eyes flickering to your lips, then your eyes. “As for what I can do for you, I think I might be the only celebrity you can stand.”
You smile softly, shaking your head. “I don’t like you because you’re Bang Chan of Stray Kids.”
“Then why do you like me?”
You rest your chin on the palm of your hand, “Because you make me feel valuable.”
“You are valuable,” he says softly. “That’s what I’m trying to tell you.”
Your eyes soften, a little shocked by how much he sees of you. He reaches over and grabs your free hand, kissing it softly. Your heart quickens at the feeling of his lips on your hand. He looks up at you, “And I will continue to think you are until you believe it yourself.”
A smile slips past your teeth, “Just until then?”
He laughs, “Long after that. I will always see you, Y/N.”
୨୧ ───────────────── ୨୧
Dinner stretched on, hours slipping by unnoticed as you talked about nothing and everything. Each time your eyes met across the table, something fluttered in your chest—strange, a little frightening, but you let it stay.
After dinner, Chan recommended driving to N Seoul Tower to watch the Lunar fireworks, and you agreed.
He took your hand as you walked toward the tower, and when your shoes faltered, he carried you on his back, laughter echoing between you. By the time you reached the top, he feigned exhaustion, collapsing against you, and you couldn’t help but laugh.
“Chris, don’t even-” before you can finish your sentence, he leans all his weight on you.
“I’m passed out, I don’t know what you’re talking about,” you hum at his response, about to respond when a firework goes off. You both jump a little and look in the direction it came. You look at Chan, and then the tower doors.
“Come on,” you don’t wait for him as you walk to the tower doors. You reach the top before Chan does.
At the top, he paused in the doorway, watching you watch the fireworks. Light caught in your hair, and for a moment, everything else faded. The old anxiety slipped away, replaced by something heavier, sweeter. He realized how much he wanted this—wanted you—every midnight, every quiet moment. The wanting was terrifying, but he let it settle inside him.
Unaware of his gaze, you pressed your hands to the glass, breath fogging softly in the chilly air, letting bursts of color wash over you. The city lights felt far below, the night intimate and aching. For the first time, your chest didn’t feel so tight. Each firework blooming in the sky echoed the sharp, bright rush swelling in your heart. It scared you, how much you hoped for this to last, but it felt good to let yourself want something so openly—with him standing right there, caught in all that golden light.
Themes: fluff-ish? angst-ish? lowkey a bit too self aware?
Chapter Synopsis: A month since JYP's birthday, Chan and Y/N find themselves caught between hope, guilt, and doubt. As Chan's messages become a source of comfort and doubt, Y/N struggles to her own heart; haunted by old wounds and insecurities. Meanwhile, Chan's guilt over the arrangement with JYP clashes with his genuine admiration for Y/N's presence, leaving him torn between duty and desire. When Chan confides in three of his bandmates, they encourage Chan to enjoy what he has for the time being. He works up the courage to ask Y/N on their first date. As the night unfold with tentative honesty, both realize how hard it is to believe in something real when everything started as a lie. With a plan of a second date, Y/N and Chan must decide whether to let fear dictate their future, or risk it all for a chance at something genuine.
Authors Note 💌: Hi Loves! Welcome to the second chapter and act of my new series. I hope you guys enjoy and as always thank you for the amazing support and love 🩷 reblogs, likes, and comments are appreciated (plz talk to me, I don't leave my house:)
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୨୧ ───────────────── ୨୧
A month has passed since you last saw Chan. His messages arrive quietly, each one leaving more space than sound, the silence between words pressing in, heavier than anything he manages to say.
At first, you felt off-balance. After so many years alone, it was strange to have someone notice if you’d eaten, if you’d slept. You never expected that kind of attention from anyone but your father.
With Chan, hope arrived in small, unexpected flutters—gone almost as soon as it came, replaced by the slow creep of doubt. You never knew whether to lean into the warmth or brace yourself for the cold. Each message was a kind of spell and a kind of ache, your heart caught between wanting to trust and waiting for the letdown.
He surprised you in quiet ways—asking if you were okay—and if not, he offers his help in finding a way to make you feel better. He made room for you, even when his days were crowded with things your father used to say nothing could interrupt. That, more than anything, left you unsteady.
Each time his name lit up your phone, hope flickered—restless and warm. Almost at once, doubt followed, colder, sharper, making you question what any of it meant. You hovered between trust and old fears, the real exhaustion coming not from waiting, but from the constant swing between wanting to believe and holding yourself back.
୨୧ ───────────────── ୨୧
For Chan, anxiety and longing tangled every time he hovered over your name. Guilt pressed in—he’d pulled you into something you never chose. But beneath that was the sharper fear of wanting to keep you close. Waiting for your replies was its own kind of ache, hope, and torment braided together. He wanted to see you again, but guilt churned in him as he remembered the reality of the situation.
The boys instantly picked up on Chan's distraction—eyes on his phone mid-practice. Whenever a message pinged, Chan would make an excuse that there was an offer to collab with all the boys, but later claimed it fell through.
Concern flooded the whole group. Han even nudging Chan after every botched dance, whispering, "You sure you're alright?" Chan would shrug it off, mumbling about how he was fine.
The breaking point was when a few of the boys noticed the tension in Chan's shoulders when JYP would pop up out of the blue. Sure, having your boss randomly show up is a reason to be tense, but Chan’s never been one to show that kind of tension towards JYP, especially with how long they’ve known each other for.
So, Minho, Hyunjin, and Han decided to pull their leader aside, practically holding him hostage until he told them what was wrong. Apparently, it doesn’t take a lot for Chan to spill such a big secret.
“So, let me get this straight,” Minho says. “Our boss—the company owner—”
“Yes,” Chan says, frustrated.
“Asked you to date his daughter to boost our group's profit.”
Chan nods quickly, “Yes.”
“And now, after a month, you actually enjoy her—”
“Texts.”
"Presence." Minho insists. Chan breaks eye contact with Minho at his statement.
"Is this why you’ve been pausing rehearsals, tensing up when JYPapi pops up, and staring at your phone every five seconds?" Han looks at the oldest boy, eyebrows furrowed.
Hyunjin makes a disgusted face. “Ew, why would you call our boss Papi?”
Han shrugs, “That’s what people are calling him.”
Minho looks at Han, confused, "Who’s calling him that?"
"Guys." Chan mumbles.
“Yeah, I think, like, everyone who knows of him is calling him that.”
"We don’t call him that," Minho furrows his eyebrows.
Hyunjin sits up straighter, "Should we? Might be fun."
"Can we go back to me? My situation’s more serious than a stupid nickname." Chan glances at his friends, distressed and anxious.
They nod.
Hyunjin shrugs, looking at Chan. “I don’t know, I think it’s kinda sweet.”
Chan looks at the boy, eyes wide, “Sweet? How is any of this sweet?”
“It’s the perfect trope that you see in movies or books,” Hyunjin insists.
“Fanfiction too,” Han adds. “Our fans are oddly creative.” He holds his hands out, gesturing slightly. “Honestly, I’ve seen at least three stories with this same plot. Classic forbidden romance stuff.” He pauses. “If there’s suddenly only one bed, I’m leaving.”
The room pauses, all the boys turning to look at Han slowly.
“You read fanfiction about us?” Chan asks, confused.
Han nods, eyes glinting with an innocent smile on his face. “Very interesting stuff.”
The room goes silent. Minho sighs and says, "Anyway—Chan's melodrama."
“Can we not call it that?”
Minho rolls his eyes.
Hyunjin continues, “I think you just need to enjoy this. It’s rare to be able to be yourself with someone new.”
“That’s not the point,” Chan groans.
“Then what is?” Minho asks.
“The point is that this girl, who just so happens to be our boss’s daughter, is unlike anyone I’ve ever met. She’s kind and funny, even over text, which, you know, is hard for me to decipher humor over text. Like, last week, I sent her this photo of my dinner, which I may or may not have burned, and she responded with— 'Chef of the Year.' I nearly spat out my coffee from laughing.”
“Hold up, pause.” Han holds his hands out again, stopping Chan from continuing. “You hate coffee.”
“It was late,” Chan shrugged.
“You hate coffee,” Han shakes his head, looking at the two other boys. “He hates coffee.”
Minho and Hyunjin shrug.
“Anyways,” Chan rolls his eyes. “She just makes me want to be around her all the time.”
“And?”
Chan pauses. His shoulders, previously tense with hope, gradually slump as guilt and fear seep in. He sighs, voice suddenly quiet. “And it can’t happen, because the only way this ends is by her getting hurt.” The heaviness of his words matches the inward shift he feels from longing to resignation.
The boys pause.
Han sits up a little straighter, “What if she never finds out?”
Hyunjin nods. “Yeah, she doesn’t have to know that her dad set the two of you up only for the group's profit—okay, that sounded bad.” He immediately deflates.
Chan shoots them a look. “There’s a reason all three of you are in paboracha.”
“We’re trying to help,” Minho says, unimpressed.
Chan sighs and sits on one of the chairs near the mixing console, voice uncertain. "I’m sorry, I just can’t stop thinking about the possible outcomes. Each one ending the same, and I don’t want to hurt her."
Minho sighs. “You didn’t do this for her. You made this decision and chose the group before you knew who she was. ”
“I know.”
“This sucks, Chan, but you already made your choice. So I say for the next few months, you should just enjoy it.”
Han and Hyunjin nod at Minho’s words.
Han speaks softly, “Like I said, she might never know. Then you can keep this Romeo and Juliet thing going.”
“Romeo and Juliet?” Chan rubs his temples.
“Yeah,” Han nods. “Yeah, you know the tragic love story by William-”
“We know what you’re talking about,” Minho says. “But Why?”
Han looks at the three boys, eyes wide and hyper-aware of the stares they're giving him. “I’ve been getting really bored lately.” Han purses his lips, nodding a little. “Reading’s been a very salubrious experience.”
Hyunjin stares at Han before nodding slowly, “Okay, he’s starting to freak me out.”
The two other boys nod.
They stayed with Chan for hours, letting the conversation drift and settle, the way late-night talk sometimes does. In the end, they convinced him to take a day off, to ask you out. Maybe it was time for something to shift, even if only by a fraction.
୨୧ ───────────────── ୨୧
Chan calls you. By the third ring, you pick up.
“Hey? Is everything okay?” You ask, voice laced with confusion.
Chan nods, even though you can’t see him. He clears his throat. “Yeah, I just kinda wanted to ask you something. I thought calling would be better than texting, but now I’m a little nervous.” He rambles.
A small laugh escapes you, “Nervous? What kind of question could possibly make you nervous?”
“You’d be surprised,” Chan mumbles, though you can’t quite pick it up. “I kinda have a day off this Wednesday, and I was kinda hoping you’d maybe want to go on a date with me.”
“Oh,” you pause. “Sorry, I’m a little speechless. I now see why you were nervous.”
Chan laughs sofly.
You sigh, the skepticism and anxiety induced questions winning over you. “Chan, if you need something from my dad-”
“Why would I need something from him?” Chan asks, heart beating hard in his chest.
You stumble over your words. “You actually want to go on a date with me?”
Chan laughs; he can’t tell if it’s genuine or because his whole body is shaking with heart-attack-worthy anxiety. “Yeah, I actually want to go on a date with you.”
“Sorry,” you immediately apologize. “I just - I’m not used to...this type of thing.” You pause, “But yeah, I’d like to go on a date with you.”
Chan immediately relaxes, “Really? God, you don’t know how relieving it is to hear that. You should feel how hard my heart is beating right now.”
You talk for an hour, the time slipping by unnoticed. He tells you the date will be a surprise, but to dress comfortably—nothing too formal.
For the first time in a long while, you notice skepticism slowly losing ground to cautious hope. The anxiety that once dominated now fades to the background, replaced by a hesitant belief that things might shift, even if only a little. You allow yourself, however tentatively, to hope.
୨୧ ───────────────── ୨୧
Wednesday arrives before you’re ready. You find yourself checking the time every ten minutes, heart rhythm out of sync with the slow tick of the clock. You rearrange your study schedule and even buy a grey knitted dress with a skirt that brushes your mid-thigh, trying to convince yourself it isn’t a big deal. But your hands tremble a little when you smooth the dress over your bed, imagining how Chan will see you. Each step—the planning, the outfit choices, the small rituals—feels loaded with possibility.
There’s a buzzing under your skin, a kind of anticipation that flutters low in your stomach: will he like how you look, will you both know what to say? Chan is quiet that day, and you match his silence, both of you holding your nerves close. It’s almost a relief each time your phone lights up, and it’s only him, your chest tightening and loosening in a loop. Only two messages: he’ll pick you up at 4:30, and your response, which was your address. All day, your thoughts orbit those few words, the ordinary details suddenly heavy with meaning.
At three, you begin to get ready. The shower, the careful drying of your hair, the slow ritual of makeup. Halfway through, you pause—so much effort for a night that might last only two hours or worse — never happen again. The urge to disappear, to call it off, tugs at you, quiet and persistent.
You’ve never been comfortable with people, especially boys. Others say you’re kind, you know you are, but you know you’re also quiet, withdrawn—meeting someone’s eyes feels like standing at a cliff’s edge.
Back in school, you were always the outsider, you learned to expect unkind words and found safety in assuming the worst before anyone else could.
But you can’t do that to Chan. Wiping off your makeup and hiding under the covers would only leave you with guilt. If there’s one thing you’ve learned, it’s that he hates it when plans change, especially when he’s been waiting and looking forward to it. And this, you think, is something he’s been waiting for.
You leave your hair down, the way it feels safest, something to hide behind if you need to. The dress, thermal tights, cream leg warmers, puffy boots, jacket—all layered against the cold. You set your shoes and jacket by the door, then sit on the couch, letting a breath out as anxiety settles in. 4:25. Five minutes left. You already know Chan will be exactly on time.
You had no idea what tonight would look like. You didn’t know if Chan would be wearing a mask the whole time or if he’d come up with a lie if a fan approached him, saying you’re just an assistant. Your leg bounced at the thought. Before you could be consumed by the overwhelming fear, your buzzer went off.
He was here.
You get up and walk to the door, opening it.
Chan smiles as you come into sight, “Hey.”
“Hi,” you smile back.
You take him in—his hair is shorter now, almost gold in the hallway light. Fendi jacket, grey scarf, blue bomber, striped shirt tucked into jeans, sneakers, clean, new, and definitely expensive. He looks different, but somehow still the same.
You glance down at yourself, then back at him. "I thought you said casual." The words come out soft, almost a laugh.
“This is?” He looks down at his outfit.
“Right, because Fendi is casual.”
He laughs.
“I just have to slip my shoes and jacket on, give me like five seconds?”
He nods with a smile, “No rush.”
You close the door behind you and move quickly to put on your jacket and shoes. Once you’re done, you slip your purse on your shoulder, phone tucked inside. You step out, locking the door, and join Chan in the hallway.
He clears his throat, “You look nice,” he says softly.
You smile as you walk down the hallway side by side. “Thanks, you do too. I like the haircut.”
He smiles. You notice a faint flush of his cheeks. ‘Cute,’ you think to yourself.
The walk to his car is quiet, the silence stretching between you. He opens the passenger door, waits until you’re settled, then circles around. When the engine starts, you finally look at him.
”So where do you want to go?”
He looks at you, “I have a place in mind, don’t worry.” He smiles.
୨୧ ───────────────── ୨୧
He parks the car once the two of you arrive, then exits and opens the passenger door for you.
“Oh, thank you.” You mumble, getting out of the car. You look up at him, “Are you not going to wear a mask?”
He shakes his head as the two of you begin to walk, “This area’s normally full of older people.”
You hum, “So is that why you decided to come here?”
He shakes his head with a small laugh, “No. I used to come to this restaurant all the time during my trainee days. The owner of the shop reminded me of my mom, so I kept going back.”
“Do you come here often?”
He shakes his head, “I stopped once we deuted. Life just got so busy that I didn’t know how to make time for the little things for a while; I still kinda don’t.”
“You made time for this.” You say softly.
He shakes his head, “This isn’t a little thing.”
You walk beside him, heart stuttering. He’s gentle, careful, but you can’t tell if it’s real. Every glance, every small act of kindness, leaves you suspended between wanting to believe and holding yourself back. Doubt festers under the surface—are you just imagining the warmth in his voice, or is it practiced, the same tone he uses with everyone?
Idols are trained for this, you remind yourself: every gesture practiced, every word meant to make someone feel chosen. You keep waiting for the moment he slips, for you to catch something staged, even though a part of you aches for it all to be genuine.
You wonder if it would ever really be possible for someone to see the messy, unsteady version of you and still choose to stay. You glance at him, searching for something unguarded, desperate to find some proof that you are not just another line in a story he’s told a hundred times. Is this what hope is—letting yourself want something while fear claws at the edges?
You want to trust him, to believe you matter, but uncertainty curls around your hope, turning each moment into a quiet ache. Does he see you, really, or are you just another part of the act? The thought tugs at you, both too much and not enough, and you wish you knew how to silence it even for one night.
He stops in front of this small restaurant, holding the door open for you again. The bell above the door rings, and an older woman steps out immediately.
She smiles, “Hel-” she pauses her greeting, taking a closer look at Chan. “Bang Chan?”
He smiles, “Hi, Kyung-ja.”
She lets out a laugh, walks over to him, and hugs him. “What’d you do to your hair?”
“You don’t like it?”
She pauses, pulling back slightly. “It suits you, but the brown hair...aish.” She smiles, hands on his shoulders, and then her gaze turns to you. “You must be his girlfriend.”
Your eyes widen, “Oh, no. We’re frien-”
“We’re on a date.” Chan cuts you off, looking at you with a smile, like he’s proud to be seen with you.
Kyung-ja gasps, a smile on her face. “Oh, how lovely. I knew you’d find the one Chan.” She pats his shoulder as he hums, nodding with a smile.
You stood there like a deer in headlights.
She let go of Chan’s shoulders and took a step towards you, bringing you into a hug. “You’re very pretty,” she says as she pulls away.
Your cheeks flush, looking down. “Thank you.”
“Come, sit, sit.” She ushers the two of you over to a small table in the corner.
Chan, ever the gentleman, pulls out the chair for you. You sit down, keeping your jacket on, as the restaurant is a bit cold. Chan does the same.
“Here’s the menus,” she says, placing the papers on the table. She looks at Chan, smiling. “We still have those fried eel bones you used to like so much.”
He smiles, “Can we get some of those, please?”
The older woman laughs, nodding as she walks away.
You scan the menu, surprised to find your favorite—yangnyeom gejang, spicy marinated crab—listed among the simple dishes in this tiny restaurant. The memory of sharing this meal with your father flashes through your mind, the sharp-spicy flavor reminding you of family dinners where laughter filled the room and you felt almost seen. Seeing it here, hidden behind other choices in a place that already feels wrapped in memories, your chest tightens with a flicker of comfort and something you didn’t know was missing.
Kyung-ja walks back with a small bowl full of the fried bones in her hands, setting it on the table. “Can I get you guys any drinks?”
Chan smiles, “Jasmine tea, please.”
Kyung-ja shakes her head, “You haven’t changed a bit.” She looks over at you, her eyes softening. “For you?”
“Oh, I’ll just have some water, please.”
She nods. “Do you two still need a minute to look at the menu?”
Chan looks at you, silently asking if you need more time. You nod, telling him you’re ready to order. “We’re ready,” Chan says, nodding to you to go first.
“Can I do the yangnyeom gejang, please?”
The owner nods, “Do you want some broth on the side? We have myeolchi-dasima-yuksu.”
“That’d be nice, thank you.” You smile politely at her.
She nods softly, turning her attention to Chan before asking, “Do you want the buldak bokkeum?”
Chan laughs, “You know me well.”
She returns the laugh, walking away to the back, where the kitchen is.
“So,” Chan starts off. “Your dad said you went to America for a year?”
You nod, “Yeah, I studied abroad.”
“What were you studying?”
“Obstetrics and gynecology nursing at NYU.” You say softly, smiling a little at the accomplishment.
Chans eyes widen, “Wow, you’re...smart.” He laughs softly. “How many more years do you have?”
“I’m almost done; I just have one more semester of clinicals.”
“So what made you choose that?” He asks soflty, his tone an indication of genuine interest.
You shrug, “I want to help people.”
The owner comes back, sets your drinks on the table, then returns to the kitchen.
Chan wanted to ask more, wanted to say that your dad had said you were quiet, so how did you expect to manage yourself in such a talkative person-to-person field?
But he refrained because, as you were talking, he saw the tiniest glint in your eye - a telltale sign of true passion, it was something you were proud of.
“Doesn’t it take a few years to complete nursing school?” He asks.
“Yeah,” you nod. “But I graduated high school a little early and tried to take as many classes as I could per semester in university so I could just get it over with. I didn’t want to wait until I was however old to graduate.”
“What difference would it have made?” He asks softly.
“I don't like wasting time,” you say, the words certain in your mouth.
Across the table, Chan’s gaze slips. Maybe that’s why he feels so uneasy—why you matter more than he meant you to.
Dinner drifts by in laughter and small stories, the quiet between bites filling up with something softer. When the plates are cleared, Chan has already paid, the gesture silent, almost invisible.
“I could’ve paid.” You say.
“I know.”
୨୧ ───────────────── ୨୧
You step outside together. Snow drifts down, slow and quiet, settling on your hair and shoulders, the world hushed around you.
“Want to go for a walk?” Chan asks.
“Won’t you get recognized?”
"It’s dark, it’ll be fine." He reaches for your hand, his fingers warm around yours. "Is this okay?"
His touch sends a quiet shock through you. You nod, swallowing, the word barely a whisper. "Yeah."
You walk together towards the nearest park, the cold air catching in your hair.
You look at Chan, eyes softening, and say, “You’re annoyingly good at this.”
Chan looks at you, laughing a little. “At what?”
"This," you say, glancing at your joined hands. "Dinner, the dates, being a gentleman, showing up on time." You laugh, quiet and real.
“Is this not normal?” He looks at you, the two of you still walking.
You shrug. "I’ve never really been good at this—the whole guy thing. So I don’t really know what’s normal."
Chan looks at you, eyes curious. “Have you never been on a date before?”
“One, I had a boyfriend a while ago and, yeah.”
“It didn’t end well?”
"I’m here with you, aren’t I?" You laugh as he bumps your shoulder, a small smile on his face as he mutters something about your sarcasm.
“I meant, how did it end?” Chan says with a small smile at your previous statement.
You suck a breath in, "He got distant, and I couldn’t reach him, no matter how hard I tried. So I pulled away too."
You swing your hands a little as you walk. "I realized that even though I loved him, I could live without him. It felt good to dress how I wanted, and not having to answer every call or text from him at the speed of light.”
You remember what it felt like to have a piece of yourself returned. The weight that lifted when you stopped waiting for the footnotes of his life, when you no longer measured your days by his replies.
You continue, “But when I told him I wanted to break up, he said it felt over already. But he asked for two weeks to change my mind."
“And did you?”
You nod, eyes on the ground as you walk, the light dusting of snow making your boots slick. "Yeah, but I’d already decided what I wanted. During those two weeks, he kept asking why I wanted to leave. Every answer I gave, he brushed aside—said I wasn’t thinking straight, that I was just emotional. When I tried to tell him how I felt, he wouldn’t listen. But then he’d watch these videos on social media, and suddenly it all made sense to him."
Chan listened carefully to you explaining everything, his heart aching for you.
"He started reading and watching videos about anxious attachment, avoidants, all those labels. It bothered me. Why couldn’t we just be us? Why did everything need a name? We had problems, but-” You pause, not knowing how to finish that sentence. You shrug, ”I don’t know. We just fought a lot, those last two weeks."
Somewhere in the conversation, your steps slow, the two of you moving almost without sound.
“So,” Chan says softly. “You broke up.”
“Yup, and then two days later, he was with another girl.”
“How long were you with him for?”
“A year.”
Chan is quiet, surprised. To spend so long with someone, to say I love you, to share everything, and then watch them move on so quickly—it unsettles him.
“Do you think he...cheated?”
You look at Chan, shaking your head. “I don’t know if I want to know.”
Chan nods softly, the two of you continuing to walk.
You glance at him,“What about you? You’re good at all of this, so I’m assuming this isn’t your first date.”
He nods, biting his lip. “Yeah, I’ve done this a few times.”
You hum, the sound small between you.
Chan starts again, “My last girlfriend left because I focused too much on work, we were together for a few years. Almost all of my twenties were spent with her. She wanted marriage and kids, and I...” he trails off.
“You didn’t?” You look at him, eyes softening.
“No, I did...I do. I was just so caught up in all of this, ya know? The studio sessions, rehearsals, talk shows, schedule after schedule. It just didn’t fit into the plan.”
You nod.
"So she slipped away. The worst part is, I didn’t even notice she was gone until her things had disappeared from my apartment." He laughs, but it’s a thin sound; distant and reminiscent.
“Do you think you’ll regret it?” You ask softly.
The two of you top walking, he faces you, hand still in yours. “Regret what?”
“Not making time for those things?”
He pauses, looking down at you. “I don’t know.”
You nod. Part of you wonders if he’ll always be searching for what he lost, if he’ll look for her in everyone else, in you. You don’t know, and neither does he.
୨୧ ───────────────── ୨୧
It was around 10:30 when Chan dropped you off at your apartment, walking you to your door even though you insisted it’d be fine.
“Thank you again for tonight.” You turn to look at him as the two of you stop in front of your door.
“Thank you for agreeing to go out with me tonight,” Chan says softly.
The two of you stand there looking at each other.
Chan rubs the back of his neck before speaking. “Lunar New Year is in a few weeks, do you maybe want to celebrate together? The guys and I normally do our own things.” He looks down at his feet before glancing at you. “I’d kinda like to maybe not spend it alone, maybe with you.”
You smile softly, “Yeah, that’d be nice.”
“Cool,” he laughs, relief evidently flooding his face. “Is it okay if I hug you?”
You nod, softly. He steps forward, arms around your shoulders, your own finding his waist, his chin resting lightly on your head. It’s strange how comfort can feel golden in the arms of someone who is still almost a stranger.
Chan holds on, not wanting to let go. The moment feels fragile, stretched thin by everything he cannot say. Guilt thrums beneath his ribs, thick and suffocating, nearly overwhelming the tenderness he feels. He isn’t sure if he’s searching for comfort or offering you an apology for what’s coming. Every second in your arms feels like it could be the last before the truth ruins this small peace.
The weight of his secret presses in, cold and sharp, threading fear through his spine. He wants so badly to keep you close, but every heartbeat reminds him that it was never supposed to be real, that he is the reason you could get hurt. Longing tugs at him; the ache of wanting you to trust him wars with the terror of losing you when you learn why this started. He wonders if you’ll look at him the same way when everything is out, or if moments like this will only turn to ache.
He tries to memorize you like this—the feeling of your warmth, the hope in your touch—reaching for something real to hold onto before the truth settles between you.
He pulls away, despite what he wanted, looking down at you. “Goodnight, Y/N.”
Themes: fluff-ish? angst-ish? GIRL IDK IT'S THE FIRST CHAPTER, YOU TELL ME
Chapter Synopsis: At her father's lavish birthday party, Y/N feels like an outsider, hovering on the edge of a world that was never truly hers. Escaping the glitz and glamor, she meets Bang Chan, the renowned leader of Stray Kids, who is equally lost in the spotlight. Their unexpected connection gives them both a rare sense of belonging, but neither realizes how complicated things will become. When JYP asks Chan to befriend—or even date—his daughter to help her break out of her shell and to save Stray Kids from fading into irrelevance, both must navigate a web of duty, ambition, and growing feelings, risking everything for a chance at real connection.
Authors Note 💌: Hi Loves! Welcome to the first chapter and act of my new series. I'm lowkey really proud of this chapter. I'm exciting to finally be putting out another work, especially this series as it's been on my mind FOR MONTHS. I hope you guys enjoy and as always thank you for the amazing support and love 🩷
If you want to be added to the taglist, please fill this form out. If you've already filled it out and your @ isn't included, please comment and I'll be sure to add you!
୨୧ ───────────────── ୨୧
The party flickered with camera flashes and the hush of voices, perfume thick as syrup in the air, settling on your skin until each breath felt shallow. Spotlights spun slow arcs over velvet ropes and polished floors, brushing sequins and silk with brief halos. The music throbbed from hidden speakers. When idols laughed, it rang high and bright, but always a little rehearsed. Glasses clinked, and from around the room came a burst of chanting—call-and-response familiar from half a dozen fan events, but filtered now through champagne and nerves.
On the marble buffet, sweets shaped as tiny bears rested on embossed napkins, untouched. Faces passed, bright and indistinct, and you faded into the pattern of the wallpaper, present but never quite visible. Every brush of a rhinestone phone case or shiver of a faux-fur stole was a reminder of how you hovered at the edge, gathering the warmth that never reached you. The ache of not belonging hovered beneath your ribs, sharper tonight than most. You wanted to disappear or to be seen, maybe both at once, but fear told you it was safer to stay hidden. Something inside you longed for escape, but wished even more for a reason to stay. That reason is somewhat that this party was all for your dad.
You stood among strangers, laughter cresting and breaking around you, always just out of reach. When someone’s eyes found yours, you offered a smile, your voice slipping in only when asked. It was a choreography you’d memorized—waiting for the signal, never sure you’d heard it. The thought of cold air pulled you toward the balcony, away from the press of sound.
The balcony doors opened, and your shoulders loosened, the cold air biting at your skin, honest in a way the suffocating perfume inside could never be.
“I’ll be completely honest, I know almost nobody in there,” a voice says from behind you. You turn to see who spoke.
You glanced back, spotting Bang Chan. Stories from your father resurfaced—pride woven through each, as if Chan’s success was also his; in some way, it was.
You laugh softly, “That’s a bit shocking considering your position.”
You turned back to the city lights, feeling him settle beside you, close enough that the quiet seemed to gather between your shoulders. "Being known and knowing people aren’t the same," he said, the words gentle, familiar, something that pressed against your chest. He looked over, a small smile on his face, his hand reaching out. "I’m Bang Chan."
You met his gaze, your hand fitting into his. "Y/N."
He nods, your hands disconnecting. “So what’re you doing here?”
A sigh escaped before you could catch it. "My dad," you said, voice small. "He made me come tonight." You laughed, the sound barely there, edged with embarrassment.
Chan laughs too. “Dads are the worst, aren’t they?”
You and Chan wandered through small talk—jokes, questions about pizza. When he asked about pineapple, you said, "It doesn’t really add or take away… It’s just strange." For a moment, you almost recognized yourself, the version you’d left behind somewhere.
The conversation grew quiet, the city just a rumor behind glass. Chan drew in a breath, shivering a little. "Sometimes," he said, "I still get nervous before going on stage. I act cool, but my hands always shake. I thought it would get easier, but it hasn't, really."
You hesitated, then admitted, "I know what you mean. After I moved back, I kinda realized that I don't know how to be around people. I feel out of step, like I don't fit in."
For a heartbeat, you both just stood together in the hush, the air around you honest and thin. You looked at Chan and realized you were both just trying to belong, hoping someone might stay long enough to notice.
Chan’s phone buzzes in his pocket. He looks at you apologetically before he checks it. He sighs softly and says, “Well, duty calls…even on a night off.” He smiles at you softly. “It was really nice meeting you, Y/N.”
You nod, a little disappointed that he has other things to attend to. "It was nice meeting you, too, Chan," you reply.
He nodded, his smile lingering before he disappeared inside. The doors closed, and you were left with the hush of the city, the cold settling around you.
The night stretched out, slow and heavy, time gathering around you like fog.
୨୧ ───────────────── ୨୧
The two men greeted each other with ease earned after being business partners for years. J.Y.P. had known Chan since 2011, guiding and pushing him towards success.
Jin-young smiled, “Thanks for making it, though I wish all of the boys were here.”
Chan forced a smile, nodding, “Yeah, they’re all pretty busy with ambassadorships right now since the holidays are coming up.”
The older man nods, “I get it, I’m just glad one of you showed up. This week has been kinda crazy for me. It’s nice to finally celebrate and relax.”
Chan hums in agreement.
“You know my daughter just got back from her trip in America.”
“Really?”
“Yeah, she’s been back a few days. Though I definitely think the cold and jet lag are getting to her. I practically forced her to come to tonight’s party.” He laughed, scanning for you.
Chan laughed, the sound almost genuine. He remembered the balcony, his words about dads— they really were the worst.
“Have you met my daughter?” J.Y.P asks.
Chan shook his head. He'd never thought it be odd until now, after all these years, to never meet a daughter spoken of but never seen. Or so he thought.
“She’s kinda…quiet,” Park says. “A bit shy, crazy smart but easily overwhelmed when it comes to all this.” He gestures to the room, cameras flashing from almost every corner, and loud, high-pitched laughter. “I’m worried about her.”
Chan frowned, uncertain where this was headed. He wasn’t used to these kinds of conversations with his boss, but the question slipped out anyway. "Why are you worried? She’s in her twenties, isn’t she?"
“That’s exactly why I’m worried.” He looks over at Chan. “She’s 23, but constantly hiding. Always preferring to be alone, I have to drag her to almost every event. She doesn’t seem passionate about anything other than being alone or being away from here.”
“I’m sure she just prefers her own space, kinda like Hyunjin or Han.”
Park shakes his head, “This is different.”
Chan stayed silent, gaze drifting to the balcony. He found himself wishing for the cold air, for your quiet presence, instead of the glare and voices here.
“Chan, I've done a lot for you for almost 15 years now.” Park sighs softly, “I know that you’ve worked hard to get to where you and the boys are, and you’ll continue to do so. But Chan, I need your help.”
Chan looks at J.Y.P confused. “Wha-what?”
Park hesitated just a moment, then looked at Chan with unusual seriousness. "I need you to be friends or go on a date with my daughter."
For a split second, Chan forgot to breathe. The words landed in his chest like a stone: incredulity flashed through him, spiking his pulse, his shoulders stiffening. Was this some kind of joke? A knot of resentment wound tight in his stomach, mingling with anxious disbelief. He looked away for a moment, jaw working, unsure if he should be offended or if he should laugh.
This was coming from his boss, yet it also felt achingly personal, even humiliating. Shame flickered behind his eyes, a familiar heat rising to his cheeks at the thought of being used as a means to an end. But before Chan could settle into outrage, duty rushed in, stalling his protest.
He remembered the evenings spent practicing with his group, every sacrifice piling on top of another, and how easily everything could be lost if he made the wrong move now. Deep down, though, was the uncomfortable pang of empathy: he caught the desperation in Park's tone and wondered what it would feel like to watch someone you love slip further away. The clashing weight of obligation, frustration, and reluctant concern for a stranger pressed against his ribs, confusing the anger and shock he wanted to hold.
Park paused, searching Chan's face for a reaction before continuing, his voice low. "Her behavior's gotten worse since she came back. Her second night back, she skipped an important family dinner with visiting partners, and earlier tonight, she nearly left the party before it began. I overheard board members questioning if something's wrong at home. There's pressure on me, more than ever—a big investor has been asking how we're protecting our public image and whether she liked it or not, she's apart of that image."
He glanced away, gathering his thoughts, then looked back. "You know, out of everyone, I trust you. You're responsible. She needs someone genuine, not just anyone from these circles. I've seen how you treat people, Chan. If anyone could reach her, help her come out of her shell, it's you."
For a moment, the silence between them stretched, and Park's eyes softened, revealing a weariness beneath his formality. "I want her to be happy," he admitted quietly, "but I’d be lying if I said business doesn't factor in. This is about her, but it’s also about the future—for the company, your group, and, maybe, all of us. I wish I could separate the two, but I can’t."
Chan pauses, eyes wide. Silence fills the two men.
“I know it's a lot to ask, but I can guarantee you that I can make you and the boys more successful.”
Jin-young looks at Chan, shaking his head. “We got the group's performance report last week. You guys aren’t getting as much attention as you were last year. Your group is at almost a 1 billion won profit decrease, Chan.”
That made Chan pause. He thought the group was doing fine: recent tours and two albums in three months, even after finishing a tour less than a month before their first comeback. “How would you make us more successful?”
“We’ve worked out a way to increase your profit. Another tour, more releases, more international work. I’ve seen the plans and PV charts, and Stray Kids would be making almost triple the amount lost in the last year.”
“And the only way for that to happen is if I date your daughter?” Chan raises an eyebrow as he asks.
“Well, no.” Park stumbles over his words, “But we’d both be helping each other out. And maybe even get more publicity if you decide to go public with it. That’d really add to sales.”
"Or decrease them," Chan sighs. "I love our fans, but do you know how crazy most of them would get if they found out I was dating someone? And what if it comes out that I was dating my boss’s daughter just for the gain of money and popularity for the group?"
“There are risks,” J.Y.P. pauses. “But sometimes you have to take a leap of faith, Chan. I know you care about the group, that's exactly why I know that you’ve already agreed to do this.”
The decision settled in Chan’s chest, heavy and certain. Years spent climbing, and now he could feel how quickly things might slip—popularity thinning, time running out, the group fading before anyone even noticed.
"How long?" Chan asks, looking at Park.
“Just for a few months. I’m sure that’s all we’ll need to get you guys back to where you were.”
Chan pauses only for a brief moment. “Fine. But if anything goes wrong-”
"Nothing will go wrong," the older man said. "My daughter will finally have someone to talk to, and Stray Kids will boost in sales and popularity again."
Chan’s gaze drifts to the balcony. The doors open, and you step inside, the light catching in your hair as you look around the room, trying to find someone. For a split second, he imagined walking away from this conversation; instead, he’d be talking to you. But then he thought about his boss’s daughter. He could almost see the way her face would harden, pride wounded, trust broken in a way that might never heal. Beneath her quiet was a stubbornness, a sharpness that surfaced when she felt cornered. If she learned the truth, he suspected she would not just feel hurt, but angry—maybe at her father, but definitely at him. That fear stayed with Chan, heavy as stone. So he stayed put.
But Chan wasn’t the only one looking at you. “Ah, Y/N!” Park calls you over, and you immediately muster a smile as you walk towards your dad.
“Chan, this is my daughter Y/N,” J.Y.P says, smiling at his daughter.
You nodded. "We met outside." You glanced at Chan, catching the flicker of surprise in his eyes.
“Yeah,” Chan clears his throat. “Yeah, we did.”
You offered a small, uncertain smile. Chan hesitated, something hollow flickering in his eyes. For a moment, he looked as if he might step away, but he stayed.
୨୧ ───────────────── ୨୧
After a brief exchange with your father, he drifted away, drawn toward a cluster of old friends.
Chan clears his throat from next to you. "Why didn’t you tell me your dad was my boss?" he asks.
You laugh softly, “Would it have changed anything?”
Chan hesitated. Would it have changed anything? Yes. If he’d known you were the daughter spoken of but never seen, maybe he would have kept his distance. He wondered how you managed to stay hidden for so long.
Chan shakes the thoughts from his head, you can’t know about the deal. "I mean, I probably wouldn’t have been as…dorky or cringey," he jokes.
“Cringey? Who’s calling you that?” You look at him, confusion washing over your face, a small smile forming on your lips.
Chan shrugged, almost admitting it was his own fans who called him that. He’d grown used to it, the word losing its sting. It was just him, after all.
You studied Chan in silence. His hair was longer than you remembered from photos, catching the light—platinum silver that almost looked white. The suit looked expensive, maybe Fendi, and the silver bracelets on his wrists glinted, as if they belonged to him more than anything else ever could.
"You weren’t being cringey," you said, after a moment. "Thank you for talking to me, though. It’s not always easy starting a conversation with a stranger."
“Well, I do kinda talk for a living, so.”
You both laughed, the sound soft, almost real. For a moment, the air shifted—lighter, warmer. It had been a long time since either of you had simply existed, without expectation or noise.
You had always kept yourself moving, studying medicine, a year abroad, anything to stay in motion. Sometimes you remembered that rainy afternoon in Manhattan, sitting on your narrow dorm bed while your roommate laughed with her friends in the small kitchenette. You had tried joining them once, but stumbled through fast sentences and private jokes, feeling your accent catch in your throat.
There was a music festival that weekend, but instead of going, you sat by the Hudson River with headphones on, watching strangers drift by, wishing you belonged to any of their lives. Instead of the festival, you streamed a comeback stage video that had just aired in Seoul, letting the choreography distract you from the distance.
One night during finals, you wandered into the common room just as someone started to cook spaghetti on the stove. Someone handed you a red plastic cup, and you ended up standing awkwardly at the edge while everyone debated the best places for late-night pizza downtown. Your phone buzzed with a group chat notification—an idol's birthday hashtag trending overnight.
When you tried to add a story, your words tangled, and a boy laughed and switched to Korean to ask where you were from. That small moment stayed with you, the sense of being both visible and invisible all at once, like a trainee working behind the scenes, always there but never the star.
Coming home felt like taking a step backward, with reminders everywhere that you didn't fit in your father’s world, or even Chan’s, no matter how hard you tried. The spotlight made your skin itch, perfume and makeup hiding more than they revealed. You remembered the ache of wanting to belong, spending every penny in your bank account on albums and tickets, refreshing feeds after an especially hard day, chasing the feeling music promised when your favorite idols talked about found families. In the end, you let it go, worn out by the emptiness that always followed the rush.
But then Chan spoke to you, and despite everything, you found yourself watching him. Handsome, yes, that was obvious, but there was something else—something you’d seen in late-night SKZ code videos, the way he let himself be silly, or honest. You wondered if he still was, or if the person left when the cameras faded was someone only he would recognize.
Chan sighs, “I know this might be a bit out of the blue, but would it be okay if I got your number?”
You look at him, shocked. “What?”
“Yeah, you’re kinda the first person in a while to make me feel like...me.”
“Oh,” you smile softly. A part of you doubted the words he said, after all, this was the first time you’d ever met the infamous Bang Chan of Stray Kids. How could you, of all people, make him feel like himself? The question struck a nerve, but nonetheless, you agreed, “Sure.”
He smiled and handed you his phone. You typed your name and number, thumb pausing for a moment before you pressed save. The screen lit up—Hyunjin was calling him.
“Oh, here.” You hand him the phone.
He answered, stepping away, voice low. When he returned, the phone was still warm in his hand.
"This keeps happening," he said, laughing, fingers raking through his hair.
“You have to go?” You assume with a knowing smile, used to the hurried goodbyes you’d gotten from your dad when you were younger.
He nodded, voice quiet. "I have to go. I’ll text you, I promise."
You shake your head softly,“There’s no rush.”
Chan looked at you. If only you knew there was. “It was nice meeting you,” he laughed before adding, “...again.”
You smile, “You too, Chan.”
“Chris, you can call me Chris.”
You nod, smile still adorning your face. “Chris.”
He nodded, a small smile on his lips, then turned and slipped away. Chan’s heart thudded as he left, something hollow opening inside him. He could feel it—something had already shifted, quietly, and there would be no going back.
Sometimes you know a risk is a mistake, but you take it anyway.
Tonight, Chan felt the weight of a choice that could unravel everything he had built, or offer something he could not name. If the truth were ever to come out, it would not just be about secrets spilled or gossip in the halls. It could mean tabloids reporting names, every headline questioning Chan's loyalty to his group, his sincerity as a leader, whispers turning to outrage as fans called him a fraud. Management might drop their support, sponsors pull away, and the boys he worked so hard to protect could blame him for dragging them down.
Heartbreak would not look gentle. For you, it might mean seeing messages everywhere, strangers digging up every photo of you; let it be with your dad or private moments of just you, twisting your history into scandal, watching trust in your father splinter, and realizing that every conversation with Chan had been touched by a deal.
At worst, you could lose not just privacy but the thin hope you had for belonging, left standing alone again, this time exposed. Both of you stood at the edge, hearts uncertain, painfully aware of what you stood to lose, but wanting to believe in what you might find.
Yet, as Chan left the house that night, he tapped the keyboard of his phone, a simple message printed on his screen: "You made tonight easier. :)" He smiled despite himself, the heaviness in his chest subsiding for something he was afraid to name.
Somewhere in the quiet, you got his reply, and for the first time in a long while, hope slipped in—soft and new, carrying the promise that, maybe, the risk would be worth it.
Series Synopsis: In a world full of flashing cameras, vastly spread rumors, and carefully curated public images, she is the girl everyone knows but no one truly sees. Park Y/N is J.Y.P's adoptive daughter. Twenty-three and still navigating a life under the spotlight she never asked for, she meets a certain leader from a popular boy band who changes her views on the world around her - giving her hope for the first time in her life.
When J.Y Park offers Bang Chan, the twenty-eight year old leader from the global sensation Stray Kids, to date his daughter in exchange for the continued success of Chan’s group - he willfully agrees.
As he slips into her life, stealing private moments away from prying eyes and making every encounter feel like gravity, the lines between obligation and something more begin to blur.
She quickly begins to trust him, to love the ease of his presence, the patience that only seems to exist for her.
He begins to forget about the contract, falling for her in ways he never expected; but had always dreamed of experiencing.
Until the truth comes crashing down. When Y/N discovers the arrangement between her own father and Chan, betrayal cuts her deeper than any heartbreak before. Sworn to never wanting to see him again, she walks away, leaving him bereft and reeling as he tries to grapple with what it means to love and lose in this light.
But love, like memory, doesn’t fade. Chan will have to earn her trust, prove that every stolen, tender moment was real.
ACT I: MIGHT BLOW UP IN YOUR PRETTY FACE
I. Slut! - 12월 13일 - Released 260327
II. Daylight - 01월 13일 - Released 260329
III. New Year’s Day - 02월 17일 - Released 260401
IV. Labyrinth - 02월 18일 - Released 260401
ACT ll: YOU CAN SEE IT WITH THE LIGHTS OUT
V. You Are In Love - 02월 27일 - Released 2604012
Vl. Happiness - 03 월 21일 - Released 260419
VIl. Maroon - 04월 01일 - Released 260514
ACT III: THE DEFLATION OF OUR DREAMING
VIII. How Did It End - 04월 12일 - Released 260514
IX. Chloe or Sam or Sophia or Marcus - 04월 12일 - Released 260514
X. Midnight Rain - 04월 26일 - Released 260514
ACT IV: If We Loved Again, I Swear I’d Love You Right
XI. Back To December - 07월 07일 - Release 260516
XII. This Is Me Trying - 08월 21일 - Release 260516
XIII. Dress - 12월 13일 - Release 260516
Authors Note: Hi Loves! I'm back again :) This is an idea I've had since November and I've finally decided to start working on it! There will be FOUR acts with a total of 13 chapters. I'm super excited for you all to read this new series. I'll be releasing the act titles and chapters after each act is completed. I'm doing a new way of having people ask to be on my taglist, so fill the form out that's linked below! Thank you for the support🩷 (cover by me, DO NOT STEAL)
PLEASE FILL THIS FORM OUT TO BE ADDED TO THE SERIES TAGLIST
After a year abroad, Hwang Hyunjin comes back different. Much to your dismay, the change isn't only on the outside.
★𓂃 PAIRING(S) | Hyunjin x reader, ft Jisung x reader
★𓂃 THEMES | jerk!hyunjin, slowburn <3, friends to frenemies to lovers kinda?, f2l, buzz cut and mullet hyunjin, buff!hyunjin, ft other members
★𓂃 WORD COUNT | 2k
★𓂃 RATING | pg13
★𓂃NOTE | IM SORRY ITS SO LATE! I’ve been having a decently rough time these past couple months, but I managed to finish this for now. Hopefully next week I’ll have the other part. Thank you to everyone who reached out one way or another, i appreciate it and I’m glad you love this story so much. Please enjoy and have a great day/night <3
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You’ve spent the last three days avoiding Hyunjin. It’s been hard, seeing him in class and doing everything to avoid contact. Leaving before he has the chance to get out of his seat. Arriving to class just in time so that he can’t catch you before the lecture starts. You don’t think you’ve ever speed walked this much in your life either.
You should have just blamed the damn alcohol.
For some reason, though, you didn’t. Instead you forgot all about the easy out you had and immediately jumped to the awkward I really don’t want to talk about what I did so I’m going to treat you like the plague method. And you know Hyunjin has noticed—there’s no way he hadn’t with how he kept trying to disrupt your schedule and catch you off guard, and you managed to dodge it every time with incredible luck. Where was this last semester when he was making every day hell for you?
You’re pretty sure you’re in the clear, touching up your mascara while you chat with Felix by the fountain in the courtyard. No Hyunjin in sight. “I don’t know. I mean, Jisung is really nice, he’s cute too. I don’t think he’ll be a bad date at all.”
Felix nods at your words, taking them in with an open mind as he gulps down his yogurt. “I don’t think he would be either… what I would really be worrying about, is if you’re going to be a bad date.”
You blink away the bit of product that made it’s way into your eye at the surprise statement your best friend just made. “Why would I be a bad date?”
Felix finishes his last bit of his yogurt, lightly patting his chest to help him get the rather large bite get down his throat. “Well I mean, you’re like, not into him like that.”
“What do you mean? I’m like,” you stutter in hesitation. Maybe you didn’t have the fattest crush on Jisung, but the guy did make you feel things sometimes. “I’m like, super into him. He’s the only guy I’ve been into for a while, actually.”
“Yeah, o-kay,” Felix scoffs, pushing himself off the fountain to make his way towards a recycling bin. “Because you just stare at Hyunjin with longing eyes platonically.”
“I do not stare at him longingly!” You squeak, fighting any sort of blush. Why the hell would he say that—let alone out in the open like this?
He smirks at you as he tosses his yogurt cup into the nearest bin like a basketball, looking like he’d gained something from your statement. “But you do stare at him. Maybe its not really a longing thing, but you look at him like you want to eat him. Or even, like you want him to eat you.”
“Felix don’t say that, that sounds so wrong.” You shake your head at him, ignoring the heat rising in your face. “Plus, that’s not true. You have to quit this, I don’t want anyone to get the wrong idea. I’m going on a date—”
“You’re going on a date?”
Speak of…
“Oh, hey Hyunjin,” Felix waves, like he wasn’t just saying incredibly dangerous things about your relationship with the guy.
“Hey Felix. [Y/N], you have a date?”
“I uh,” you st art, not ready to finish the sentence. Instead, you hold your phone toward your face like a mirror again, pretending to still be fixing your makeup. “I have to go! See you later!”
“Wait—” Hyunjin tries, but your speeding away, still pretending to be applying mascara. You see Felix put a hand on Hyunjin’s shoulder through your screen.
“Who is she going out with?” You can hear Hyunjin ask, his voice confused and even a bit upset. Maybe because you’ve been avoiding him. That has to be it.
Felix mumbles out an answer, but you’re too far to hear it now. Did he tell him? Does it even matter? Why can’t Hyunjin know about your date with Jisung? Why don’t you want to tell him?
——
The café is mostly empty, save for the low murmur of laptop clicks and coffee machines hissing steam behind the counter. You’re sat across from Jisung, a warm cup of chai in your hands—you’re trying to cut back on caffeine—your knees are brushing under the table. Its nice, the atmosphere, with him. He’s mid-sentence, laughing nervously in a way that makes you wish your stomach would flip for him.
Not even the way it does for…
You just want it to flutter, really.
“You know, you look really pretty today,” he barely gets out.
You smile, holding your drink closer to your frame as you try to ground yourself. No matter how much of a good, relaxing time you should be having, you feel like something’s wrong. Like you’re doing something wrong. The worst part is, you feel like you know why. “Thank you Jisung. You looked good too!”
And you mean it too. You don’t often see Jisung wearing anything other than a sweater that swallows him whole, so a t shirt that actually fits his frame properly and the jewelry thats not covered by a hood or sleeves is pretty refreshing. He blushes at your words, his hand rubbing his neck as he tries to fight the nerves threatening to take over. “Thanks, I wasn’t sure if I looked silly, to be honest.”
You stifle a laugh, bringing your coffee to your lips. It burns your mouth a bit, but any sensation is a distraction from the turmoil in your stomach. “No, it looks good. I didn’t know you owned anything in your size.”
Jisung can’t help but ease up a bit at that, rolling his eyes at your words. It’s not the way Hyunjin does it but… what are you talking about?
”Yeah yeah, you got me.”
Things loosen up a bit after that, the fog in your mind clearing up a little, and Jisung’s attitude shifting to a more comfortable one that makes you almost forget why you’d been biting the inside of your cheek the past quarter hour.
Unfortunately, all good things must come to an end.
The little cafe’s door chime rings as he walks in, your head turning instinctively to look at the sound. He seems like he hadn’t meant to see you two there, but the pause in his step when he spots you says otherwise. His brows twitches just slightly before smoothing into something unreadable.
Hyunjin.
Too strong, too tall, too handsome Hyunjin who just can’t let you focus on your date with Jisung is at the cafe.
You watch as he orders his drink quickly. Too quickly, like he has something to get to. And then, instead of waiting off to the side, he made his way over to your table. Did Felix tell him you were going to be here? Oh you’re going to kill him—
“Didn’t expect to see you two here,” he said casually, eyes flicking between you two, lips pursed in a way that lets you know he isn’t pleased, but you can’t help but think he looks childish while doing it.
You straighten in your seat, standing your ground. Too much about his approach feels like a challenge. “It’s a café, not a secret club.”
Hyunjin lets out a dry laugh. “Right. Just… didn’t realize this was a thing now.” His dramatic hands gesturing to you and Jisung in a ridiculous way. You can’t believe he’s really doing this right now.
Jisung shifts awkwardly, his hands dropping off th edge of the table into his lap. Poor guy. “We just… thought we’d hang out. It’s not—” he started, then stopped himself. “Well, I mean, it is but we didn’t hide it from you on purpose or anything. I-I mean we don’t really talk and it's our first one s-so…”
Hyunjin looks at him then—really looks—and something unreadable passes through his eyes. Then they jump to you. “Maybe.”
”Hyunjin, do you have to do this right now?” You all but groan. Can’t he just let you have this? Whatever it is?
“I didn’t mean to crash your party,” he says, almost mockingly. “I just didn’t know… that you were into Jisung. He’s not really what I’d expect from you.”
The silence after that hung heavy, awkward, and unmistakably angry.
Your face scrunches, eyebrows tensed and eyes squinting from his sheer audacity. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
Hyunjin opens his mouth, then closes it again, as if your tone had snapped him back into his right mind. God, what is he doing? He’s not supposed to be like this anymore. “No—no, I didn’t mean it like that. He’s great, you’re great, man—” he falters, then tries again. “It’s just… kind of sudden is what I meant.”
You stare him down, telepathically threatening him to ‘cut it out’, but he continues in an attempt to sound a little nicer. “I’m not trying to be a dick. I just—” He turns to you, expression softer now, more confused than anything. “I guess I didn’t know things had changed this much.”
“Can you just go?” You force out in the nicest tone you can manage. He looks full of regret, and maybe even fear for the consequences that follow regardless of his next move.
The barista calls out Hyunjin’s name. His face remains that of confusion as he goes to retrieve his drink, before he stops at your table one more time.
“Sorry… see you around,” he mutters, hopefully full of guilt and embarrassment for the behavior he’d just displayed.
As he walks away, Jisung finally glanced up.
“You know, you have this look when you see him, no matter how you’re feeling.” he tries quietly. You can tell he doesn’t want to mess this up. “Like you're want something from him, for him to say or do something.”
“What are you talking about?” You question, still a little upset that Hyunjin had to come and ruin the mood.
“… When I asked you to go out with me, that night, I thought you would say no,” he lets out a laugh, staring at your hands, his eyes dimming. “Even that night, I knew I couldn’t compete with what you two had—-have… I just couldn’t not give it a shot.”
“Jisung…” You frown, starting to see where this is going. You can like Jisung, you aren’t into Hyunjin, you swear internally. Too bad you can’t seem to convince yourself either.
“I really like you, [Y/N],” his doe eyes staring into yours with more confidence than you’ve ever seen in them. “Which is why I think this is our last date. It’ll only hurt worse in the long run, and I can’t keep you from wanting him, even if I really want to.”
“I…” you what?
He smiles again, biting his lip nervously just a little bit, but it's just enough to pull at your heart strings. “It’s okay… I just want to finish my last date with you with my arm around you, is that okay?”
Goodness, he’s corny, but it's part of his charm. You can’t help but give in, which is how the two of you wind up by the Han river, where you could swear everything between you and Hyunjin really changed. Except today, you don’t wish the guy you’re with would just kiss you.
“So should I pick a fight with him or something now, for stealing my date?” Jisung jokes, backing away from you a bit, his grip loosening around your shoulders.
You shake your head, a little embarrassed by the implications, but can you really fight them anymore? “Yeah, give him a good liver punch for emotional damages to us both.” You crack a smile.
It’s odd for you to think, that if you had met Jisung before Hyunjin’s return, you would have probably liked him more. That this woudn’t be your last date. Everything about him reminds you of what had you fawning over Hyunjin when you were younger. Now… something about it just doesn’t make your heart race or cheeks flush.
Maybe Hyunjin was right. You have changed.
You see a flash of him in your mind, spiky grown out buzz and punk rock clothes hanging off his frame with that damn all too confident smile.
Maybe your taste has too, unfortunately.
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