Synopsis/Plot: Y/N has spent years finding comfort in routines and carefully guarded boundaries, never expecting that one unexpected seating arrangement in a college math class would change her life. As an unlikely friendship with Nicholas, a patient and easygoing basketball player, slowly blossoms into something more, the two discover that the strongest relationships aren't built by rushing forwardâthey're built through trust, understanding, and choosing each other one step at a time.Â
(College!Basketball Player Nicholas x Autistic!Fem!Reader)
Word Count: 3.7k
Notes/Warnings: pure fluff, reader is late-diagnosed (#relatable), mentions of casual/subtle ableism, voluntary slow-burn relationship (a dream, truly), healthy communication, use of emdashes, written in 3rd person
A/N: Hello everyone! Someone sent an anonymous ask for an autistic reader a few days ago and I knew I had to hop on it. To all my fellow autistic people and neurodivergent individuals, remember that you deserve love and a relationship that is safe and healthy for you! Enjoy the story everyone!
XOXO, Dai <333
Y/N and Nicholas met during the fall semester of their junior year.
The setting wasn't glamorous or romantic.
It was MATH357âMathematical Patterns.
A required general education course neither of them had been particularly excited to take.
It had been the first day of the fall semester.Â
And Nicholas was late.
He walked in with a note from the head basketball coach, apologizing for his lateness due to meeting with the entire basketball team that ran over time.
Because he was over 20 minutes late, the classroom had practically been full. Especially due to the fact that it was a small class of only 12 students.
In the classroom, there were 6 rows of tables, 3 on each side of the room, each seating 2 students.
Only one table held an empty seat. The left table in the front.
It was the seat next to Y/N.Â
Having no other choice, Nicholas sat down next to her.
As one of the starting players for Grey City College's basketball team, the Grey City Wolves, Nicholas was used to attracting attention.
Whether he wanted it or not, people recognized him.
Girls smiled at him in passing, struck up conversations before class, or found excuses to sit nearby.
During one lecture class the previous semester, his professor had actually moved him across the room after the girl beside him spent more time staring at him than taking notes.
But, Y/N hadn't even looked at him.
Not when he'd apologized for squeezing past her. Not when he'd pulled out his laptop to follow along with the professor in the syllabus.Â
Not even when he'd accidentally bumped the table.
If anything, she seemed determined to pretend he wasn't there.
For Y/N, it wasnât anything against him.
For the first twenty minutes of class, Y/N had quietly convinced herself the seat beside her would stay empty for the rest of the semester.
Her brain had already begun building a routine around it.
The table was close enough to the exit that she could step outside if the room became overstimulating.
The front of the classroom meant fewer distractions.
And an empty chair beside her meant one less social interaction to mentally prepare and mask for every Monday, Wednesday, and Friday.
Then the classroom door opened.
The routine she'd imagined disappeared before it had even begun.
She kept her eyes glued to her iPad as the late student approached. She noticed him only through her peripheral vision while he slid into the empty chair.
It wasn't that she meant to be rude.
She simply wasn't sure whether she was supposed to introduce herself, smile, make eye contact, or pretend nothing had changed. Faced with too many possibilities at once, saying nothing felt safest.
It also didnât help that Nicholas had a bit of an RBF.
Which made Y/N feel slightly more intimidated than usual.
During the first two months of the semester, the two of them mostly kept to themselves.
Some days, Nicholas arrived right as class began. Some days, he slipped in a few minutes late with a quiet apology. Other days, basketball commitments kept him from showing up altogether.
Y/N, meanwhile, was always there five to ten minutes early. Every class.
She liked having those extra few minutes to settle into her seat, organize her notebook, put on her noise-cancelling headphones, and mentally prepare herself before the room filled with conversation.
It was part of the routine she'd come to rely on.
One afternoon, about a week before midterms, the professor gave everyone the class period to work independently on a review packet.
Nicholas stared down at problem #6 for several minutes before letting out a quiet sigh.
Normally, he'd just walk over and ask the professor for help.
Today, though, nearly everyone had been gathering periodically around her desk, and he wasn't exactly eager to try to time a moment to speak to her.
Instead, he glanced beside him.
Y/N was already halfway through the packet, pencil moving steadily across the page as soft lo-fi music played through her headphones.
After a brief moment of hesitation, he gently tapped her shoulder.
The unexpected touch made Y/N jump slightly.
She instinctively paused her music before sliding one side of her headphones off her ear.
"...Yes?" she asked quietly.
Nicholas offered an apologetic smile.
"Sorry. You look like you've actually figured this stuff out."
He awkwardly rubbed the back of his neck before pointing at his paper.
"Can you help me with number 6?"
Y/N blinked.
No one had ever described her as approachable. Usually people assumed she wanted to be left alone.
"...Sure."
She scooted her notebook a little closer to the middle of the table.
"I think the professor wants us to recognize the recursive pattern first."
For the next several minutes, the two quietly worked through the problem together.
It wasn't much. But it was the first real conversation they'd ever had.
And somehow, after that day, talking to each other became...easy.
It started with Nicholas asking questions about homework or concepts he'd missed while traveling for away games.
On days he knew he'd be absent, he'd ask if Y/N wouldn't mind sharing her notes afterward. She always said yes.
In return, he'd buy her a snack and drink out the vending machine down the hall after class.
Neither of them ever talked about becoming friends. It just...happened.
As the semester continued, studying together before and after class became routine.
He learned that Y/N loved logic puzzles, animal and nature documentaries, and organizing everything with meticulous precision.
Nicholas admitted he switched majors twice before finally finding one he enjoyed.
She learned that basketball wasn't just something he was good atâit was something he'd dreamed about since he was a kid.
He learned that silence never meant Y/N was uncomfortable.
Sometimes, it meant she felt comfortable enough not to force herself to fill every quiet moment.
Little by little, Y/N stopped feeling the need to constantly monitor herself around him.
She no longer worried about whether she'd made enough eye contact or if she'd paused too long before answering a question.
Nicholas never seemed bothered by any of it.Â
He simply waited. And listened.
By the time finals were approaching, Nicholas had realized something.
He liked being around Y/N.
More than that...
He liked her.
She was thoughtful. Funny in ways she didn't always realize. Incredibly intelligent.
And, if he was being honest with himself, one of the most beautiful girls he'd ever met.
So, after one of their study sessions, Nicholas finally worked up the courage to ask her out.
The question caught Y/N completely off guard.
Not because she hadn't developed feelings for him.Â
(She had. More than she cared to admit.)
But dating felt...complicated.
She took a long breath before quietly telling him something very few people knew.
She'd been diagnosed with autism during the spring semester of her freshman year after experiencing a period of severe burnout that left her physically and emotionally exhausted.
Looking back, the diagnosis explained so many things she'd struggled to understand about herself growing up.
Her need for routine. The exhaustion that came from constantly masking around other people. How overwhelming social situations could become. Why change always seemed harder for her than it did for everyone else.
"If we're going to do this..." she said softly, twisting the sleeve of her sweatshirt between her fingers, "...I need to take things really slowly."
She hesitated before continuing.
"I've never been in a serious relationship before."
A small, nervous laugh escaped her.
"Honestly...I don't have much romantic experience at all."
Growing up undiagnosed had made it difficult to understand both herself and other people.
For a long time, she'd convinced herself that relationships simply weren't something she'd ever be good at.
So if Nicholas wanted to be with her...
He needed to understand exactly what he was signing up for.
When Y/N finished speaking, silence settled between them.
She tried to read Nicholas's expression, but quickly gave up.
Her stomach twisted into a knot. She'd had this conversation before.
Not with someone she liked.
But with classmates. Lab partners. Acquaintances.
And it almost always ended the same way.
Sometimes people blinked in disbelief before saying,
"Really? You don't look autistic."
As if autism had a certain face.
Other times, their entire demeanor changed.
Their voices became slower. Softer. Patronizing. Like she'd suddenly become a five-year-old girl instead of a young woman in her early 20s.
And then there were the people who somehow managed to make her diagnosis about themselves.
"Wow...you're so inspiring."
"If you can do college with autism, I have no excuse."
Every response left her feeling like she'd somehow become a different person the moment she said the word autism.
She quietly waited for Nicholas to do the same.
Instead, he smiled.
Not out of sympathy. Not out of surprise. Just...warmly.
"Thanks for trusting me enough to tell me."
Y/N blinked.
"And...it's okay," he continued. "We can take things as slowly as you need to."
He shrugged. "I'm not in any hurry."
For several seconds, Y/N simply stared at him.
"...Really?"
"Yeah."
"...That's it?"
Now it was Nicholas's turn to look confused. He tilted his head slightly.
"Was there supposed to be more?"
"I just..." She looked down at the table. "People usually react differently."
"Differently how?"
She hesitated before letting out a small sigh.
"They either tell me I don't 'look autistic,' start treating me like I'm a little kid..." She gave a humorless laugh. "...or tell me I'm inspiring for just existing."
Nicholas frowned. "...Seriously?"
She nodded.
"That sounds exhausting."
Y/N looked back up at him.
There wasn't pity in his eyes. Or discomfort. Or forced optimism. Just genuine understanding.
"So..." Nicholas said after a moment, "you're still the same person I've been studying with for months."
She smiled a little. "I guess."
"The same person who organizes everything."
She laughed softly.
"The same person who helps me with math.â
Another smile.
"The same person I like."
Y/N felt warmth spread across her cheeks.
"Oh."
"So..." Nicholas smiled. "Why would I suddenly start treating you differently?"
For the first time since she'd brought up her diagnosis, the tightness in her chest eased.
"...Thank you."
He smiled. "You don't have to thank me."
"I do."
A comfortable silence settled between them.
Then Y/N gave him a teasing look.
"I honestly thought you basketball jock-types liked to move a lot faster."
Nicholas laughed. "That's the stereotype?"
She shrugged innocently. "I may have made a few assumptions."
"Well," he grinned, "I hate to disappoint."
"It doesn't."
He raised an eyebrow. "It doesn't?"
Y/N took a steadying breath.
"I like you too, Nicholas."
Her voice was quiet.
"But I really do need to take things slowly."
His smile softened. "I can do slow."
He rested his hand on the table between them but didn't reach for hers. Instead, he let it sit there, giving her the choice.
After a brief moment, Y/N looked down at his hand before carefully placing hers in it.
His fingers curled gently around hers.
No rush. No pressure. Just enough to remind her she didn't have to navigate this new chapter alone.
"I'm really glad you said yes," he admitted.
Y/N smiled. "...Me too."
A comfortable silence settled between them, accompanied by a pair of shy smiles neither of them could quite hide.
After a moment, Nicholas chuckled to himself.
"You know," he said, "you can just call me 'Nicho.'"
Y/N tilted her head ever so slightly. "I've heard other people call you that."
"So...?"
She gave him a small, matter-of-fact smile. "I think 'Nicholas' is a perfectly suitable name."
He laughed, shaking his head. "Stubborn already, huh?"
"I prefer 'particular.'"
"Fair enough."
He smiled at her before standing from his chair and slinging his backpack over one shoulder.
"Whatever you say, sunshine."
Y/N felt warmth creep into her cheeks.
As he walked away, she quietly repeated the nickname to herself.
"...Sunshine."
She wasn't entirely sure how she felt about it yet. But she didn't dislike it, either.
Despite agreeing to take things slowly, very little about Y/N and Nicho's relationship actually changed. At least, not on the surface.
They still spent hours studying together after class. They still grabbed vending machine snacks after lectures.
They still wandered around campus after finishing their homework, talking about everything and nothing at all.
The only real difference was the quiet affection that had slowly woven itself into their routine.
Hands brushing together before naturally intertwining. Hugs that lingered a few extra seconds. Soft kisses pressed to her forehead or cheek whenever they said goodbye.
They never rushed toward defining what they were. They simply enjoyed being together.
Over time, Nicholas began learning Y/N's boundariesânot by making assumptions, but by paying attention and asking when he wasn't sure.
He discovered that she didn't dislike physical affection. Quite the opposite.
She loved hugs, hand-holding, and gentle touches from the people she trusted.
She simply preferred having some control over when they happened.
Sometimes that meant she would be the one to initiate them. Other times, she'd ask.
"Nicholas?"
He looked up from his textbook. "Hm?"
"...Can I have a hug?"
A tiny pause.
"...A deeper one than usual, please."
Without saying a word, Nicholas stood, opened his arms, and waited.
The moment Y/N stepped into them, he wrapped his arms around her a little tighter than normal.
Not enough to overwhelm her. Just enough to make her feel grounded.
After nearly a minute, she let out a quiet sigh. "Thank you."
He smiled. "Anytime, sunshine."
Nicholas also learned that spending time together didn't always mean being together.
There were days when Y/N's social battery was simply...empty.
After hours of lectures, group discussions, and navigating conversations, she needed time alone to decompress from the effort of masking throughout the day.
On those afternoons, Nicholas never took it personally.
Instead of asking if she'd wanted to hang out, he'd send a simple text.
Thinking of you. Hope you're getting some rest. đ
Sometimes she replied immediately. Sometimes sheâd simply like the message. Sometimes she didn't answer until the following morning.
But, he never pressured her. He knew she'd respond when she had the energy.
As the months passed, Nicholas made it a point to learn moreânot because he believed every autistic person was the same, but because he wanted to better understand Y/N's experiences.
His search history became filled with questions.
What is autistic burnout?
Why is masking so exhausting?
How can I support an autistic partner?
Whenever he found conflicting information, he asked Y/N instead.
"So...does this actually apply to you?"
Sometimes she'd nod. Sometimes she'd laugh.
"Not really."
He quickly learned that autism didn't come with a universal instruction manual.
It came with Y/N.
And she was more than happy to teach him what she needed.
More than anything, she appreciated that he asked.
No one besides her parents had ever shown such genuine interest in understanding herânot to change her, but simply to love her well.
That meant more to her than Nicholas probably realized.
The spring semester came and went in a blur of lectures, late-night study sessions, and final exams.
Once their last final was behind them, Nicholas insisted they celebrate.
His idea? Ice cream.
"We survived junior year," he'd joked. "That deserves at least two scoops."
Now the two of them sat in a quiet corner of a local ice cream shop just off campus, absentmindedly eating their treats while the conversation drifted from finals to summer plans.
Y/N traced the edge of her paper cup with the plastic spoon in her hand.
"Nicholas?"
"Hm?"
"I've been thinking."
His attention immediately shifted to her.
She kept her eyes on the melting ice cream instead of meeting his gaze.
"These past few months..." she began softly, "...have been some of the happiest months I've had in a really long time."
A small smile tugged at the corner of Nicholas's lips.
"You've been incredibly patient with me."
She paused, carefully choosing her next words.
"You've never made me feel rushed. You've never made me feel...difficult. And you've always asked what I needed instead of assuming."
She finally looked up at him.
"I don't think you realize how much that means to me."
Nicholas's smile softened. "It wasn't hard."
"It wasn't?"
He shook his head. "No."
He reached across the table, resting his hand beside hers without expecting her to take it.
"I told you from the beginning, sunshine. I was willing to wait."
Y/N smiled to herself.
Another comfortable silence settled between them. Then she took a slow breath.
"I think..."
She stopped. Collected her thoughts. Then she tried again.
"I think I'm ready."
Nicholas blinked. "...Ready?"
She nodded. "For a relationship. A real one."
She laughed nervously.Â
"I mean...we've basically been dating without calling it dating."
His grin grew.Â
"I've noticed."
"I think..." She smiled shyly. "...I'd like us to officially be boyfriend and girlfriend."
For a moment, Nicholas simply looked at her.
Not because he was surprised she'd asked. But because he wanted to make sure she wasn't saying it just because she thought she should.
"Are you sure?" he asked gently.
Y/N let out a quiet breath.
"If I'm being completely honest..." She looked back down at her cup.
"...Not entirely."
His expression remained calm.
"It isn't because of you."
"I know."
She nodded.
"I keep wondering if I'm going to mess everything up. If I'll get overwhelmed. If I'll need more space than most people. If Iâll weird you out."
She sighed.
"I just keep second-guessing myself."
A sheepish smile crossed her face.
"My therapist keeps reminding me that I'll probably never wake up one day feeling one hundred percent ready."
"Sometimes," she continued, "you have to let yourself do something before your brain decides it's safe."
She glanced up at him.
"So...I guess this is me trying to take a leap of faith."
A faint grimace crossed her face.
"...Does that make any sense?"
Without saying a word, Nicholas set his spoon down.
He reached across and gently took both of Y/N's hands in his own, applying the firm, steady pressure he'd learned she found comforting.
Y/N instinctively relaxed.
"First..." he said softly, rubbing his thumb across the back of her hand, "thank you for trusting me with all of that."
His smile was gentle.
"I know these conversations aren't easy for you."
"They're not," she admitted quietly.
He nodded. "I figured."
For a moment, he simply looked at her. Then he continued.
"Sunshine...there isn't anything you could've told me today that would've made me think less of you."
Y/N felt her throat tighten.
"You experience the world differently than I do."
He shrugged lightly. "So what?"
"That doesn't make you any less deserving of love. It doesn't make you too much. It doesn't make you difficult. It just means I love you in the ways that help you feel safe."
Tears immediately welled in Y/N's eyes.
"And one more thing."
He smiled.
"When I asked if you were sure, I wasn't questioning whether I wanted this. I've wanted this for a long time, actually. I just didn't want to ask before you were ready."
His cheeks flushed slightly.
"I promised I'd let you set the pace. And I meant it."
He squeezed her hands once more. "So..."
A grin spread across his face. "I would absolutely love to be your boyfriend."
The tears she'd been trying so hard to hold back finally escaped.
Before she even realized what she was doing, Y/N stood from her side of the booth and walked around to Nicholas.
She slid in beside him before wrapping both arms tightly around his shoulders, resting her head against him.
Nicholas immediately hugged her back, matching the same firm pressure she always asked for.
One hand gently rubbed slow circles across her back. He kissed the top of her head.
Neither of them spoke for several moments. They didn't need to.
"...Thank you," Y/N whispered.
Her voice cracked.
"Thank you, Nicholas."
She paused.
"...I mean..."
A watery laugh escaped her. A real, genuine laugh.
"...Boyfriend."
Nicholas couldn't help but laugh too.
The kind that left their shoulders feeling lighter.
Eventually, Y/N lifted her head. Her eyes lingered on him for a few seconds.
"Nicholas?"
"Hm?"
She fidgeted with the sleeve of her sweater.
"...Can we kiss?"
His smile softened. "Of course we can..."
He brushed a loose strand of hair behind her ear.
"...Girlfriend."
He waited. Just long enough for her to lean the rest of the way toward him.Â
Then he gently cupped her cheek and pressed his lips to hers.
The kiss was everything their relationship had been. Slow. Gentle. Patient. Safe.
When they finally pulled apart, Y/N kept her eyes closed for another second, quietly taking in the feeling before opening them again.
"...Wow."
Nicholas chuckled. "Good wow?"
She nodded. "My first kiss."
He smiled so warmly it made her chest ache. "I'm honored."
He leaned over and pressed another quick kiss near the corner of her mouth.
"And if I'm lucky...hopefully the last first kiss you'll ever have."
Y/N's cheeks immediately warmed.
After another comfortable silence, Nicholas smiled at her.
"You know..."
"Hm?"
"You never have to ask permission every single time you want to kiss me."
Y/N blinked.
"But... You always ask before you hug me. Or hold my hand. You always make sure I'm okay with physical affection."
She shrugged. "So...I thought it was only fair."
Nicholas's expression softened even more. "I appreciate that, I really do."
He intertwined their fingers.
"But if it helps..."
He smiled.
"I really, really like it when my girlfriend kisses me."
A shy smile spread across Y/N's face.
"I think..." She glanced down for a moment before looking back up.
 "...I like kissing my boyfriend, too."
Nicholas laughed quietly. "I was hoping you'd say that."
A/N: I already have a part 2 coming for this that was supposed to be the original, but I got so caught up in writing the backstory that I decided to split it. Thank you for reading!
XOXO, Dai <333
⥠bang chan grew up believing people always leave. when his childhood best friend moves away in high school and the friendship slowly fades, he turns the pain into quiet, private recordings â never expecting her to come back. years later, university brings her home again. the friendship feels exactly the same. and somehow that hurts worse.
â genres: childhood best friends to lovers | second chance romance | slow burn healing | hidden mental health struggles | mutual pining | emotional intimacy | "i wish you'd told me" | quiet devastation | acts of service | gentle love
â warnings: explicit nsfw (MDNI 18+), heavy emotional themes (self-worth issues, abandonment wounds, grief over lost time), detailed emotional smut, praise kink, body worship, slow & sensual sex, eye contact during intimacy, marking (gentle & possessive), switching dynamics (soft dom Chan & vulnerable sub Chan), emotional sex, cockwarming, breeding kink (emotional/possessive), multiple orgasms, oral (giving & receiving), fingering, light edging, crying during/after sex, tender possessiveness, extensive aftercare, healing through physical & emotional intimacy
The first time you saw Bang Chan again, it felt like stepping into a memory you had never truly left.
University orientation was loud, chaotic, and overwhelming â hundreds of new students moving through the auditorium like colorful fish in a too-small tank. You were clutching your orientation packet, trying to find your assigned group, when a familiar laugh cut through the noise.
You turned.
And there he was.
Bang Chan, standing near the front with a group of new students, smiling that same warm, dimpled smile that used to light up your entire childhood. He looked older â broader shoulders, sharper jawline, hair dyed a soft blonde â but the way he tilted his head when he laughed was exactly the same.
Your heart stopped for a second.
Then he looked up and saw you.
The smile didnât disappear, but it changed. It became softer. Smaller. Like he was seeing a ghost he had been quietly waiting for.
You walked toward each other through the crowd, both of you moving like magnets that had finally found their match again.
â...Chan?â you said, voice barely carrying over the noise.
His eyes crinkled at the corners. âYou came back.â
The words were simple, but they carried years.
You hugged him without thinking. He hugged you back immediately, arms wrapping around you like no time had passed at all. He smelled the same â clean laundry and faint cologne and something that felt like home.
When you pulled away, both of you were smiling, but there was a carefulness in the air. Like you were both afraid to acknowledge how much had changed.
âI canât believe youâre here,â he said, rubbing the back of his neck the way he always did when he was nervous. âYou're majoring here?â
You nodded. âYeah. Music production. You?â
âSame.â His smile widened, but there was something quieter underneath it. âLooks like weâre stuck together again.â
The rest of orientation passed in a blur of small talk and shared memories. You fell back into old rhythms so easily it was almost scary â finishing each otherâs sentences, laughing at the same inside jokes, instinctively walking at the same pace.
But every so often, you caught him watching you with an expression you couldnât quite read.
Like he was memorizing you.
That evening, your mutual friends dragged both of you to a welcome party. Chan stayed close the entire time â not obviously, but always within reach. When someone bumped into you, his hand found the small of your back to steady you. When you mentioned being thirsty, he was already handing you a drink before you could finish the sentence.
It felt exactly like old times.
And somehow that made it hurt more.
Because you had missed years of his life.
Years you could never get back.
When the party wound down, Chan walked you back to your dorm. The campus paths were quiet under the streetlights, leaves crunching under your shoes.
At your door, he lingered.
âIt was really good seeing you again,â he said softly. âI missed this. Missed you.â
You smiled, but your chest felt tight. âI missed you too, Chan.â
He looked at you for a long moment, something heavy and unspoken in his eyes. Then he gave you that familiar dimpled smile and ruffled your hair gently â the same way he used to when you were kids.
âGet some rest,â he said. âText me tomorrow?â
You nodded.
He waited until you were safely inside before walking away.
You closed the door, leaned against it, and let out a shaky breath.
Nothing had changed.
And that was the problem.
Because the boy you had loved since you were seven years old was still carrying something heavy behind that bright smile.
You just didnât know what it was yet.
-----
The first few weeks after the reunion felt like slipping back into a favorite sweater you thought youâd outgrown â warm, familiar, and a little too tight in places you didnât remember.
You and Chan fell into old rhythms so effortlessly it was almost frightening.
Mornings started with coffee runs.
Chan would text you at 7:45 a.m. sharp â never earlier, never later â with a simple âoutside?â Youâd come down to find him leaning against the wall near your dorm building, two cups in hand, wearing an oversized hoodie and that same soft, dimpled smile that used to make your childhood heart race.
âExtra shot, oat milk, light ice,â heâd say, handing you your cup like it was the most natural thing in the world. âStill your order, right?â
It was.
He remembered everything.
The two of you would walk to your first class together, shoulders brushing, trading stories about professors and dorm life like no time had passed. Chan listened like he always had â head tilted, eyes focused, laughing at the right moments. But every so often youâd catch him watching you with something unreadable in his gaze.
When you mentioned struggling with a new assignment, he showed up at the library that evening with notes heâd already organized.
âYou donât have to help me every time,â you said, half-teasing, half-serious.
Chan just smiled and slid into the seat beside you. âI want to. Besides, I missed studying with you.â
The words were light, but they carried weight.
Late-night walks became routine.
One evening after a long group project, you texted him at 11 p.m. complaining that your brain wouldnât shut off. Twenty minutes later he was at your door in sweats and a hoodie, hair messy from sleep.
âWalk with me?â he asked softly.
You did.
The campus was quiet under the streetlights, leaves crunching beneath your shoes. Chan walked slightly slower to match your pace, hands in his pockets, occasionally bumping your shoulder when he wanted your attention. You talked about everything and nothing â old neighborhood stories, new dreams, the way time had changed you both without changing the way you understood each other.
At one point, you teased him about a silly childhood memory.
Chan laughed â that bright, genuine laugh you had missed so much â but then added quietly, âYeah⊠I was always the loud one trying to keep up with you.â
There was something in his tone. A small, self-deprecating edge you almost missed.
You glanced at him. âYou were never trying to keep up. You were the best part of everything.â
He looked away, smiling, but his shoulders tensed just slightly.
You didnât push.
Convenience store dinners became sacred.
One rainy night, after you both finished late assignments, Chan showed up at your door with plastic bags full of your favorite late-night snacks.
âEmergency rations,â he declared with a grin. âWeâre not studying anymore tonight.â
You ended up sitting on the floor of your dorm eating ramyeon and sharing earphones, playing old playlists you used to listen to together. Chan leaned against your bed, legs stretched out, humming along softly. Every so often heâd steal food from your container, then pretend to be innocent when you glared at him.
It felt exactly like when you were thirteen.
And it hurt.
Years of his laughter, his quiet support, his steady presence, all missed.
One night, as you were both half-asleep on the floor surrounded by empty containers, Chan spoke into the quiet.
âI thought about you a lot after you moved,â he admitted, voice low. âWondered if you were okay. If you made new friends. If you still liked the same songs.â
You turned your head to look at him. His profile was soft in the dim light, but there was something heavy in his expression.
âI thought about you too,â you whispered. âAll the time.â
He smiled, but it didnât quite reach his eyes.
âGood,â he said softly. âI was scared youâd forget me.â
The words lingered.
You wanted to tell him you could never forget him.
But something in the way he said it made you hold back â like there was more pain behind the sentence than he was letting on.
The cracks were small, but they were there and you noticed them.
Chan would dismiss compliments instantly.
When you told him he looked good with his new hair color, he laughed and said, âItâs just hair. Doesnât matter.â
When a professor praised his latest project in front of the class, he shrugged it off with, âI got lucky.â
When you told him you were proud of how hard he worked, he looked away and muttered, âI could do better.â
You didnât understand yet.
But the foundation was forming.
The boy who used to be your entire world was carrying something heavy.
And you were starting to see the weight he tried so hard to hide behind that bright, familiar smile.
Then, the podcast found you by accident.
It was a ordinary Thursday night, the kind where exhaustion sat heavy in your bones and sleep refused to come. You were lying in bed, scrolling through Spotifyâs âDiscover Weeklyâ with half-lidded eyes, when a recommendation appeared near the bottom of the list.
The thumbnail was simple â a faded polaroid of an empty playground at dusk. No face. No name. Just a soft, melancholic image that felt strangely familiar.
You tapped a random episode without thinking.
âEpisode 12: The Girl Who Promised Sheâd Write Back.â
A low, warm voice filled your headphones â gentle, slightly raspy, the kind of voice that made you lean in closer.
Your heart stopped.
You knew that voice.
You would know it anywhere.
You sat up slowly, pulling the blanket around your shoulders as Chanâs voice continued, soft and honest in the dark.
âI donât think she meant to leave,â he said quietly. There was no anger in it. Only a gentle, aching nostalgia. âWe were kids. Life got bigger. Different schools, different time zones, different friends⊠I get it. But for a long time, I kept checking my phone anyway. Waiting for a message that never came.â
A small, self-deprecating laugh.
âI told myself it was fine. That friendships fade. That it wasnât her fault. But sometimes⊠I still wonder what I did wrong. If I wasnât interesting enough. If I was too much. If the version of me she knew wasnât enough to make her stay.â
You pressed pause, breath shaky.
The date on the episode was from three years ago.
You didnât sleep that night.
You listened to every episode.
Some were short â two or three minutes of Chan talking about old friends, teachers, neighbors who had drifted away. Others were longer, more vulnerable.
He never named anyone.
But you knew.
You knew which stories were about you.
The one about the girl who used to share her headphones with him on the bus. The one about the person who made him feel seen when he felt invisible. The one about the friend who promised theyâd always find their way back to each other.
In one episode, recorded late at night, his voice cracked.
âI keep thinking⊠maybe if I had been better, she wouldnât have left. Maybe if I had been more fun, or less needy, or less⊠me, she would have stayed in touch. I know thatâs not fair. But itâs what I believed for a long time.â
Tears slipped down your cheeks as you listened.
You had moved away for your fatherâs job. You had tried to keep in touch at first. But life had pulled you in different directions â new school, new friends, new pressures. Texts became less frequent. Calls stopped. You had assumed he was fine. That he had moved on like you thought you had.
You never knew he had been carrying this.
By 4 a.m., you had listened to every episode twice.
The final one, uploaded only a month ago, destroyed you.
Title: âHopeâ
Chanâs voice was quieter than usual, tired but warm.
âI spent years thinking every goodbye was permanent. That people left because they eventually saw the real me and decided I wasnât worth staying for. But lately⊠someone came back. Someone whoâs making me believe that maybe not every ending is forever.â
A long pause.
âIâm scared to hope. But Iâm hoping anyway.â
The episode ended.
You sat in the dark, phone still glowing in your hands, tears streaming silently down your face.
The boy who used to be your entire world had spent years believing he wasnât enough.
And you had no idea.
The next morning, you met Chan at your usual coffee spot.
He was already there, two cups in hand, smiling that familiar dimpled smile when he saw you. But you saw it now â the slight tension in his shoulders, the way his eyes searched your face like he was always waiting for the other shoe to drop.
âHey,â he said softly, handing you your drink. âYou look tired. Did you sleep okay?â
You took the cup, fingers brushing his.
âNot really,â you admitted. âI found something last night.â
Chan tilted his head, curious but relaxed. âYeah? What was it?â
You looked at him for a long moment, heart aching with everything you now knew.
âNothing important,â you lied gently, forcing a small smile. âJust an old playlist.â
He accepted the answer easily, like he always did when someone didnât want to burden him.
You walked to class together like always.
But inside, something had shifted.
You werenât just rediscovering your best friend.
You were discovering the boy who had been quietly breaking for years.
And you didnât know how to fix something he had never asked you to see.
-----
You didnât tell him you knew.
Not yet.
Instead, you carried the weight of his words like a secret you werenât sure you had the right to hold. Every episode played on repeat in your mind â late at night when the dorm was quiet, during lectures when your attention wandered, in the shower where the water couldnât wash away the ache in your chest.
The grief wasnât loud.
It was quiet. Personal. A deep, aching sorrow for the boy who had smiled through years of believing he wasnât enough.
The next time you saw Chan, it was a ordinary Tuesday afternoon.
He was waiting outside your lecture hall like always, two coffees in hand, wearing that soft gray hoodie you secretly loved on him. When he spotted you, his whole face lit up with that familiar dimpled smile.
âHey,â he said, handing you your usual order. âExtra shot, just how you like it. How was class?â
You took the cup, fingers brushing his, and forced a bright smile.
âIt was fine,â you lied. âThanks for this.â
The way he brushed off a compliment from a passing classmate with a casual laugh and âItâs nothing.â The way he changed the subject when you tried to ask how he was doing. The way his smile stayed in place even when his eyes looked tired.
Every small moment felt like a new wound.
Because you now knew what those smiles were hiding.
That night, you couldnât sleep again.
You lay in bed listening to another episode â one from two years ago.
Chanâs voice was softer then, younger, but the pain was the same.
âSometimes I wonder if Iâm only good at beginnings,â he said quietly. âIâm really good at making people like me at first. But eventually⊠they see the real me. The version that gets quiet when things get hard. The version that overthinks everything. And then they leave. Not because theyâre mean. Just because Iâm not enough to make them stay.â
A long pause.
âI donât blame them. I get it.â
You pressed pause, tears slipping silently down your cheeks.
You grieved for the thirteen-year-old boy who had stayed up all night waiting for your texts after you moved. You grieved for the sixteen-year-old who had convinced himself your fading messages meant he wasnât worth remembering. You grieved for the young man who had turned every goodbye into proof that he was temporary.
And most of all, you grieved for the fact that you had been part of that proof â without ever knowing it.
The next day, you started noticing more.
During a group study session, someone praised Chanâs latest track. He laughed it off immediately.
âItâs not that good,â he said with an easy smile. âI got lucky with the beat.â
You reached under the table and gently squeezed his knee. He glanced at you, surprised, but didnât pull away. Instead, his hand covered yours for a brief second â a silent thank you.
Later, when the group teased him about being âtoo perfect,â Chan deflected again.
âTrust me, Iâm far from it.â
You waited until everyone left, then turned to him.
âYou donât have to do that,â you said softly. âDownplay yourself like that.â
He looked at you for a long moment, something unreadable in his eyes.
âItâs just easier,â he said finally, voice quiet. âIf people donât expect too much, they canât be disappointed.â
The words broke something inside you.
You wanted to tell him about the podcast. You wanted to tell him you knew. You wanted to hold him and promise that you saw him â all of him â and you werenât going anywhere.
But you werenât ready and neither was he.
Instead, you started loving him more intentionally.
You repeated compliments, casually but sincerely. You showed up at his dorm with his favourite snacks when he mentioned a long day. You walked him home instead of the other way around sometimes. You stayed.
And Chan noticed.
He started looking at you longer. Touching you more â small brushes of his hand against yours, fingers lingering when he passed you something. His smiles became softer when they were directed at you.
But the fear was still there.
One night, after walking you back, he hesitated at your door.
âYou know you can tell me if itâs too much, right?â he asked quietly. âIf Iâm around too often. If Iâm⊠too much.â
You stepped forward and hugged him tightly.
âYouâre not too much,â you whispered against his chest. âYou never were.â
He held you for a long time, arms wrapped around you like he was afraid to let go.
But you both knew the real conversation was coming.
The one where you would have to tell him you knew about the recordings and the one where he would have to let you see the parts he had spent years trying to hide.
-----
You continued to show him your love.
And Chan, slowly but surely, started letting you in.
One particularly cold night in late November, you found him in the music building practice room long after everyone else had gone home. The lights were dim, only the soft glow of his laptop screen illuminating his face. He was sitting on the floor with his back against the wall, headphones around his neck, staring at nothing.
He looked exhausted.
You didnât knock. You simply walked in, closed the door behind you, and sat down beside him on the cold floor.
Chan didnât say anything at first. He just shifted closer until his shoulder pressed against yours, seeking warmth without asking for it.
âBad day?â you asked gently.
He let out a small, tired laugh. âJust one of those days where I feel like Iâm not doing enough. For anyone.â
You turned to face him, heart aching at the familiar self-doubt in his voice. You reached out and gently took his hand, intertwining your fingers with his.
âYouâre enough, Chan,â you said softly. âYouâve always been enough.â
He looked at you for a long moment, eyes searching yours like he was waiting for the catch. When he didnât find one, something in him cracked open.
He kissed you â slow, hesitant, full of years of unspoken longing. You kissed him back just as tenderly, cupping his face, thumbs brushing away the tension in his jaw. The kiss deepened gradually, turning emotional and needy. Chanâs hands slid under your sweater, tracing your skin like he was memorizing you.
âCan IâŠ?â he whispered against your lips, voice trembling. âI need to feel close to you tonight. Please.â
You nodded, pulling him closer.
He laid you down gently on the practice room floor, spreading his hoodie beneath you like a blanket. Clothes came off slowly, reverently. Chan worshipped every inch of you with his mouth and hands â kissing down your neck, across your chest, between your thighs until you were arching and whispering his name.
When he finally pushed inside you, it was deep and slow, forehead pressed to yours, eyes locked the entire time. He moved with tender, rolling thrusts, breathing your name like a prayer.
âYou feel like home,â he gasped, voice breaking. âYouâve always felt like home.â
You wrapped your legs around him, pulling him deeper, nails gently dragging down his back. The intimacy was overwhelming â skin against skin, breath mingling, hearts beating in sync. Chan made love to you like he was afraid to rush a single second of having you.
When you came, clenching around him with a soft cry, he followed right after, burying himself deep and spilling inside you with a quiet, broken moan. He stayed inside you afterward, arms wrapped tightly around your body, face pressed into your neck as quiet tears slipped down his cheeks.
You held him through it, stroking his hair, whispering that you were here, that you saw him, that you werenât going anywhere.
He cleaned you gently with his hoodie, brought you water from his bag, then pulled you into his chest and held you like you were the only thing keeping him from falling apart.
âI donât know how to do this without feeling like I have to earn it,â he whispered into the dark.
You kissed his collarbone, fingers tracing soothing patterns on his skin.
âYou donât have to earn me,â you murmured. âYou already have me.â
Chan held you tighter, legs tangling with yours, breathing you in like he was still afraid you might disappear.
For the first time in years, Bang Chan let himself be loved without trying to be perfect first.
And you stayed.
The closeness that followed was both healing and terrifying.
You and Chan existed in a delicate new rhythm â late-night study sessions that turned into quiet cuddles, shared meals where his hand would find yours under the table, mornings where heâd show up with coffee and a shy smile that made your heart ache with how much you had missed this version of him.
But the more you saw him, the more you noticed the cracks he tried so hard to hide.
Minjaeâs return complicated everything.
Your other childhood best friend had always been loud, confident, and competitive â especially when it came to you. When he heard through mutual friends that you and Chan had reconnected so deeply, he treated it like a challenge rather than a reunion.
âLong time no see, stranger,â he said with that familiar cocky grin. âHeard you and Chan are basically attached at the hip again. Didnât know you two were still that close.â
You smiled politely. âWeâre figuring things out. Itâs nice having him back in my life.â
Minjae leaned forward, eyes sparkling with that competitive edge you remembered from childhood games. âYou know Iâm always here too, right? We have history too. Real history. If Chan gets too busy with his producing stuff, I can take you out. Like old times.â
Before you could respond, Chan appeared at the table, two drinks in hand. His expression remained calm, but you saw the subtle tightening of his jaw, the way his shoulders stiffened.
He set your drink down gently in front of you, then sat beside you â close enough that his thigh pressed against yours under the table.
âHey,â Chan said softly to you, completely ignoring Minjae at first. His hand found yours under the table, fingers intertwining possessively. âMissed you.â
Minjaeâs smile sharpened. âChan. Good to see you, man. We were just talking about how close you two have gotten again. Almost like no time passed, huh?â
Chanâs thumb brushed over your knuckles â steady, but you felt the tension in his grip.
âYeah,â Chan replied quietly, voice even. âSome things donât change.â
The air grew thick.
Minjae leaned back, crossing his arms. âFunny how that works. I was her emergency contact plan back in the day. Guess I got replaced pretty easily.â
Chanâs fingers tightened around yours. Not painfully â protectively.
âShe chose who she wanted,â Chan said, still calm, but there was steel underneath. âAnd sheâs happy with that choice.â
You squeezed his hand back, trying to ground him.
Minjae eventually left with a forced laugh and a âCatch you later,â but the damage was done. Chan was quiet the rest of the afternoon, thumb still tracing patterns on your hand but his mind clearly elsewhere.
That night, when he walked you home, he lingered at your door longer than usual.
âYou know you can tell me if this isn't what you want, right?â he asked suddenly, voice low. âIf Minjae is⊠easier. If Iâm getting in the way of your old friendships.â
You turned to him, heart breaking at the quiet fear in his eyes.
âChan,â you said gently, stepping closer. âYouâre not in the way. Youâre exactly where I want you.â
He searched your face for a long moment, then pulled you into a tight hug, burying his face in your hair.
âI just keep waiting for the day you realize you donât need me anymore,â he whispered. âLike everyone else eventually does.â
You held him tighter, feeling the weight of every recording you had listened to â every quiet confession of self-doubt he had never voiced out loud to you.
âIâm not everyone else,â you murmured against his chest. âIâm staying this time. I promise.â
He kissed you then â desperate and emotional, hands framing your face like he was afraid you might slip away. The kiss quickly turned heated. You pulled him inside your dorm, clothes shedding in a trail toward your bed.
Chan made love to you with quiet intensity that night â deep, slow thrusts, eyes locked on yours, whispering âstay with meâ and âI need youâ between every moan. He switched halfway through, letting you take control, his hands gripping your hips as you rode him, both of you chasing comfort and connection in the most intimate way possible.
When you both came undone, he held you through the aftershocks, staying buried inside you, arms wrapped around you like a lifeline.
The tension with Minjae wasnât over.
But for now, Chan let himself believe you would choose him.
Even if part of him still waited for the day you wouldnât.
-----
The confrontation didnât come from a single dramatic fight.
It came from the slow accumulation of small moments â Minjaeâs competitive comments, Chanâs quiet deflections, and the growing weight of everything you now knew from the recordings.
It finally broke on a rainy Thursday night.
You had been studying together in Chanâs dorm when Minjae texted you about a group project deadline. Chan saw the notification light up your phone. His jaw tightened, but he said nothing at first.
Then, when you casually mentioned meeting Minjae the next day to finish the work, Chanâs mask slipped.
âYou donât have to go,â he said quietly, staring at his laptop screen. âI can help you with it instead.â
You turned to him, heart sinking at the tension in his shoulders.
âChan⊠Minjae and I have been working on this together for weeks. Itâs just a project.â
He let out a small, bitter laugh â the kind that wasnât really a laugh at all. âRight. Just a project. Like everything else.â
The words hung heavy.
You set your notes down. âWhat is this really about?â
Chan was silent for a long moment. Then he closed his laptop, ran a hand through his hair, and finally looked at you. His eyes were tired. Defeated. Full of years of pain he had never let anyone see.
âI hate myself,â he said suddenly, voice raw and quiet. âNot just sometimes. All the time. I look in the mirror and I see someone whoâs never enough. Someone who tries too hard and still disappoints everyone eventually.â
Your breath caught.
He continued before you could speak, the words pouring out like they had been waiting for years.
âWhen you moved away in high school⊠it broke something in me. I told myself it was fine. That life happens. That friendships fade. But deep down, I believed it was my fault. That if I had been more fun, more interesting, less⊠me, you would have stayed in touch. You were the one person who made me feel like I wasnât just the loud kid trying to be liked. And then you left. And it felt like proof.â
He swallowed hard, eyes glistening.
âAfter that, it just kept happening. Friends drifted. Teammates left the group. Relationships ended. Every time someone walked away, I didnât get angry. I just thought, âThatâs fair.â Because who would want to stay with someone like me long-term? Someone who overthinks everything. Someone who smiles so people donât see how exhausted he is. Someone who believes he has to earn every single person in his life.â
Tears slipped down his cheeks, but he didnât wipe them away.
"And the podcast?" You finally asked.
He laughed, not a happy laugh though, more like a half-hearted, pain-filled one. âI figured you knew," he paused then sighed. "I recorded those episodes because I needed somewhere to put it all. Somewhere no one would hear how much I hated myself. How much I still hate myself. And when you came back⊠I was so happy. But part of me kept waiting for you to realize the same thing everyone else does. That Iâm not worth staying for.â
The silence that followed was deafening.
You moved closer, kneeling in front of him, gently cupping his face with both hands. Your own tears fell freely now.
âChan,â you whispered, voice breaking. âYou are worth staying for. You always have been. I didnât leave because of you. I left because life pulled me away. And Iâm so sorry I made you feel like it was your fault. Iâm so sorry you carried that alone for years.â
He let out a shaky sob and pulled you into his arms, burying his face in your neck. You held him tightly as he cried â deep, cathartic tears that felt like years of pain finally being released.
âI love you,â you whispered against his hair. âNot the version you think people want. The real you. The one who overthinks. The one who smiles when heâs tired. The one who carried all of this alone because he thought he had to. I love all of him.â
Chan held you like you were the only thing keeping him from falling apart completely.
When the tears finally slowed, he pulled back just enough to look at you, eyes red but clearer than they had been in years.
âI donât know how to stop believing Iâm temporary,â he whispered. âBut I want to try. With you.â
You kissed him then â slow, deep, and full of promise.
That night, the intimacy was different.
It wasnât just desire. It was healing.
Clothes were shed slowly, reverently. Chan worshipped every part of you with his mouth and hands â kissing down your neck, across your chest, between your thighs until you were trembling and moaning his name. He took his time, like he was trying to memorize you, like he still couldnât believe he was allowed to have this.
When he finally pushed inside you, it was deep and slow, forehead pressed to yours, eyes locked the entire time. He moved with tender, emotional thrusts, whispering âI love youâ and âthank you for stayingâ between every gasp.
You switched halfway through, pushing him onto his back and sinking down onto him. Chanâs head fell back with a broken moan, hands gripping your hips as you rode him slow and deep, eyes never leaving his.
âI love you,â you told him, grinding down deliberately. âAll of you. The parts you hate. The parts you hide. The parts you think no one could love. I love them the most.â
That undid him.
Chan sat up suddenly, wrapping his arms tightly around you as he thrust up into you, burying his face in your neck. The new angle made both of you moan loudly. He moved with you, desperate and emotional, tears slipping down his cheeks as pleasure and years of pain mixed together.
âI donât deserve you,â he gasped, voice wrecked. âBut Iâm trying so hard to believe I do.â
You came together â clinging, trembling, crying each otherâs names. Chan spilled deep inside you with a choked sob, holding you so tightly it almost hurt.
And for the first time in years, Bang Chan fell asleep believing someone might stay â not because he earned it, but because he was loved exactly as he was.
-----
The morning after Chanâs breakdown felt like the first real breath either of you had taken in years.
Sunlight filtered softly through the curtains of his dorm room. You woke up tangled in his arms, his face buried in your neck, one leg thrown over yours like he was still afraid you might slip away in the night. When you stirred, Chan tightened his hold for a second before relaxing, pressing a slow, sleepy kiss to your collarbone.
âGood morning,â he whispered, voice hoarse from crying and everything that had passed between you.
You turned in his arms and kissed him properly â slow, deep, and full of quiet promise. Chan melted into it immediately, hands sliding up your back, holding you like you were the most precious thing he had ever been allowed to keep.
When you finally pulled back, he looked at you with soft, wondering eyes.
âI want to do this right,â he said quietly. âI want to be your boyfriend. Not just someone youâre figuring things out with. I want to call you mine and mean it. I want to wake up next to you and know I donât have to earn it.â
Your heart swelled.
You brushed your thumb across his cheek, tracing the faint traces of dried tears.
âI want that too,â you whispered. âI want to be your girlfriend, Chan. I want to stay.â
His breath hitched. Then he was kissing you again â deeper this time, full of relief and joy and years of waiting.
From that moment on, you were official.
Dating Chan was everything you had missed and more.
He was proudly, unapologetically yours.
He held your hand in public without hesitation, pulling you close when people walked by. He kissed your temple when you passed each other between classes. He reintroduced you to his friends as âmy girlfriendâ with the brightest, most genuine smile you had ever seen on him.
The small gestures continued, but now they felt like love instead of atonement.
He still brought you coffee exactly how you liked it. He still remembered your favorite snacks and left them in your bag when you werenât looking. But now he also stole kisses in the library stacks, walked you to every class even when it made him late for his own, and sent you good morning voice notes that made your heart flutter.
One weekend, he took you to the beach â the same one you used to talk about going to together as kids. You spent the day building terrible sandcastles, running from the waves, and taking blurry photos on his phone. That night, wrapped in a blanket on the sand, he kissed you under the stars and whispered, âI used to dream about this. About getting to love you out loud.â
You cried.
He held you through it.
The final podcast episode came a month later.
You were sitting beside him on his bed when he uploaded it. The title was simple:
âEpilogue: The Ones Who Came Backâ
He held your hand and let you listen together, earphones shared like you used to do as kids.
Chanâs voice filled the quiet room â softer than usual, but full of quiet strength.
âI spent years thinking every goodbye was permanent. I turned every faded friendship into proof that I was temporary. That I was only lovable when I was useful. When I was smiling. When I was easy.â
A long pause.
âThen someone came back. Someone who knew me when I was awkward and loud and trying too hard. Someone who saw the parts I tried hardest to hide⊠and stayed anyway. Not because I earned it. Not because I was perfect. Just because she chose me. Exactly as I am.â
His voice cracked slightly, but he continued.
âSo this is my last episode. Not because Iâm fixed. But because Iâm trying. Because Iâm learning that love isnât something you have to earn by disappearing when things get hard. And because I finally believe that some people do come home.â
The episode ended with a small, hopeful laugh.
âI spent years thinking every goodbye was permanent. Turns out sometimes people come back. And sometimes⊠they stay.â
You turned to him, tears streaming down your face.
Chan was already looking at you, eyes shining with emotion.
He gently wiped your tears with his thumbs.
âI donât need the list anymore,â he whispered. âI just need you.â
You kissed him â slow, deep, and full of everything you had both survived to reach this moment.
Months later, you were sitting on the same beach where he had first told you he loved you out loud.
Chan was leaning against you, head on your shoulder, watching the waves. His hand rested on your thigh, thumb tracing lazy circles â a habit he had developed since you started dating, like he still needed the constant reminder that you were real.
You glanced over at him.
He looked peaceful. Not perfect. Not fixed. But peaceful.
He caught you staring and smiled â that bright, dimpled smile you had fallen in love with as a child and never stopped loving.
âWhat?â he asked, tilting his head.
You leaned in and kissed him softly.
âNothing,â you whispered against his lips. âJust thinking about how lucky I am that you came back to me too.â
Chanâs eyes softened. He pulled you closer, resting his forehead against yours.
âI never really left,â he said quietly. âI was just waiting for you to find me again.â
You stayed like that until the sun set â two childhood best friends who had lost each other, found each other, and finally chosen to stay.
Synopsis/Plot: Just months ago, Y/N was a sleep-deprived Ph.D. student balancing research papers, receptionist shifts, and a stipend that barely covered rent. Now, after winning The Traitors and skyrocketing from academic survival mode to luxury brand ambassador and influencer status, sheâs suddenly navigating fashion weeks and red carpets⊠and the very unexpected attention of her longtime celebrity crush and bias, Bang Chan.
(Idol!Bang Chan x Black!Fem!Influencer Reader)
Word Count: 4.75k
Notes/Warnings: Fluff to the 10th degree, timeline of events are slightly out of order for the sake of the story, Y/N's career is meant to give Olandria vibes, Y/N is a little socially awkward, Y/N is a Ph.D student, mentions of insecurity surrounding dating/romance, mentions of Y/N kind of being an academic perfectionist, first kiss, written in 2nd person, divider from @strangergraphics, use of em dashes
Fic #3!! Please enjoy! Don't forget to like, comment, and reblog! (˶Ëđ·Ë˶). Xoxo, Dai <3
Flashes of light burst around you the second the tinted SUV door opened.
You stepped out beside your manager, the sound of screaming fans and rapid camera shutters instantly filling your ears. The barricades were packed with people calling your name, waving signs, and holding up phones.
Just six to eight months ago, your life looked completely different.
You were a somewhat struggling Ph.D. student in Boston, juggling seminars, coursework, and a part-time receptionist job in the same academic building where you spent countless hours studyingâall to make up for the expenses your monthly stipend couldnât quite cover.
Your days were a blur of lectures, research, and answering emails at the front desk.
Then everything changed.
When Peacock and NBC announced they were casting everyday civilians for a new season of one of your favorite reality competition shows, The Traitors, you applied almost immediately. (A/N: To all my Traitors fans, this is actually happening, so stay tuned!)
You knew the game. You understood the strategy, the deception, the psychology.
So you auditioned without hesitation, leaning hard on your knowledge of the show and your confidence in your ability to outplay the competition.
You figured it was a long shot. Something fun to try. You never expected to actually get chosen.Â
But you did. And somehowâŠyou won.
Week after week, audiences watched as you expertly navigated the manipulation and mind games of the competition while still staying grounded, authentic, and unapologetically yourself.
People admired that. They admired you.
Almost overnight, you became a fan favorite.
And once the finale aired, your life skyrocketed. Brand deals started pouring in. Magazine features followed. Red carpets. Interviews. Partnerships.
Suddenly, you werenât just a Ph.D. student anymore, you were a public figure.
Leaning into your newfound platform, you started posting more online, especially on YouTube and TikTok, where your personality shined even brighter.
You loved sharing little pieces of your life, whether it was casual vlogs, your academic journey, your hobbies, random thoughts, or camera chats about whatever crossed your mind.
Though, honestly, your ability to talk naturally to a camera probably came from all those years of pretending you were filming GRWMs and morning routines when you were bored. (A/N: me too, girl)
And somehowâŠthat whirlwind journey led you here.From a struggling grad student, to The Traitors winner, to influencer, to Fendi Brand Ambassador.
You waved and blew kisses as you approached the red carpet entrance, slipping easily into the routine youâd done countless times before.
Then the photographers started shouting.
âBANG CHAN!â
âBANG CHAN, THIS WAY!â
âLOOK HERE!â
Your attention snapped toward the commotion.
And there he was. Bang Chan, leader of Stray Kids.Â
You froze.
Your manager gently bumped your shoulder. âEarth to you.â
You blinked, quickly tearing your gaze away and continuing forward.
âSorry,â you said flatly.
Your manager laughed quietly. âOh, donât worry. I saw exactly who you were staring at.â
You sighed in defeat. âYeah⊠I figured.â
Sheâd known about your K-pop obsession since the day she met you.
More specifically, she knew about your love for Stray Kids.
And she definitely knew that their leader was your bias (and parasocial celebrity crush).
Which was exactly why, when you received the news that you were becoming a Fendi ambassador, she celebrated in the most ridiculous way possible.
Cake. Flowers. Red wine.
And a tiny Wolf Chan SKZOO keyring youâd been trying to get your hands on for months.
When she gave it to you, youâd just stared at her.
ââŠWhy are you looking at me like that?â she asked. âYou know heâs a brand ambassador too!â
Before you knew it, it was your turn to walk the carpet.
âY/N, Y/N, GIVE US A SMILE!â
âA LITTLE TO YOUR RIGHT, Y/N!â
âLOOK THIS WAY!â
Camera flashes fired nonstop as you paused, turned, and posed the way youâd practiced a hundred times before. After a few chaotic minutes, your manager gently guided you off the carpet while an usher approached to escort you inside.
âYour seats are just over there,â the usher said, gesturing ahead.
âThank you!â you and your manager replied at the same time.
You both laughed softly as you continued toward your table.
Suddenly, your manager stopped so abruptly that you bumped lightly into her back.
âHeyâwhat happened?â you asked.
She slowly turned around, her expression oddly serious.
âUhhh⊠promise me you wonât freak out?â
Your brows furrowed. âWhy would Iâwhatâs wrong?â
Instead of answering, she stepped dramatically to the side.
You sighed at her theatrics and looked forward, spotting the small place card with your name on it.
But then your gaze shifted to the chair beside it. And the person sitting there.
Your entire body froze.
Bang Chan.
Your eyes widened immediately.
Out of all the celebrities you couldâve been seated next to⊠it had to be him.
You slowly turned back toward your manager, your expression somewhere between disbelief and panic. The second she saw your face, she rushed over.
âHey, heyâitâs okay,â she whispered quickly, smoothing down your outfit to calm you. âYouâve interacted with celebrities before.â
You leaned closer to her and whisper-shouted, âThis is the first celebrity Iâve interacted with that Iâve been obsessing over for the past five years!â
She winced. âWell⊠yeahâŠâ
You sighed deeply & dramatically, like your body was trying to physically expel the panic before it consumed you.
For a few seconds, you just stood there, staring at the floor and mentally hyping yourself up.
Come on, Y/N. Youâve met celebrities before. Whatâs the difference now?
âŠ
Okay, you know exactly what the difference is.
But stillâbe cool. Act normal. Pretend heâs just some average guy youâre meeting.
Your brain immediately scoffed.
Be serious. That is not some average guy. That is Bang Chan.
For the love of all things holy, heâs even more handsome in person.
Get. It. Together.
You inhaled slowly, straightened your posture, and turned back toward your manager with a determined nod. She looked at you carefully⊠then nodded back like a coach sending her bench warmer onto the field.
Without another word, she took the lead. Frankly, she didnât trust you to start this conversation on your own. There were simply too many risks.
Stuttering. Forgetting how to speak. Saying something deeply embarrassing. Passing out. âŠPossibly all four.
By the time you reached your seats, your pulse was so loud in your ears you were convinced other people could hear it.
Your manager smoothly removed your place card from the table. The movement immediately caught his attention.
Bang Chan glanced up, then stood politely from his seat, ready to greet whoever would be sitting beside him.
Since you were still half-hidden behind your manager like an anxious child on the first day of school, he hadnât actually seen you yet. Your manager smiled first.
âHi! Iâm Y/M/N,â she introduced warmly. Then, before you could protest, she gently tugged you out from behind her. âAnd this is Y/N. Y/N Y/L/N.â
There was a brief moment where Chanâs eyes landed on you fully for the first time. And you nearly forgot every language youâd ever learned.
âHiâŠâ you managed softly, your voice significantly quieter than intended. âIâm Y/N.â
So far, so goodâŠ
Chanâs smile widenedâwarm, polite, and somehow even more charming up close. He extended his hand toward you.
âItâs a pleasure to meet you, Y/N,â he said. âIâm Bang Chan, but most people just call me Chan. Or Chris. Whatever youâre comfortable with.â
Your brain short-circuited slightly at whatever youâre comfortable with.
âUhhh⊠okay!â
âŠNailed it, Y/N. Absolutely nailed it.
Internally, you wanted to evaporate. Still, you shook his hand, somehow managing not to combust on contact, before quickly sitting down.
Your manager, clearly satisfied that you were still alive, gave you one final knowing look before heading to find her seat a few rows behind you.
And then, it was just you. And him. Sitting side by side. No pressure.
After a moment, Chan turned slightly toward you, his expression easygoing.
âSo,â he started conversationally, âis this your first time at one of these?â
You blinked.
âRed carpets? No,â you answered, your nerves making your honesty come out faster than expected. âMy first time being a brand ambassador for one of the most globally recognized luxury brands in the world?â
You gave him a nervous smile. âAbsolutely.â
To your relief, he laughed.
âFair enough,â he said. âDonât worryâit gets easier with practice.â
You raised an eyebrow. âSays the leader of one of the biggest K-pop groups in the world right now.â
He let out a surprised laugh, glancing at you. âOh? So you know Stray Kids?â
You immediately regretted how quickly you answered.
âYeahâI mean, yes. Iâve been a Stay since⊠2020? Maybe 2021? Honestly, I donât remember the exact date. A friend showed me âGodâs Menu,â and thenâŠâ
You paused, realizing exactly how this sounded. ââŠI kind of spiraled.â
Chan laughed again, this time louder.
ââI kind of spiraled,ââ he repeated, clearly amused. âThat might be one of my favorite ways anyoneâs described becoming a fan.â
Your face warmed. âGlad I could be memorable.â
âNo, seriously,â he said, still smiling. âItâs actually really nice meeting a Stay somewhere like this. Usually people just ask who I am.â
You stared at him. ââŠSeriously?â
He shrugged dramatically. âKeeps me humble.â
That got a genuine laugh out of you, one that finally loosened some of the tension in your shoulders.
âI guess I kind of get that,â you admitted. âConsidering Iâm still adjusting to⊠all of this.â
Chanâs expression softened with genuine curiosity. âIf you donât mind me asking⊠what exactly brought you into all of this?â
âOh, right.â You straightened slightly. âI won a reality competition show in the U.S. a few months ago. And then everything kind ofâŠexploded from there.â
His eyebrows lifted. âReally? Which show?â
âThe Traitors.â
His face lit with recognition. âOh! My parents watch the Australian version!â (Side Note: I know the Australian version ended in like 2023, but letâs pretend it's still a thingđđ)
âWait, really?â
âYeah,â he laughed. âI actually donât fully know how it works, though.â
You smiled, suddenly feeling more at ease.
âOkay, imagine Big BrotherâŠâ
He nodded.
ââŠBut then add murder mystery, manipulation, strategic lying, betrayal, and just a small yet concerning amount of paranoia.â
âIt was,â you admitted. âBut also weirdly fun.â
He looked at you for a moment, a grin slowly pulling at his lips.
âYeah,â he said, his tone a little more playful now. âI can tell.â
You gave him a small smile before quickly glancing down at your lap, suddenly finding the intricate details of your outfit very interesting.
Chan, clearly picking up on your lingering shyness, tilted his head slightly.
âNow that I know youâre a StayâŠâ he began, a mischievous glint appearing in his eyes.
ââŠWhoâs your bias?â
Your head snapped back up so fast it nearly gave you whiplash.
Chan immediately burst into laughter at your expression.
âOh my God,â he chuckled. âThat reaction alone tells me everything.â
âOh⊠umâŠâ
You briefly considered lying. Maybe saying Hyunjin. Or Changbin. Or literally anyone else in the group.
But unfortunately, your ability to function had completely abandoned you.
ââŠYou,â you finally whispered, barely audible as you avoided eye contact like your life depended on it.
Chan leaned in slightly, clearly enjoying this far too much.
âHm?â he teased. âItâs kind of loud in here, I didnât quite catch that.â
You narrowed your eyes, fully aware of what he was doing.
âItâs you,â you repeated, this time with slightly more volume but significantly more embarrassment.
His smile somehow widened.
âReally?â he said, placing a hand over his chest dramatically. âIâm honored.â
You deadpanned. âIâm so glad my public humiliation is bringing you joy.â
âWell,â he said with an amused shrug, âif Iâm your bias, then you should already know I enjoy teasing Stays.âÂ
Unfortunately, he had a point. (A/N: #OnlyChans, ifykyk)
You sighed dramatically. You were in for an eventful night.
As the two of you waited for the show to begin, the conversation flowed surprisingly easily.
You told him about your time on the show. How a simple, impulsive audition from your living room turned into becoming tv and social media royalty.Â
In return, he told you about the upcoming U.S. dates for the DominATE tour, his excitement obvious.
âYou know Iâm going to one of the shows, right?â you said casually.
Chan blinked. âYou are?â
âYep. Boston.â (Side Note: I know there was not a Boston show, but for the sake of the story, letâs say there wasđđ)
âOh, really?â he asked, sounding genuinely excited. âWhere are you sitting? Iâll have to look out for you.â
You laughed. âOh, you absolutely will not see me. My friend and I lost the ticketing war, so weâre in Section 3.â
Chan gasped dramatically. âNo floor seats?â
âListen,â you said, holding up a finger defensively, âI wanted the authentic Stay experience.â
He raised an eyebrow. âThe authentic Stay experience?â
âYes,â you said seriously. âWaking up at 5 a.m., logging into the ticket site on four different devices, fighting for my life, and crying out to God.â
Chan laughed so hard he had to look away for a second.
âThat sounds incredibly stressful.â
âIt was,â you said proudly. âBuilds character.â
He shook his head, still smiling.
âYou know⊠you couldâve just asked for VIP tickets, Ms. Traitor.â
You scoffed. âAbsolutely not. I earned my struggle.â
âRight,â he said, clearly entertained. âVery noble of you.â
Before you could reply, the venue lights suddenly dimmed. The room erupted into anticipation.
Chan glanced over at you with a grin. âWellâŠâ
He leaned back into his seat.
âI guess weâll continue this after the show, Ms. Traitor.â
And for some completely unreasonable reasonâŠthe way he said that made your heart skip.
The show was breathtaking.
No, breathtaking somehow still didnât feel like a strong enough word.
Every piece that graced the runway was stunning. Elegant. Dramatic.
Honestly, the entire night felt surreal.
As you watched model after model walk beneath the lights, one thought kept circling through your mind: This is my life now.
It was both thrilling⊠and mildly terrifying.
You stayed focused on the showâor at least, you tried to.
Because while your attention was mostly on the runway and the dangerously beautiful pieces you were already mentally adding to your wishlist, you couldnât help but notice something else.
Or ratherâŠsomeone else.
Every so often, you felt it. A glance. A lingering stare.
And each time, your brain immediately came to the same conclusion.
No. Absolutely not. Youâre imagining things.
So, naturally, you tested your theory. The next time you felt it, you casually turned your head ever so slightly.
Bang Chan immediately looked back toward the runway. Interesting.
The first time? Coincidence.
The second time? Maybe it was still a coincidence.
But by the third? Oh, this man was definitely sneaky.
Determined to prove to yourself that you werenât delusional, you tried again later. This time, though, you caught him.
His eyes met yours for half a second before you offered a small, amused smile.
And to your complete internal collapse, he smiled back. Warm. Easy. Almost like getting caught wasnât embarrassing for him at all.
Yep. This is definitely my life now.
By the time the final look disappeared backstage and the lights brightened, signaling the end of the show, applause filled the venue. Guests slowly began standing, mingling, and exchanging farewells as the once-captivated audience shifted back into social mode.
Beside you, Chan stood as well, stretching slightly after sitting for so long. You did the same.
And then, against your better judgment, you spoke first.
âSo,â you started, glancing over at him, âhowâd you like the show?â
Chan turned toward you, looking almost suspiciously casual. âIt was incredible,â he said easily.
You nodded. âRight? The styling aloneââ
âThough,â he interrupted, his tone suddenly more playful, âsomething else caught my attention a few times too.â
Your brain stopped functioning. Fully. Completely. No thoughts. Head empty. Just buzzing tv static. You stared at him, internally buffering so hard it shouldâve been audible.
Did heâŠWas heâŠNo. Surely not.
Before your spiraling could physically consume you, Chan laughed softly, clearly noticing your struggle.
âAre you going to the after-party?â
And just like that, your brain rebooted.Â
âOhâyeah,â you said quickly. âOf course.â
âGood,â he replied, adjusting his jacket. âDo you mind if I walk with you? My manager said itâs upstairs somewhere, and Iâd rather not accidentally end up in the wrong room.â
You blinked. He wanted to walk with⊠you? Your immediate instinct was to look toward your manager.
Of course, she was already watching and listening.Â
And, because she clearly enjoyed seeing you suffer, she gave you an aggressively enthusiastic thumbs up⊠followed by a wink. You sighed internally.Â
You looked back at Chan, attempting to appear significantly calmer than you felt. âI⊠guess that would be okay.â
You meant for it to sound casual. It came out slightly suspicious.
Chan raised an amused eyebrow. ââI guess?ââ
You immediately groaned. âNo, waitâthatâs notâ I just meantââ
His laugh cut you off before you could embarrass yourself further.
âRelax,â he said warmly. âI donât bite.â
He paused, then added with that same teasing glint you were quickly learning was dangerous, âUsually.â
Your eyes widened. He laughed again.
âKidding.â
âŠYou were in so much trouble.
Then, offering you an unexpectedly gentlemanly gesture, he motioned toward the exit. âCome on, Ms. Traitor,â he said.
And somehow, hearing him call you that again made your heart do something deeply inconvenient.
âLetâs go have some fun.â
By the time you and Chan made your way upstairs to the after-party, it somehow felt like stepping into an entirely different world.
If downstairs was elegance, upstairs was indulgence.
Soft golden lighting bathed the room, reflecting off crystal glasses and polished marble accents. Fashion insiders, celebrities, designers, and brand executives drifted through the space in couture and custom tailoring, all while soft jazz music hummed through hidden speakers.
The entire atmosphere practically screamed luxury.
You barely had time to fully process it before an usher approached and guided the two of you toward a smaller, more secluded seating area tucked slightly away from the main crowd. Which, frankly, you were deeply grateful for.
A little distance meant a little less pressureâŠin theory.
You and Chan sat down just as servers floated by carrying trays of champagne and delicate hors dâoeuvres that looked far too expensive to pronounce.
Before you could even reach for a drink, Chan casually grabbed two glasses of champagne and handed one to you.
âThank you,â you said, accepting it carefully.
He lifted his glass slightly, his smile playful. âTo The Traitors, Stray Kids, and Fendi.â
You couldnât help but laugh. âHonestly? That might be the most chaotic toast Iâve ever heard.â
He grinned. âIs that a bad thing?â
You lifted your glass. âNot at all.â
With a smile, you clinked your glass against his.
âCheers.â
âCheers.â
You both took a sip.
And just as you set your glass downâ
âI donât think I properly told you this earlierâŠâ
Oh no. You turned toward him.
Chanâs gaze was warm, sincere⊠and just teasing enough to make you nervous.
âYou look really beautiful tonight.â
âŠ
Your brain truly needed to stop doing this weird shutdown thing.
For a second, all you could do was stare. âOhââ
Excellent start, Y/N.
âThank you,â you said, your voice softer now. âYou look amazing too. As always.â
Chan smirked. ââAs always,â huh?â
Your soul nearly left your body.
âOh my GodâI didnât meanâI mean, I did, but not likeââ
He immediately laughed.
âIâm kidding,â he said quickly, clearly enjoying this way too much. âThank you.â
You narrowed your eyes. âYou really love making me panic, donât you?â
âMaybe a little.â
You took another sip of champagne, mostly to give yourself something to do besides combust, and for a moment, the two of you simply sat there, soaking in the glamorous chaos around you.
Surprisingly, it felt comfortable.
Then Chan spoke again.
âSo,â he said, leaning back slightly, âI know what you do nowâŠâ
His eyes flickered toward you curiously.
âBut what were you doing before The Traitors?â
âOh,â you said, straightening a little. âWell⊠Iâm actually still a Ph.D. student.â (A/N: I like to make my Y/Ns educated, mmkay??đ đŸ)
Chan blinked. ââŠYouâre what?â
You laughed. âYeah. Iâm in my second year.â
âNo, hold on,â he said, clearly stunned. âA Ph.D.?â
You nodded, suddenly amused by his reaction. âIn (insert field/major here).â
âWow.â
The way he said it, genuinely impressed and not performative, made heat rise to your cheeks.
âYeah,â you said, smiling shyly. âBefore all of⊠this, I was balancing school and working reception in my academic building.â
You shrugged. âSo⊠not exactly glamorous.â
âAre you kidding?â Chan said immediately. âThatâs incredibly impressive.â
You blinked. âIt is?â
âAbsolutely,â he said, like it was obvious. âYou won The Traitors, became a brand ambassador, and youâre getting a Ph.D.?â He shook his head dramatically.
âShould I call you Ms. Traitor, or Ms. Brains?â
You laughedâreally laughed. âIt honestly doesnât matter.â
Chan smiled. âGood.â
His tone turned teasing again. âBecause I plan on using both.â
Yeah. You were absolutely in trouble.
As the night continued, conversation between you became surprisingly effortless.
Somehow, despite the surrealness of your circumstances, talking to Chan felt⊠easy. Natural. Which was probably why his next question caught you so off guard.
âSoâŠâ he said, his voice more casual now.
You looked over.
âAre you seeing anyone right now?â
Oh. Dating?
Honestly, between academia, survival, and your recent accidental rise to fame, dating had never exactly been a priority.
Or maybe, if you were being painfully honest, youâd buried yourself in school because it was easier than confronting how invisible youâd often felt and academic accomplishments were the only way you felt seen. (A/N: story of my life âąđ·âą )
You glanced down at your glass.
âHonestly⊠no.â
Chan stayed quiet, listening.
âI havenât dated in a long time,â you admitted. âActuallyâŠâ
You laughed awkwardly. âKind of ever.â
He said nothing, so you kept going (possibly because champagne had betrayed you).
âBack in school, people didnât really look my way like that. And the people I did like never liked me back.â
You gave a small shrug, trying to play it off.
âSo by college, I kind of just threw myself into academics.â
You let out a quiet laugh.
âEasier to focus on grades than loneliness, I guess.â
And then, silence.
Your stomach dropped. Oh no. Why did I say that?
You immediately winced. âSorryâthat was probably way too muchââ
âNo.â His response was immediate.
You looked up. Chan was already staring at you, his expression unreadable for half a second.
âIâm just trying to figure out how thatâs even possible.â
You blinked. ââŠWhat?â
He frowned slightly, like the concept genuinely offended him.
âHow has no one looked your way?â
Your breath caught.
âY/N,â he said, more firmly this time, âyouâre gorgeous.â
Oh.
âThey seriously missed out.â
You stared at him, completely caught off guard, your heart suddenly beating much louder than seemed necessary.
âOhâŠâ
Brilliant. Elite response.
âUm, thank youâŠâ
Then, because apparently your self-preservation was nonexistentâ
âBut, why do you ask?â
You reached for your champagne, hoping the sip would somehow stabilize you. It did not.
Because Chan, somehow even calmer than before, simply askedâ
âBecause I was wondering if youâd want to go on a date with me.â
Your glass froze halfway to your lips.
Slowlyâvery, very slowlyâyou lowered your glass.
âA date?â You paused.
âWith⊠me?â
Chan smiled. Soft. Determined.
âYes,â he said. âWith you, Y/N.â
âOhâokay! Yes. Sure!â
You immediately cringed at yourself.
âI meanââ you laughed nervously, your words tripping over each other, âIâd really like that. A lot.â
Thankfully, Chan only smiled wider. âIâm glad.â
And somehow, instead of making you feel embarrassed, it actually calmed you down. At least a little.
Before your brain could fully process the fact that Bang Chan had just asked you on an actual date, your phone buzzed loudly in your hand. You glanced down.
âOhââ You couldnât help but laugh. âItâs my manager.â
Chan raised an eyebrow. âEverything okay?â
âApparently,â you said between laughs, âwe have to leave in five minutes.â
You glanced back at the message. âSomething about needing more picturesâŠâ Your eyes skimmed lower.
ââŠAnd âreal food before I pass out trying to survive off fancy hors dâoeuvres alone.ââ
Chan laughed immediately. âHonestly? Valid.â
âVery.â
You shook your head, already knowing she was being dramatic, but also correct.
Reluctantly, the reality that your night was ending far too soon began to settle in. Still, not all hope was lost.
You and Chan quickly exchanged numbers, and you tried very hard to act normal about the fact that his contact information now existed in your phone.
You were not normal about it. Not even slightly.
As the two of you stood, smoothing out your outfits, Chan glanced at you.
âSoâŠare you free tomorrow morning?â
Your heart did an extremely inconvenient little flip.
âYeah,â you answered, perhaps a little too quickly.
His smile turned softer. âGood.â
He slipped his phone back into his pocket.
âIâd like to take you out to breakfast.â
Your brain, already fragile, nearly collapsed again. âBreakfast?â
He laughed lightly. âYeah. Breakfast.â
âNo! I meanââ You winced. âBreakfast is good. Great, actually. I love breakfast.â
âŠPlease stop talking.
Thankfully, Chan looked thoroughly entertained rather than alarmed.
âGood,â he said, his smile impossible to ignore. âIâll text you tonight with the details.â
You nodded, trying to appear composed.
âGreat.â
There was a brief pause. Not awkward. Just a pause. Like neither of you were entirely sure how to end this without it meaning something.
And maybe that was why the hug felt so natural. Warm. Comfortable.
You smiled against it, still slightly in disbelief that this was real life.
âIâll see you tomorrow then, Chan.â
And before your brain could stop you, you leaned up slightly and pressed a quick, soft kiss to his cheek. It was innocent. Sweet. A harmless little goodbye.
âŠOr at least, thatâs what you thought.
Because the second you turned to walk away, a gentle hand caught your wrist.
Your breath hitched.
Before you could even process what was happening, Chan carefully pulled you back. And suddenly, you were right there. Close enough to feel the warmth radiating from him. Close enough to forget how breathing worked.
One hand settled softly at your waist. The other gently cupped your cheek.
Your heart was no longer beating normally.
âChan, what are youââ
And then, he kissed you. Soft. Slow. Sweet enough to make time feel suspended.
It wasnât rushed. It wasn't dramatic. It was gentle. Intentional. The kind of kiss that somehow said more than words ever could.
And for one completely surreal moment, nothing else existed. Not the party. Not the noise. Not the cameras.Â
Just him.
When you finally pulled apart, your brain was so thoroughly gone that the first thing out of your mouth wasâ
ââŠThat was my first kiss.â
âŠ
Silence.
Chan blinked.
âWait.â You immediately covered your face.
âOh my God, did I really just say that out loud?â
He laughed, but not in a mocking way. More like he genuinely couldnât believe how adorable you were.
When he gently lowered your hands from your face, his expression had softened into something almost disarmingly tender.
âReally?â
You nodded, suddenly too shy to form proper words.
And to your surprise, he smiled. Not smug. Not teasing. JustâŠflattered.
âWell,â he said softly, his thumb brushing lightly against your cheek, âIâm honored.â
Then, with one last smile, the kind that absolutely shouldâve come with a warning label, he stepped back.
âIâll see you tomorrow, Ms. Traitor.â
And just like that, you were left standing there, staring after him like your entire life hadnât just changed in the span of one evening.
Synopsis: the world knows bang chan is married but they only ever see glimpses of you. shy, gentle, and private, you stay out of the spotlight⊠yet every small moment fans catch only makes them adore you more
Tags / Warnings / Genre: fluff, soft romance, idol!au, married life, shy!reader, media attention, privacy, comfort
Word Count: ~1.3k
It wasnât a secret.
That was the surprising part.
Bang Chan was married and everyone knew.
Not in a scandalous, breaking-news kind of way. It had been announced properly, respectfully, with a simple statement asking for privacy. No dramatic reveals, no overexposure. Just the truth, laid out gently for the world to accept.
And they did.
Mostly.
You had been married for a little over two years now. Long enough for the initial shock to fade, long enough for people to grow used to the idea that their leader..someone they had watched for years had built a life outside of the stage.
But you?
You were still a mystery.
There were no interviews, no personal posts, no curated glimpses into your life. Your social media existed, but it was quiet...rare updates, soft pictures, nothing that gave too much away. You liked it that way.
You had never been someone who enjoyed attention.
Even now, standing backstage at one of Chanâs concerts, your hands lightly gripping the sleeves of his hoodie, you felt that familiar nervous energy settle in your chest.
âYou okay?â Chan asked softly, leaning down just enough so only you could hear.
You nodded quickly. âMhm.â
He didnât look convinced...but he smiled anyway, brushing his thumb gently against your hand before being called away.
Your relationship with the members was⊠comfortable.
Not loud, not chaotic...at least not on your end.
They had learned quickly that you were shy, especially around attention, and they adjusted without making it a big deal. They never pushed, never teased you in ways that would make you retreat. Instead, they met you where you were.
Felix was usually the one who stayed closest in crowded spaces, subtly making sure you werenât overwhelmed.
Seungmin checked in quietly, asking if you needed anything without drawing attention.
Changbin brought you snacks like it was his personal mission.
Minho didnât say much but he always noticed when you were uncomfortable before anyone else did.
Jisung filled silences with easy conversation when you didnât know what to say.
Hyunjin treated you gently, like you might disappear if he spoke too loudly.
And Jeonginâ
Jeongin just smiled at you, bright and reassuring, like he understood without needing words.
They never treated you like an outsider.
They treated you like family.
Still, the outside world was⊠different.
No matter how private you tried to be, people were always watching.
Paparazzi lingered in places you frequented, cameras ready for even the smallest glimpse. Walking beside Chan in public meant constant awareness hands brushing together, his presence grounding you as flashes occasionally broke through the calm.
He always noticed.
Always.
âStay close,â heâd murmur, guiding you gently, never rushing you but never letting you feel alone either.
You had been waiting while Chan ordered, standing quietly off to the side when she hesitated before stepping closer.
âHi⊠Iâm sorry, I donât want to bother you,â she said, voice careful. âI just⊠I think youâre really sweet.â
You blinked, surprised.
âM-me?â you asked softly.
She nodded quickly. âYeah. I saw you at the concert once⊠you were waving from the side. It was really cute.â
Your face warmed instantly.
âOh⊠thank you,â you murmured, bowing your head slightly out of habit.
Chan returned just in time to catch the end of it, his expression softening as he looked between you.
âEverything okay?â he asked gently.
You nodded again, a little flustered.
âShe was just being nice,â you said quietly.
The girl laughed nervously. âSorry againâI just wanted to say hi.â
Chan smiled warmly. âNo need to apologize. Thank you for being kind.â
Moments like that didnât happen often but when they did, they stayed with you.
Online, those small interactions turned into something bigger.
Short clips. Blurry photos. Stories passed from person to person.
âsheâs so shy but so sweetâ
âchan looks at her like sheâs everythingâ
âthe way she bowed?? đâ
You didnât see most of it.
Chan did.
And every time, he felt the same quiet mix of relief and protectiveness.
He knew how overwhelming it could be for you.
Knew how much effort it took just to step into his world, even for a moment.
Thatâs why, when the day was over when the noise faded and the cameras were gone he made sure your world stayed yours.
At home, everything was different.
Quieter.
Softer.
Youâd move around the space comfortably, no pressure, no eyes watching. Sometimes reading, sometimes sitting beside him while he worked, sometimes just existing in the same room without needing to fill the silence.
He loved that most.
Loved the way youâd lean into him without thinking, the way your voice stayed soft but sure when it was just the two of you.
âYou did really well today,â he said one night, arms wrapped loosely around you as you sat together on the couch.
You shook your head immediately. âI didnât do anything.â
âYou talked to someone,â he pointed out gently. âThatâs not nothing.â
You hesitated.
Then, quietlyâ
âItâs easier when youâre there.â
His expression softened instantly.
âIâll always be there,â he said.
And he meant it.
Because to the world, you mightâve been a mystery.
A quiet figure beside someone constantly in the spotlight.
But to him ,You were everything steady in a life that rarely slowed down.
you're a little unhinged, a little too comfortable, and unfortunately way too used to texting your hot shift supervisor whatever comes to mind. at this point, there's really no filter left between your thoughts and his phone
pairing shift lead!chris x barista!reader
genre smau, coworkers to ??
rating suggestive, but maybe like t?
đČ super short lil thing! literally did not plan this, it just came out for shits and giggles. yes, i worked at starbucks. but no, i never did this. my bf did work with me though, and that was a little weird. anyway, should i make a second part?
discoholicmusic
stormborns
pixelskylines
andulkaphoto
areudirty
gracieabrams
amandla
2087
yousharknotpass
