tell me we weren't just friends @marvelsleehan - Tumblr Blog

The Cuddle Crisis

-> Chan doesn't normally sleep well. This is no secret. Until the night he accidentally ends up cuddling with you and wakes up feeling like a new man. Now he has a proposition for you...

solo idol!chan x manager!fem!reader

one bed trope, fluff, idol!au, friends to lovers

18K

warnings: cursing, hospital visit, a brief implication of sex but nothing explicit, MC suffers from anxiety, Chan suffers from severe insomnia

story idea credit to Lisa Maloney on tiktok. this is for @fly-you-dam-fools bc I think you're really cool and you deserve cuddly chan <3

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"Wait...what did you say?"

Chan is just as flabbergasted as you are, except he's managing to stay level headed. You, on the other hand, appear to be ready to slap this poor hotel lobby receptionists into next year.

"I'm sorry, but maybe you got mixed up somehow in the system, or you made a mistake while booking. But it says clearly that you only booked one room."

"I booked two. There's two of us. I obviously booked two. Check again."

"I'm sorry, ma'am--"

"Don't call me ma'am. Just get us another room, please," you sigh, knowing that the finance team will rip you a new one for spending over budget for this trip.

Youth Magazine couldn't just do a virtual interview. Noooo! God forbid they interview the Christopher Bang over a video call. Not like literally every other magazine publishing house ever.

The hotel receptionist flashes a grim expression and hisses, "We kinda don't have any other vacancy."

You drop your bag on the counter, pausing your search for the company card to instead give this idiot a scowl. "Kinda?'

"We're booked," he corrects and straightens his back. "Apparently, there's a really popular singer coming into town, and he's rumored to be staying at one of the hotels on this block. Every hotel from here to the next town over is full of people hoping they'll catch a glimpse of him."

"You don't say."

You hear Chan snicker behind you from under his hoodie. He's got his mask over his mouth and nose, drawstrings pulled, and head lowered to the ground. He's doing his part to remain inconspicuous, and here you are dropping the ball on the one thing you thought would be the easiest to plan.

"Look," you try to level with the staff, "it's very important we get two rooms. Can't you do anything?"

He just shakes his head. "Unless someone cancels last minute, I don't have anything else to offer you."

"Fine," you sigh in defeat, "we'll just take the one room. And some extra towels, blankets, and pillows, please. No wake up call. If we get a wake up call, I will press charges."

"Understood." He gulps. "I'll have the extra bedding and towels sent up right away. Here's your key."

You snatch the keycard from his fingers and toss your bag back over your shoulder. "Thanks."

With Chan following close behind, you take the lead up to the top floor of the hotel. Down the hall to the last room, you tap the card against the lock until it lights up green, and you can walk in.

Neither of you speak once inside. There's a process for this. It involves a careful scan of the room, scavenging for any hidden cameras or microphones that could have been planted by toxic fans, tabloids, or stalkers. Once you've thoroughly checked the room and are satisfied, you motion for Chan to relax.

He removes his hood and mask, and takes a deep breath through his nose.

"Smells like laundry detergent."

"They definitely sprayed some kind of air freshener in here. Way too much if you ask me."

"Lavender is nice though."

That's Chan. Always looking on the bright side of things. He has this uncanny ability to find the good in just about any situation. Being the realist that he is, he never downplays suffering, pain, or sadness. But he also never forgets to take note of the heart within hardship. You've always appreciated that about him.

The two of you unpack just what you'll need for the night. Tomorrow morning, you'll get ready for his interview with the magazine, and then head to the shooting site for his photoshoot for the cover. It's a short schedule, only a day. But you don't want to be late or make things unnecessarily stressful on Chan. He deals with so much as it is.

He plops down on the bed, limbs spread like a starfish across the mattress.

"Feels nice."

"I'm glad you like it. I'm sorry we have to share a room. I should have been more careful when booking to make sure they didn't make any mistakes."

"Nah, don't worry about it," he waves it off. "Besides, we've shared a room before."

You slowly turn away, hands rummaging through your bag as your voice softens to a mumble, "Yeah, in high school."

"What was that?"

"Nothing," you flash him a smile. "Do you need help setting up your laptop?"

"Oh, I think I got it. You don't mind if I use the desk, do you?"

"Of course, not. Take all the space you need."

That's right. You and Chan have been on this adventure together since high school. When he became an idol trainee, you landed your first internship at the same entertainment company. You're not sure why the agency decided you should be trained as Chan's assistant, but they paired you two up pretty quickly. Since then, the two of you always found your ways back to each other. Until that fateful day when the company made you his official manager. And he was officially stuck with you.

It's a little heartwarming, and humbling, to know that wherever you go, Chan follows. He's come to trust you wholeheartedly. After years of training together, debuting, traveling, and growing, there's not much you two don't know about each other. There’s not much you two haven't done together.

Well...there is one thing.

Knock knock

"I got it." You answer the door, opening it just enough to receive the extra towels and bedding from room service, and then quickly locking it again.

"Okay," you lay out a blanket and a pillow on the ground beside the wall, "this will do for one night."

Chan walks over to investigate. While you seem satisfied with your work, hands on your hips and a nod of your head, Chan is...not convinced. He frowns.

"Hmm."

"Hmm, what?"

"It looks...uncomfortable."

"What are you talking about?" You lay down on the makeshift bed and pretend to snuggle in. "It's perfectly fine."

He tisks his tongue and shakes his head. "I don't know. You hate sleeping on the floor."

"I've slept on the floor before. Need I remind you of our trainee days?"

"Oh, believe me, I remember being a trainee very well. I also remember you waking up with aches in your back and crinks in your neck from sleeping on the floor every night."

"Chan, everyone slept on the floor."

"Yeah. But you were the only one who woke up feeling like absolute crap because of it."

He's right. As hard as you try, you've never slept on the floor well. It's never been comfortable, regardless of how many blankets you use.

"I'm sleeping on the floor, and you're in the bed. End of discussion," Chan says with a stern cross of his arms.

You shoot up to your feet. "No way! You've got an interview and a photoshoot tomorrow. I can't let you sleep on the ground. As your manager, I insist you sleep in the bed."

"No."

"Chan."

"No! ___, come on. You won't sleep on that. It doesn't bother me, and it's only one night. I promise I won't tell any of your supervisors you let me sleep on the ground. Okay?"

He read your mind. Yeah, that's the main thing you're worried about. What would the higher ups at JYPE think if they found out you let their beloved star idol sleep on the hard ground of a hotel room while you enjoyed the plush mattress of a queen-sized bed?

They'd strip you of your job faster than Chan's rap.

"You promise?"

He smiles at you and holds out his pinky. "Promise."

"Fine." You wrap your pinky around his, watching his smile grow. "But just tonight. Tomorrow, you get your own bed."

"Deal."

::

It's December. Chan failed to consider that fact when he oh-so-chivalrously insisted on sleeping on the floor so you could have the bed. Now here he is, trying to shiver silently under his single blanket that barely covers his toes because it's for a twin sized child.

He rolls onto his side. Then rolls onto his other side. Honestly, he's trying. But damn it, the floor has never been comfy for him either. He's just better at hiding the fact that he hates sleeping on the floor. You were always much more vocal about it, waking with actual bruises on your body from tossing and turning.

Even when Chan would sneak extra blankets onto your spot or give you one of his pillows, you still managed to somehow end up with spots on your back and arms. Chan always felt bad about that. But you were there to train to be a manager. His manager.

There were other factors that kept Chan from sleeping well, starting from when he became a trainee. But it really hit hard after he debuted. Insomnia was just part of the idol package, especially with the amount of involvement he has in the production of his own music. Not many other idols get that opportunity, so when he was presented with it, he snatched it up.

Now he pays the price of poor sleep wherever he goes, really. A large part of it is his job, the stress, the competition, the image bearing. Being an idol isn't easy. He's pretty sure nothing can fix his poor sleeping habits at this point.

"Pssst," you whisper through the dark, peering over the edge of the bed, at where Chan is struggling on the floor, "are you asleep?"

"No," he replies back hushed, "why?"

"You're making a lot of noise tossing and turning like that."

"Sorry, I'll try to stay still."

"No, that's not what I meant," you say empathetically. "The floor is really uncomfortable, isn't it?"

He doesn't want to admit you were right, but he also knows that if he confesses to being uncomfortable on the ground, it'll only make your guilt worse. He doesn't want that either.

"I'm fine."

"You're miserable."

Damn it, you're good. You can always tell. Chan should have known. You can usually read him perfectly.

"Do...do you want to sleep in the bed?"

"I already said, ___, I'm not going to make you sleep on the floor."

"I won't sleep on the floor," you explain slowly. "I'll stay up here. You can sleep on the left side."

Oh. Not what Chan was expecting. Perhaps the seeping of the night and the lack of sight through the dark has affected your judgement. Or perhaps you're desperate for some quiet, so you're willing to offer anything to get him to be still.

Either way, Chan doesn't want to intrude by any means. But he is cold down here. And his side hurts. And his feet stick out. And he's starting to get a headache.

"If you're sure it's okay..."

"It's just one night, right?"

"Right."

You crawl back into the bed, scooting as far as you can onto the right side of the mattress, curling into yourself so as to leave as much space for Chan as possible.

Chan slides under the blanket, staying as close to the left edge of the bed as he can. With your backs to each other and the room draped in silence, you both start to relax into the comfort of each other's safe presence and the cushiness of the duvet.

"Goodnight, Chan."

"Goodnight, ___. And thank you."

"Don't mention it. Seriously, don't tell anyone."

He chuckles, "Wouldn't dream of it."

::

It's so damn warm, cozy, and wonderful. Even the sound of the alarm going off isn't enough to infiltrate Chan’s utopia right now.

A deep inhale through the nose, a snuggle closer to his pillow, a nuzzle into the warmth of your neck--

Wait, what?

His eyes slowly open only to find the back of your hair cascading down the pillow he's sharing with you. His legs are entangled with yours beneath the sheets, and his arm hangs nonchalantly across your waist. When he attempts to move it away, he realizes you've got a hand clenched around his hand, refusing to let him go.

Unsure of what to do, he allows you to adjust, a low groan to let him know you don't appreciate the way he jerked away.

“___,” he whispers your name, but you don't reply.

Instead, you roll over in his arms and bury your face into the crease beneath the pillow and his chin, nuzzling your nose into his collar. Your breath is warm on his skin. If he let himself, he could easily fall back asleep and potentially sleep for many more hours. There's something scarily safe about holding you like this.

This place shouldn't feel so familiar and lovely. But it does. His mind races with reasons not to let this go on. Because this is too much, too close, too intimate. You don't have this sort of relationship, and he certainly doesn't want to take advantage of your sleeping state. But then, the steady rise and fall of your breathing lulls him in closer, the warmth of your arms seeps in, and in a split moment, it feels so fucking right.

Still, he hesitates. If he gives in, if he enjoys this, does it mean something? Does it make him too vulnerable? Or even worse...a pervert.

His hands twitch, debating whether to tighten the hold around your waist or create distance. But the comfort is undeniable, the way your heart slows just a little, the way your body instinctively relaxes into him as if every bad thought and anxiety is melting away because he's got you. He's here.

He gently rubs your back. “Hey, ___. It's time to get up.”

“Five more minutes,” you mumble, barely audible, coated in sleep.

It feels as if you want to be held by him. Your body is begging him to stay.

But Chan is in a battle between craving closeness and fearing what it means. And in the middle of it all, he realizes -- he really doesn't want to move.

The alarm has automatically snoozed at this point, so it's bound to go off in the next few minutes anyway. What's five more minutes in the grand scheme of things?

In a moment of blissful weakness, Chan pulls you closer. He tucks you fully under his chin, uses his leg to mold your body to his, pulls the cover over your shoulders, and closes his eyes.

It feels good to feel you breathe. Your arm wraps around his middle as your contentment enthralls his spirit. The very essence of calmness perpetrates his chest and puts his heart at ease. For the first time in a long time, Chan feels absolute peace in this bed, holding you, sleeping deeply.

He can't remember the last time he slept this well. Maybe it was back in high school?

Damn. He could stay here forever. That's saying something considering he hasn't been able to consistently sleep longer than four hours max since he became a trainee. Even on days he didn't have a schedule to wake him up, he got up after a few hours, unable to keep himself asleep. His body didn't feel rested. His mind didn't feel refreshed. His soul didn't feel recharged.

But this. This right now. You.

Holding you is restful. Feeling you is refreshing. Sleeping next to you is recharging.

If he slept like this every night, life wouldn't feel so overbearing all the time. If he could restart every day like this, life wouldn't be so stressful.

And oh god, when you slip your leg between his just to be that little bit closer, his whole body reacts. Shockwaves of what he can only describe as cuddle serotonin flood his head, telling him to bring you closer in whatever ways possible.

It's only thanks to the smallest dose of consciousness he has left at this moment that he doesn't roll over on top of you. But his sense of reason can't override the temptation to place his mouth against your skin, feeling your morning warmth against the sensitive flesh of his lips.

Your chin lifts to make room for him, as if you asked him to be on your neck. A sigh from the depths of your soul escaping at the first touch his lips to your pulse. He feels your heartbeat ever so subtly pick up pace, and it captures his attention in a curious way.

It's gotta be hormones talking, but he wants to pucker his lips so badly and just kiss skin. Kiss some part of you, any part of you.

He shouldn't. He shouldn't—

BANG BANG BANG

Both of you jerk awake in a split moment, bodies untangling as you suddenly roll away from his chest and from between his legs.

He catches your sleepy expression, lidded, tired eyes searching the situation for a reason as to why you were being so affectionately cuddled by him.

Chan isn't sure what to do, so he freezes where he is with his arms open. For a moment, you just stare at each other, striving to get back to reality but struggling to wake up fully.

BANG BANG BANG

Whoever is at the door tries the door handle, but of course it's locked. They continue to bang on the door with no mercy.

You frantically grab your phone and check the time. With a gasp and "oh fuck" under your breath, you scramble out of bed. Your sleep shorts are twisted and your tank top is riding up your midriff.

Chan keeps his eyes down. He's processing that he was holding your bare skin a moment ago and didn't even consider the fact that the reason he thought you were so cuddly was because you weren't wearing a bra.

You spy through the peephole while tying a robe around your pajamas. When you see who it is, you mutter another curse and grab the keycard.

Then you open the door just enough to slip into the hallway.

Chan can't do much but wait as he listens to the subtle yelling just outside the room.

A few moments later, you come back inside acting very small and quiet. Chan throws the blankets away and rushes to you.

“Who was that?”

“The director.”

“Oh…what's wrong?”

“It's almost 2pm. You missed the interview with Youth Magazine.”

“I missed it?”

“Chan, I'm so sorry." Are those tears forming in your eyes? "It's all my fault. I should have gotten us up at the first alarm. I can't believe I didn't set a backup. I can't believe I fucked up this much.”

"Hey, it's okay. It's just an interview." But he can tell you're not in a place to be reassured after whatever hell the director just yelled at you. "What about the photoshoot?”

You sigh, blinking away any wetness from your eyes, rubbing your hands over your face. “You're due on set in an hour, so we have to get ready and leave like right now.”

Any and all contentment Chan felt from you while in bed is gone. You're utterly distressed and frantic as you run around the hotel room, backtracking to get this and forgetting to grab that.

As the two of you head for the door, Chan gently pauses you by the shoulder. “Look at me,” he says, “everything is gonna be okay. Being late once is not the end of the world.”

“Except for the fifty thousand fans that will be waiting to charge the JYPE building, and the fifty thousand dollars it'll cost the company.” You somehow manage a chuckle, but it's forced and fake. “Come on, you're due for make-up ten minutes ago."

::

The photoshoot went well. You're not surprised. Chan always delivers. You're convinced the man doesn't have a bad side. He could make a trash bag look good.

Youth Magazine was understanding and agreed to move his interview into the late evening. Unfortunately, it kept Chan from having dinner, but he did get to finish his schedule for the day without any further late calls or unexpected surprises.

Ever the professional, Chan ended his interview with an exclusive sneak peek about his upcoming single. Something the magazine had not asked for, but it smoothed over any leftover ruffled feathers and left the relationship between JYPE and Youth Magazine in good condition. Chan really is the perfect idol.

You're constantly looking over your shoulder for the remainder of the day, especially during his interview. It's not like anyone could possibly know Chan was late because he was cuddling you, but it also seems as though everyone who looks at you somehow knows. And it freaks you out.

The day starts, operates, and finishes in a state of anxious foot tapping.

Chan seems unbothered by it all though.

You double check with the driver while Chan finishes changing back into his street clothes and getting his makeup removed.

“I don't understand. Why can't we leave tonight?”

“Because Chan was late, we're almost six hours behind schedule. We had to switch flights back to Korea,” the staff explains. “You're due at the airport first thing tomorrow, but for now, the company got one more night at the hotel. You need to take Chan back to his room.”

Because Chan was late. Because your ass felt too good being cuddled by Chan’s ridiculously warm arms.

He wasn't even supposed to be cuddling you! The only reason you let him in the bed was because he clearly wasn't sleeping well on the ground. He's the one who promised to stay on his side and then ended up practically on top of you.

“Oh, by the way,” the staff adds, "the company executive called. He wants to talk to you as soon as you get back. In his office.”

As much as you want to, you can't place the blame on anyone else. You knew it was time to get up, but instead, you let him pull you closer for “five more minutes.”

Those five minutes are gonna cost you your job.

Chan joins you in the car after he gets the run down of the new flight schedule. He asks you what's wrong, but you only eye the rearview mirror where the staff is eyeing the two of you in the back seat.

“Nothing,” you answer with the best smile you can muster. “I'll order you room service when we get back. What do you want for dinner?”

“A burger.”

“Pineapple?”

“I’ll kill you.”

::

While the temptation was certainly there, you ended up sparing poor Chan and ordering his regular burger. It would have been easy to mess with him, but he had a hard day of cleaning up your mess and patching up relationships between the company and Youth Magazine. He deserves a break.

You also got to eat for the first time today, thank god. Another few minutes and your stomach might have caved in. Past the point of hangry, the deafening silence that had settled between you and Chan for the past hour was inclination enough. You needed food.

With a full tummy and dark sky, it was time to settle in for a few hours before you would need to head to the airport. The company couldn't have rebooked a later flight? You swear they got a 6am boarding time just to punish you.

“I might stay up a bit and work on a song. I haven't had a lot of inspiration lately, but maybe I can manage to get something down."

“Oh, really?” you reply as Chan sits at the desk and opens his laptop. “I figured you would be exhausted after today."

“A little, but I’m fine. You can turn off the light so you can sleep.”

“But then you'll be sitting in the dark. That's not good for your eyes."

“It's only for an hour or so, don't worry about me, ___, seriously.”

Oh. But you do. You worry that it won't be for an hour or so, because it never is. It never has been, even when he was a trainee. Chan stayed up night after night working on album after album. Once he got into the groove, there was no getting him out. Breaking Chan’s concentration was like breaking cement.

You know this because you were always the one people called when Chan showed up with bags under his eyes and falling asleep in the makeup chair. He has a horrible habit of not sleeping, and you, as his manager, have the hardest job in the world: making sure he sleeps.

“You know, you'll have the entire flight tomorrow to work on stuff. Sure you don't want to just sleep a few hours now?”

He turns around in the chair to see you pulling the covers down, a small smirk cracks on his lips. “Or, I'll have the entire flight tomorrow to sleep.”

“You don't sleep on planes.”

“Touché.”

“Come on,” you temptingly gesture to the waiting pillows and blankets, “just a few hours and then you can work to your heart's content. Please take care of yourself and get some rest first?”

Chan could easily say no and ignore you, but he likes it when you care about him like this. And yeah, maybe you're just doing your job as his manager. But sometimes it feels more like a friend concerned for a friend. Sometimes Chan can even convince himself you feel a little bit more for him than just a concerned childhood friend. But then he has to come back to reality where you're his manager and nothing more.

“Fine,” he gives in and shuts his laptop off. “I'll sleep first. If you insist.”

“I do.” You smile victoriously as he gets under the covers, pulling them up to his chin and snuggling himself in.

He looks at you and gives a flat smile while you set TWO alarms. “Happy?”

“Yes. Thank you.”

“You're welcome – hey, what are you doing?”

You pause, halfway to the ground. “What?”

Chan peers over the edge of the bed, grimacing at the makeshift blanket and pillow on the floor. The one you're laying down on.

“Why are you down there?”

“I'm going to sleep,” you answer, as if it should be obvious.

“There?”

“Yes, here.”

“___, we already had this discussion.”

“Yeah, but that was before…”

Should you be saying this right now? You're not an idiot and you're not in denial, obviously Chan knows the state in which he woke up this morning. But there was no time or space to discuss it when it happened, so now you're here, at the end of the day, trying to maneuver a conversation around potential awkwardness. And you hate it.

“Before?”

“You know...”

“We cuddled."

Que the awkward silence. If he could have avoided this, he would have. But it's not his character to ignore something so significant.

That is…did you find it significant? Or do you care at all? Maybe you didn't think it was a big deal. Or even worse, maybe you thought he was bothersome.

“Did it bother you that much?” he asks slowly.

“It doesn't matter if it bothered me or not. We're not like that. I'm your manager, I mean…it shouldn't have happened.”

“You're right," he agrees from a professional standpoint, "but you sleeping on the floor shouldn't happen either.”

“Chan–”

“It's just for one more night. Not even a full night, just a few hours. Here,” he places a pillow in the middle of the bed, “we’ll use a wall and everything.”

“I don't know…”

“You want me to sleep, right?”

“Well, yeah. But the floor is--

“I won't be able to sleep knowing you're on the floor when there's plenty of room up here. And I won't cuddle you again.”

“Promise?”

He holds out his pinky finger, purposefully sitting all the way back on the bed so you have to crawl half way onto the mattress to reach him.

“Promise.”

::

You wake up to your first alarm, thanks to the volume being on max and a recently developed fear of being cuddled back to sleep by a certain someone. Despite his promise, you definitely expected to be waking up to the solid, warm feel of his chest and the smell of his leftover cologne on his neck.

However, the first thing you notice upon opening your eyes is a distinct lack of warmth. The second was the soft sound of snoring -- from the floor.

You sit up, blinking away the sleep from your eyes, and sure enough, there he is sprawled out on his back on the ground, a blanket half-draped over him like he couldn't even be bothered to fix it properly.

You frown as he slowly stirs awake to the sound of the alarm. “Why are you on the floor?”

His eyes crack open, and for a moment, he just stares at the ceiling, as if debating how to answer. Then he sighs, running a hand through his messy hair. “I fell.”

“You fell?”

“Yep.” He stretches his arms over his head before sitting up, the blanket falling off his lap. “Rolled right off in the middle of the night. Figured it wasn’t worth the effort to climb back up.”

You stare at him, unimpressed. “You rolled off a queen-sized bed?"

“Mhm.”

“And instead of getting back in bed like a normal person, you just… stayed down there?”

"That is correct."

“You’re lying."

He scoffs, placing a hand over his chest like you've wounded him by even suggesting such a thing. “I would never.”

You playfully toss a pillow at him, and he barely reacts in time when it hits him square in the face.

“Try again,” you say, arms crossed.

He groans dramatically, rubbing his hands over his face before mumbling, “Fine. I couldn’t sleep.”

"You couldn't sleep in a bed, so you chose the floor where you can't sleep?"

His jaw clenches, lips purposely sealed as if he's worried he might accidentally reveal something he's not supposed to. Of course, you notice how he suddenly refuses to meet your gaze.

“Look, it was either that or--" he stops himself and restarts the sentence. “It was just easier this way.”

You tilt your head, studying him closely as he gets up for the restroom. And then it hits you.

"You were scared of cuddling me again, weren't you?"

Chan stops in his tracks, his back to you so you can't see his face. “No comment.”

"You promised.”

“And I kept that promise,” he says, suddenly turning around to face you, eyes gentle but serious, "by removing myself from the situation.”

You stall on the bed, eyes narrowing at him as your brain processes his words. A pillow wall -- haphazard but deliberate -- wasn't enough to keep him contained to his side of the mattress?

Your gaze flickers to the makeshift bed on the ground, then back to him, his shameful gaze on the floor with a hand on the doorknob to the bathroom, waiting for the chance to escape this conversation.

And then it hits you.

The only way he could stop himself from cuddling you was to remove himself from the equation entirely. He didn’t trust himself. At least, his waking self could force distance, but the part of him that surfaced when asleep was a different picture. After all, last night, he hadn’t even realized what he was doing until he woke up with you in his arms. What was stopping him from holding you again? A few pillows?

You swallow hard, something twisting a painful knot deep in your chest. He wanted to keep his distance. But instead of trusting sheer willpower, he chose his own discomfort over possibly making you uncomfortable.

And for some reason, that realization unsettles you more than if he’d simply pulled you close again.

"Chan, I... I mean, thank you I guess, but I didn't expect--"

“You’re welcome,” he mumbles and disappears into the bathroom, locking the door.

::

It's been three weeks of a slow, painful decline since he returned to Seoul. Something is up with Chan, and for the first time in almost ten years, he doesn't immediately know how to fix the problem.

He's irritated, drowsy, short with everyone, and frustrated about everything. Even when eating, he's annoyed and distracted, as if experiencing the worst hangover of his entire life.

At first, it was subtle. A missed alarm here, a forgotten word there. He noticed his hands trembling when he reached for coffee, but figured he just hadn't had his caffeine yet. And then the dark circles under his eyes started to deepen, his skin grew paler as if it was being stretched too thin.

By the second week, exhaustion was dragging him like chains. His thoughts became sluggish and slow, and his emotions were frayed at the edges. He was quick to snap and even quicker to crack. All his conversations blurred together, and he caught himself zoning out mid-sentence, struggling to remember what he was even talking about.

By the third week, it was almost like moving through a dream at all times of the day. He saw visions swimming in front of his eyes when he stood up too fast. At one point, he had to grip the nearest surface to steady himself. His body ached, his head pounded, and no amount of caffeine helped anymore. Reality felt like a distant dream, surreal, like he was watching life from the outside. When he did try to get some sleep, it didn't come easily. Most nights it didn't come at all.

His body and mind are screaming for rest, but he can't turn his brain off -- trapped in a cycle of exhaustion that seems never ending.

No sleep for three weeks. He feels like death.

He tries to remember the last time he slept soundly. The Youth Magazine trip, when he woke up in a hotel bed encased in your arms, your nose pressed into his sternum, taking in his scent and matching the inhale and exhale of his lungs.

Cuddling you felt safe, lovely. It was warm, both from the physical closeness and the quiet reassurance that he's not alone. The steady rhythm of your heart beating in time with his, your breathing in perfect synchrony, the way his arms wrapped around you in a protective embrace. Like a silent promise that, in that moment, everything was okay.

It was the feeling of being held together when the world was crumbling outside, but he didn't care about the world. He couldn't be bothered when he had you in his bed. The softness of your shared breaths and gentle fingertips tracing absentminded patterns on skin. There was no rush, no need for words, just the quiet certainty that he was wanted, safe, and exactly where he should be.

What he would give to sleep like that again. It's not a want, it's a need at this point.

He tried body pillows, heated blankets, every sleep-help thing in the book. He even attempted hypnosis but turns out the pendant he bought online was a plastic scam.

He's so close to breaking, the pain is far past physical. It's mental. Psychological. Emotional.

His spirit is breaking.

Work, work, work all day and no measurable amount of sleep to be had in three weeks.

He knows the cure. But even in this state, he doesn't feel like he can ask you for it. It's unprofessional and would make you uncomfortable. He cares about you too much to even put you in the position of considering it.

In the meantime, you've been hustling and bustling all over JYPE just trying to keep it together. After a horrific scolding from the company executive, you've been on high alert, constantly on edge because the company is watching for any slight screw up that could cost you more than just your job. Once fired from one of the biggest entertainment companies in the country, you can bet your ass no one else is going to want you.

In fact, you've been so busy with managing Chan's schedule that you've neglected to notice his declining health. He's going above and beyond his work load, but that's sort of normal for him. He pushes the limits of music on a regular basis, and it's not uncommon for him to work several days straight.

So, you pushed that nagging feeling that something is wrong with Chan to the back of your mind. It sounds counterintuitive, but your list of priorities is only growing, and you don't really have space to worry about Chan right now.

That is, until the photographer of Chan's latest modeling gig gives you a call.

You weren't on set because you were preoccupied setting up his next trip to Japan for a charity event. But when you heard he passed out on set and was being taken by ambulance to the hospital, you immediately dropped your work and rushed to his side.

"The patient is showing signs of dehydration, malnourishment, and severe sleep-deprivation. I suspect he's gone about three weeks in this condition. He's been administered fluids which should help, and he's resting for now, but he needs quality sleep and meals from now on. Let him sleep here as much as possible, but he's free to leave whenever he wakes up. He needs calories sooner than later, so make sure he eats when you take him home."

"Thank you, doctor," you reply kindly as you receive paperwork for his release.

The doctor leaves the room, and here you are, sitting next to your unconscious idol in a hospital bed with an IV drip in his arm and barely any color in his cheeks.

How did you let this happen? How did you let it get this far? How did you manage to ignore every fucking sign that Chan was not okay, and brush it off as if it was nothing?

This is on you.

You sit stiff in the hospital chair, hands clenched in your lap as you watch him – sick, exhausted, hooked up to an IV like it's the only thing tethering him to reality. Your chest tightens with guilt because you noticed. You noticed everything. The dark circles under his eyes, the way he swayed on his feet, how his hands trembled when he reached for something. All of it.

And you didn't say anything. Because other things were "more important."

But you should have said something. You should have called him out. You should have made him rest before he ended up in the hospital.

Your fingers curled into fists. You let him push himself too far, convinced yourself that he was fine when deep down, you knew he wasn’t. And now, here he is in the hospital because you didn't feel like adding another priority to your list.

This is on you.

The guilt sits heavy on your chest, suffocating until it becomes physical aches. But scolding yourself wouldn't change anything. What matters now is making sure he never, never, ends up like this again.

He slowly inhales, his eyes gently opening to the sight of a blindingly white hotel room. He looks around, gaze eventually landing on the tube in his arm and following it up to the IV bag above his head.

“Hey…” you say gently, hand on his bed but not touching him just yet, “how do you feel?”

“Dizzy,” he replies honestly. “I guess I really did pass out, huh?”

“Yeah, you scared me. I got a call while you were on the way here and came as fast as I could. The doctor said you're dehydrated, malnourished, and sleep deprived. He also said we can go whenever you're ready, but there's no rush, seriously. We’ll stay as long as you want, so you can rest.”

“Oh.” His voice is monotone, aura stale and emotional walls too thick and tall for you to breach right now. “Thanks for coming.”

But his thank you doesn't sound very genuine. It sounds more like “thanks for doing your job,” and there's no heart behind it. He doesn't look at you. He just stares up at the ceiling, seemingly focused on breathing and whatever thoughts are swimming around in that beautiful head of his.

“Chan…” you begin, reaching out to take his hand, but he moves it away.

You sit still, too still, hands now folded neatly in your lap as if keeping them steady will somehow anchor the rest of you. Your face is calm, composed, but the silence stretches on for far too long, the weight of unspoken words pressing against your throat until you're forced to either speak or choke.

“I haven't been a very good manager, have I? I haven't been there for you when you needed me. I was so caught up in my own shit, feeling sorry for myself because I was yelled at a little bit. Like that's an excuse to place you at the bottom of my priorities.”

Then, without permission, a tear slips free. Then another. You don't wipe them away, don't even blink them back. But they steal your voice, leaving your lips parted in a breath for a moment longer.

“Even when I saw you struggling, I chose to ignore it, when I should have put your health and safety first. And I don't have a goddamn reason for why I treated you like that, because that's not how I feel about you. You're so fucking important to me, Chan, but I failed to show you that because I was stupid. I was so stupid.”

Your chest rises and falls in measured breaths, a practiced stillness, but the dampness on your cheeks betrays your supposed composure. So, you swallow hard, clench your fingers a little tighter, and force yourselves to speak even though your voice has gone weak and started to crack.

"I should have been there. I should have said something the first time I noticed you hadn't eaten anything all day. I should have advocated for your health the first time I saw your hands shaking. But instead I just let it happen. And I'm so sorry. I'm so fucking sorry, Chan...please forgive me…but if you don't, I understand.”

He looks over at you, eyes softening and heart opening. Chan exhales slowly, the kind of breath that carries exhaustion, but also something softer – understanding. His gaze lingers on you, reading the pain in your eyes, the weight of guilt pressing down on you.

He reaches over to place his hand on yours, the feeling of a tear dripping from your chin onto his knuckles. His grip is weak, but the warmth is there. You can feel it.

"I forgive you,” he says, his voice quiet but steady, squeezing lightly. “I know you care, even when you fail to show it. Granted, I should’ve taken better care of myself instead of making you feel responsible for something that was never yours to carry alone. We're supposed to be in this together, right?”

His thumb brushes over your hand, a silent reassurance that you haven't lost him. His walls aren’t up forever, but they’re cracking, letting you in with the little strength his body can muster at this point.

"But that means you need to forgive yourself too,” he murmurs.

You nod. You'll get there. It won't be immediate, and you'll probably apologize a few more times before his forgiveness fully sinks in, but it'll happen eventually. In time. You'll get there.

::

“Home sweet home!”

You cheer as the two of you finally walk past the threshold of Chan’s apartment. It smells like vanilla and sandalwood, like home. You take a deep breath in, letting the scent surround you and comfort you. You love the way his apartment smells, mainly because it smells like him. You always feel good and safe when you're here.

“I'll unpack tomorrow,” Chan tells you with a tired yawn. “What time am I supposed to be at the site again?”

“Nope!” You drop his last bag by the wall and begin ushering him towards his room. “No more schedule for you, sir.”

“Hey, wait what?” he giggles, trying to see over his shoulder as you use both hands on his back to physically push him down the hallway. “What about the–”

“I got it covered!”

“But I'm supposed to–”

“Not anymore!”

You manage to get him into his room, a proud and stern smile on your face as you gesture to his mattress. “Time for bed. And then you're eating a full breakfast when you wake up. Do you need to change or brush your teeth first?”

Chan lets out an airy laugh, waving a finger between the two of you with a shake of his head. “Nah ah, absolutely not. I know you're worried about me, but this is not how things are gonna work.”

“What are you talking about?”

“You can't babysit me. I'm not a toddler.”

“I'm not babysitting you.”

“You're standing in my doorway, waiting for me to get ready for bed.”

“To make sure you go to sleep.”

“Like a toddler.”

“Like a patient, which you are.”

He just rolls his eyes, leaning on one arm against the doorframe, smiling down at you fondly. “I'm a grown-ass man, if you didn't notice.”

“Look,” you say very plainly, arms crossed as you peer up at him, “the doctor said that you are severely sleep deprived, and you need to sleep well. As your manager, it is my job to make sure you sleep well. So, tell me what you need to be able to sleep well.”

The question hangs in the air, simple yet paralyzing.

Chan stills completely, mid-breath, mid-thought. His body locks up as if any movement might expose what he’s actually thinking. His gaze flickers around the room, suddenly hyper-focused on nothing in particular.

What does he need to sleep well? The answer is instant, obvious.

You.

Just you, close enough that he can feel your warmth, feel your breathing, let himself relax in a way he hasn't been able to, well, since forever.

But how the hell is he supposed to tell you that? How the hell is he supposed to tell you all he needs are your cuddles?

His throat feels tight, his pulse loud in his ears. He knows he should answer honestly, but every possible response feels too revealing, too vulnerable. So he stays frozen, battling the war in his head, until he finally forces a swallow and mutters, voice quieter than intended.

"I don’t know."

“Come on, yes you do. Just tell me. I want to help.”

“I really don't know, okay?” He turns away, hand running through his hair while his words threaten to run away. “I mean, I just don't sleep well. It's just one of those things, I guess.”

“I think you do know,” you narrow your eyes, speaking gently, “you just don't want to say it for some reason.”

Fuck you and your intuitive nature. That ability to read him so well will one day be his ultimate downfall, if that day isn't right now.

You're right though. He just doesn't want to say it, because it might scare you. Might make you uncomfortable. Might cross a line he's been very careful not to cross for the last decade.

Then what happens? He loses you? That doesn't seem very fair.

Chan rubs the back of his neck, looking anywhere but at you.

You raise an eyebrow, taking a step closer to show that whatever he's got to say isn't going to scare you away. "Chan, let me help you. What's going on?”

“Fine,” he gives in. “But you can't, I mean, I don't want to push you away.”

Push you away? Why should this push you away? You know whatever it is won't change anything for you, but if he needs that assurance, you're more than okay to give it to him.

He sits on the bed to fidget with the blanket, nerves exponentially rising within his chest at what he's about to confess.

You sit beside him. “Whatever it is, you can tell me,”

“I haven’t slept – really slept in, like, weeks."

“Right. That’s why you’re here."

“But,” he takes a deep breath, finally looking at you, "there was one time recently that I slept really well. It was the best sleep I've gotten in years.”

“Okay, great!” you exclaim, eager to hear about when and how you can help him get some more of that magic, quality sleep. “When was it?”

“Youth Magazine.” He had to spit it out quickly, or he wasn't sure he would go through with it. But once it's out, the entire atmosphere shifts.

You pause, blinking. "You mean…”

“Yeah. With you.”

“You slept well when we cuddled?”

“Not just well,” Chan explains. "It was like, holding you allowed me to release stress I didn't even know I was carrying. It felt so right to have someone next to me, holding onto me, feeling safe with me. I think you might have actually healed part of me to be honest. Is that totally crazy?”

“No. No, you're not crazy.” You swallow, glancing away for a moment before meeting his gaze again. Your voice is softer this time, unsure but sincere. "I’m glad it helped."

Chan would suspect he just made everything worse were it not for the subtle color on your cheeks and the shy, hidden smile in the corners of your mouth.

“___?”

You hesitate for a moment, fingers fidgeting slightly in your lap. Then, after a beat, you turn to face him as well.

“Yes?”

“I know this is kind of a weird request, and you can absolutely say no. I won't take it personally, and we can pretend this conversation never happened….will you stay?”

“Stay?”

“Stay here. With me. I think I can actually get some rest if you're close to me.”

Your heart skips a beat at that one. "Chan…"

He quickly rushes to add, "You don’t have to! If it’s weird or if you’re uncomfortable, I get it. I just – I don’t know, it’s been so hard to shut my brain off, and last time when you were in my arms, it was like,” he sighs as if finally remembering the feeling of peace, “easy.”

You don't disagree. What Chan doesn't know is you've been thinking a lot about that night too. And you realized fairly quickly that you enjoy sleeping next to someone, feeling their weight in your arms, waking to their scent on you.

At least, you liked waking to Chan’s scent.

You should go. That’s what your head is saying. It’s the reasonable choice, the one that keeps a safe distance, the one that makes all this mean nothing.

Stay. That's what your heart is saying. It's the emotional choice. The one that validates your desire to care for Chan, the one that allows you to be close to him, the one that makes all this mean something.

When you study him – tired eyes, hesitant hands gripping the blanket like he’s bracing for disappointment – you feel something within you snap.

He slept well because of you. The realization settles deep in your chest, heavier than you expected. He needs rest. He needs comfort. He needs you.

Your chest tightens because you know that if you walk away right now, he won’t stop you. He’ll let you go. That's the kind of man he is. But he’ll go back to sleepless nights, and you'll spend the whole night wondering if you made the wrong choice.

What's one more night in the grand scheme of things? If it doesn't work, then you walk away knowing you did everything you could to help him sleep well. If you think about it, this would fall under the duties of your managerial position. It's in your job description to do whatever is needed to properly care for, manage, and support your idol.

“You really think if we cuddle…it'll help you sleep better?”

“Yes. I do.”

"Alright,” you whisper, watching his entire body practically melt at the sound of your voice. “I’ll stay. Just for tonight. If this doesn't work, we never speak of it again.”

Chan crosses his heart.

You believe him.

::

The silence between you grew thick with unspoken words. He sits on the edge of the bed, fingers curled into the blanket. It's warm and soft and serves as a reminder of how warm and soft you felt the morning he woke up with you. He almost can't believe you actually agreed to this.

It's not like he asked you for sex, but for some reason, what you're about to do feels even more intimate. At least sex can be emotionless and mind-numbing. Cuddling you…the idea is different.

Chan isn’t stupid. He's pretty sure he won't be able to cuddle you and not develop some kind of feelings. But he puts the possibility to the side and focuses on you, making sure you're not doing this out of guilt or because you feel obligated.

Deep down, he wants you to want to cuddle him too. It won't feel genuine unless he gets that “five more minutes” feel you had last time. He wonders if it can happen again if it doesn't happen naturally.

He feels the other side of the bed dip under your weight as you climb in, slipping under the covers and gently laying your head on the pillow.

You're wearing a large shirt – his large shirt, actually.

Turns out you weren't expecting him to ask you to stay the night, so you didn't bring pajamas or a toothbrush or face wash.

You hesitated only for a moment before looking at him, eyes meeting in the dim glow of the bedside lamp. A deep inhale, rising chest, and a gentle exhale without ever leaving his gaze.

Chan swallows, his gaze flickering down to where the fabric of his shirt drapes over you, then back to your face. There's something unreadable in his expression – soft, hesitant, like he's still wrapping his head around the fact that you're actually here.

Then he slowly – so as not to scare you, he supposes – climbs under the covers next to you.

At first, he lays his head down as you turn onto your side to face him. The two of you allow the moment to sink in, feeling out the line you're about to cross, intentionally this time. If it was anyone else, you would be questioning your own sanity. But for some reason, the longer you spend falling into his eyes, the safer you feel in the moment.

And then, in a voice barely above a whisper, he says, "Come here."

The bed shifts as you adjust, a little hesitant at first, but eventually placing yourself inside his arms and against his chest. Then, cautiously, he wraps an arm around you, his movements slow until he feels you relax into him. A bit of a snuggle closer so you can get fully comfortable.

His exhale is a bit shaky, a reminder that even though he's the one who asked for this, he's not invincible to your touch.

For a moment, neither of you speak, both of you simply taking in the moment and trying to adjust to the many, many new feelings happening right now. The room is quiet except for the slow, steady rhythm of your breaths mingling in the space between you.

His grip tightens, barely noticeable, but you feel it in every joint of your body. As if he needs to convince himself you’re really there. As if he needs to convince himself this may actually work. His body is solid and firm, and despite the hesitation in his movements, he holds you like he doesn’t want to let go.

You don't want him to either.

Then, in the quiet, you feel it. The way his muscles start to unwind, the stress he’s been carrying slowly melts away. He tucks your head under his chin as he brushes against your hair. Another exhale, but it's softer this time, less shaky.

"This…this is nice," he whispers.

“Yeah,” you mutter in reply and gently snuggle in a little more, “it is.”

It’s almost imperceptible, the way his fingers twitch against your back, like he’s resisting the urge to hold you even closer. His breathing evens out now, and then his arm hangs further over your waist, and his body turns further into you.

For all his exhaustion, for all his need for rest, you are what unravels him the most. You are what finally brings him past the edge of sleep.

And as he topples over that edge, he finds it simply too much to guard his tongue as it picks whatever thought is at the front of his mind and pushes it out his mouth.

"You’re warm," he murmurs, his voice drowsy and low. His grip tightens just a fraction. “And soft.”

Like a miracle, he finally drifts off to sleep.

At first, you aren't sure how to feel. There's awareness in every inch of your body moving from the tips of your toes to the top of your head tucked sweetly under his chin. The way his arm drapes over your waist, the slow, steady rise and fall of his chest against your cheek, the slowed heartbeat behind his ribs. You can feel his warmth seeping into you through every inch your bodies touch, the weight of him grounding you in a way you hadn’t expected.

But as the minutes passed, as the night lulled you into a sense of security and softness, something about knowing he was finally resting made your heart ache. You didn't fully understand just how high strung he had become until now – until you felt the way his body collapsed into sleep. No longer carrying the weight of exhaustion.

When he finally fell asleep, you felt yourself fall too. You fall for the feeling of being his stuffed animal, his safe blanket, his body pillow.

Before you know it, you begin relaxing too. The steady beat of his heart in your ears, the quiet hum of his snoring. It was soothing (as soothing as snoring can be). Chan is familiar in many ways, and it becomes scarily obvious that this feeling could become far more familiar far faster than you anticipated.

You told yourself you’re only staying for his sake. But now, lying here with his arms around you, thinking about the morning kinda sucks. You haven't even fallen asleep yet, but you aren't looking forward to waking up. Because when you wake up tomorrow, you have to leave and….

Overthinking will only make you agitated, so you close your eyes and attempt to sleep, letting yourself dissolve into his scent as sleep overtakes your mind.

“Goodnight, Chan.”

::

“Good morning!”

Chan has always been pleasant and professional. He's known for being a ray of sunshine wherever he goes, even on long, exhausting days. Ever the respectful gentlemen, the kind of guy you trust to have fans ranging from as young as nine years old.

But this? Yeah, he gets odd looks for this kind of energy.

“What is it?” he sings, jumping into the make-up chair. “Is my skin already glowing?”

As a matter of fact, it is. His make-up artist doesn't quite know what to do with him at this point. Having glowing skin is a good thing, for sure! But it's kinda hard to do his make-up when he can't stop smiling like an idiot every five seconds.

It's not just his make-up artist. It's the director, the producer, the staff, the choreographer, the camera director, the executives, the set manager, the photographer – everyone has taken note of this sudden but energetic change in Chan, and since mentioned it to you.

Being his manager, it's only appropriate they would tell you. After all, you're supposed to know every food and drink and vitamin and pill that enters his body. How much he's exercising. How much he's eating. How much he's working.

How much he's sleeping.

In fact, Chan has slept a significant more number of hours since you started sleeping next to him. He falls asleep within minutes and stays asleep the whole night. He went from getting max three hours, to sleeping like a baby for a solid seven or eight hours on the regular. There was one night last week he slept for ten hours straight, cuddling you from behind like a teddy bear.

If you hadn't gotten up to use the bathroom, he probably would have slept longer.

Happy…cuddling you makes Chan happy.

And not just happy. Euphoric.

It's not just a change in his energy. It's a change in his emotions. He handles stress better. He digests food better. He remembers schedules better.

It's hard to believe all this positive impact happened because you started cuddling with him.

But you can't tell people that – or rather, you're not going to tell people that. It's better they don't know. So, you let them create as many conspiracy theories as they wish.

Oh, and people have speculated plenty. The following are some of the most popular guesses.

#1) Chan is on new meds.

#2) Chan is officially spiraling and will crash any day.

#3) Chan is getting a little help falling asleep at night from a…special friend.

You're not a super big fan of that last one. Mainly because it's a little too close to the truth. And perhaps it's all in your head, but you think people have been watching you a little too suspiciously lately, and it's messing with your anxiety.

Chan is working the camera, taking shots for his upcoming album cover. Eyes on point, vibe immaculate, body sculpted. God, the camera loves him.

You step onto the set, arms straining under the weight of a towering stack of binders, higher than your own forehead. Maybe you should have swallowed your pride and taken two trips. But you didn’t, and now you’re paying for it.

Your foot catches on a taped-down cord, one you definitely should have seen, and suddenly, the world tilts. The binders fly from your grasp, papers scattering like fallen leaves.

And then SPLAT!

Your face meets the floor. Hard. The pain is instant, a dull throb forming at your forehead, but you barely have time to register it before—

"___! Oh my god, are you okay?!”

Chan is there before you even open your eyes, hands steadying you, one under your arm and the other securing your waist as he helps you sit up. He doesn’t even glance at the mess you've made, doesn’t even care about the papers littering the floor…he only cares about you.

His eyes search your face, worried and intense, as his thumb gently brushes over the spot on your forehead.

"Chan," you say, voice tight with embarrassment as you pull away. "What the hell are you doing?"

"You fell. Pretty hard, actually." His brows knit together like you’re the ridiculous one for even asking. "I’m helping you."

"You just ran off in the middle of your shoot," you whisper, eyes darting to the small crowd that’s now gathered. Heat creeps up your neck, the weight of too many eyes on you.

"Because you fell," he says again, firmer this time. His gaze doesn’t waver. "You’re more important than some pictures."

Your heart swells at the notion, but you shake your head. "I'm fine. Please, just go back."

"Are you sure you don’t need ice, or—"

"Chan."

"I could grab a hat from the closet if you're worried about a bump—"

"Chan, stop."

"I could ask the staff to put signs around the cords so you don’t trip again—"

"Chan!"

He shuts up this time.

You sigh, voice softening. "Please, go do your job, and I'll do mine.”

The light in his eyes dims until there's very little left. Your words knocked the wind out of him more than you intended. His lips part, as if he wants to argue, wants to insist on helping, but then he presses them together, swallowing whatever protest he may have had.

His jaw tightens, and for a brief moment, he looks down. He nods once, muttering a short “okay” before standing to his feet in quiet reluctance.

He doesn’t say anything as he turns away, doesn’t look back as he makes his way in front of the camera again. But there’s a stiffness in his shoulders now, a weight in the way he walks, like he's trying not to show how much your dismissal stung.

Seeing him this way feels like shit, but as others help you gather your binders and stand to your feet, you keep telling yourself it's better this way. It's better that there be not even a hint of anything more than professionalism between the two of you, lest someone figure out the truth.

::

It's nice to be wearing your own pajamas, although you haven't been too upset wearing Chan’s shirt to sleep in for the last several nights. There's just something about your matching silk tank and shorts that makes you sleep luxuriously well, and you’ve missed the feeling of your favorite pj’s. It's lucky Chan had an extra drawer available for you to keep your bedtime stuff in his room.

It didn't take long for the two of you to develop a nighttime routine. But tonight is a little different…

Chan sits on the bed, arms crossed loosely over his chest, his lower lip jutting out just enough to make his pout obvious. His brow sits in the slightest frown, eyes locked onto the wall with a silent complaint, like he’s waiting for you to fix whatever injustice you’ve committed.

“What’s that face for?” you ask upon exiting the bathroom, pausing in front of him.

He shifts a little, huffing under his breath, the mattress dipping beneath his weight. When you don’t immediately respond, he tilts his head dramatically to the side, giving you the full effect of his sulky (endearing) expression.

You shrug, “Alright, nevermind then.”

As you turn around, his hand catches your wrist, gently keeping you from going too far.

He lets out an exaggerated sigh, like a child who didn’t get their way. "Are you really gonna ignore me when I look this sad?" he mumbles low and utterly tragic.

You can't help but find him charming when he's like this. It's rare you see this side of him, so when it appears, it's difficult not to lean into the act.

“No,” you come back to him, his fingers still holding onto your wrist, “but you need to tell me what's wrong.”

"I was only trying to help,” he mumbles, tracing abstract pictures with his finger over your pulse.

You nod. "Are you talking about earlier today?"

"Yeah. I saw you fall. You literally hit your head on the floor. I just wanted to make sure you were okay, but you shoved me off."

You sigh, running a hand through your hair as you sit down on the bed beside him. His pout loosens as you slide your wrist out of his grip to instead hold his hand.

"Chan," you say, softly meeting his eyes, "I didn't mean to shove you off. I'm sorry. I was just embarrassed. Everyone was watching, and I didn’t want to make a big deal out of it."

He exhales sharply, shaking his head, "It was a big deal! You fell so hard. I wasn’t just gonna stand there and pretend I didn’t see it."

His grip tightens, fingers curling hesitantly around yours.

"I know," you murmur. "I know you were just looking out for me. And I appreciate it. Really.”

He stays quiet for a moment, lips pressing into a thin line. “Then…why did it feel like you didn’t want me there?”

Your heart tugs at the vulnerability in his voice, the way his brows are still slightly furrowed, like he’s not sure if he should be feeling hurt or just letting it go.

"I just didn’t want to cause a scene. People are already talking, and I didn't want to give them any more reason to gossip about you.” You squeeze his hand gently. “But I did want you there, Chan."

He finally looks directly at you, the tension in his shoulders softening just a little. "You sure?"

You nod. "Mhm."

There’s a beat of silence before he huffs, ever the dramatic one. "Fine. But next time, I am getting you ice, whether you like it or not."

You chuckle, nudging him playfully. "Deal."

“I'm still upset about it though…” he says with a tilt of his head towards the bed, big doe eyes silently asking you if it's finally time to get under the covers.

You have to stop yourself from rolling your eyes, but there's a spike in your heartbeat that's unavoidable. The undeniable excitement you've been harboring lately for these cuddle sessions is about to become a problem.

Yes, you've begun to look forward to these small moments. Chan is a great cuddler, and he only gets more cuddly every night. So much so, you scared yourself just thinking about the possibility of not being able to sleep next to him anymore.

This whole thing started for Chan’s sake, but it's become a crutch for you. A craving.

That sense of sinking into the sheets next to him, his strong arms wrapping around your body and pulling you close. As if he really wants you. As if he can't be without you.

And if you let yourself, you can imagine for a moment, that he thinks of you as more than a glorified teddy bear.

You sigh, settling into his arms, your fingers absentmindedly tracing patterns against his forearm. "I'm nervous people will find out about this," you admit, voice barely above a whisper, “and they’ll judge, and they'll never understand, and everything will change.”

You realize that your words imply you're scared of all this ending, that you're more invested in cuddling with Chan than you let on. But it's true. It's not only for him at this point; you've become increasingly dependent on his cuddles just as he depends on yours.

Chan doesn't respond right away. Instead, he tightens his arms around you just a little, his hands rubbing slowly, comfortingly up and down your body. He knows your lines by heart at this point and traces them from memory.

"No one's going to find out," he murmurs, his voice low and reassuring. “I promise, we’ll be careful. Everything’s going to be okay."

You close your eyes and scoot in closer to feel more of him pressed against you. "I trust you. Honest, I do. But I can’t help feeling anxious about it…what if this all blows up, and I don't get to be your manager anymore?”

"They wouldn’t do that." Chan’s voice is steady, certain as he traces his fingers up and down your spine.

"But what if they did?"

"Then I’d threaten to leave the company."

You blink at him. "Chan, you’re under contract."

“I’ve got enough dirt on the company to get out of it."

You stare at him for a beat before deadpanning, "You would blackmail JYPE just to keep me as your manager?"

"Yep."

You let out an exaggerated sigh, placing your head back down, drawing whatever random shapes you want over his shirt. "Wow. That’s so romantic. You really know how to make a girl’s heart skip a beat, huh?"

"I am an idol," he says smugly.

"You know, if I didn’t become a manager in the industry, I would have been a hardcore K-pop stan."

Chan perks up a little. "Really?"

"Oh yeah. I’d be that fan who always got tickets to your fan meets, recorded fancams at every concert, held up signs that said, ‘Chan, why’d you invite so many people to our date?’"

He laughs, the sound warm and genuine. "Well, those are some of my favorite fans, so..."

You grin, tilting your head up to look at him as he tilts his chin down to meet your gaze. "Guess I was meant to be in your life one way or another, huh?"

His eyes soften, thumb drawing circles on your back to lull you closer to sleep.

“Yeah,” Chan hums softly, like he's considering your words a bit deeper than you intended them to be. Then he shifts closer, rolling towards you. “Guess so.”

His chin dips, and before you can process it, you feel the familiar warmth of his nose brushing against the side of your neck.

You tense, just for a second. Not because it’s unwelcome, but because you weren’t expecting it. But Chan doesn’t pull away. He just nuzzles in, slow and deliberate, the tip of his nose grazing your skin as he exhales softly against your pulse.

It’s not new. Actually, he figured out pretty quickly that you love this, that it makes you melt in more ways than one. But tonight, with your nerves still buzzing and your thoughts racing, it feels more meaningful than usual.

Your hands instinctively clutch at his arm as a small, involuntary shiver runs down your spine. He must feel it, because his hold on you tightens just slightly, his breath fanning across your neck in a way that makes warmth spread through your chest.

He doesn’t kiss you.

He could. He's close enough, and the thought has definitely crossed your mind before. If he did…would you stop him?

But he doesn’t.

And yet, as you settle further into his embrace, your anxiety dulling under the steady rhythm of his breathing and the weight of his presence, you realize that maybe…just maybe…you kinda wish that he would.

::

It started with a late night movie, because you had the evening free for the first time in forever, and Chan invited you over to keep him company during his night in. It went well, and the convenience of already being at his apartment for bedtime worked out for the two of you.

Then it was an early dinner and a late movie at his place.

Then it was virtual afternoon meetings AND dinner AND a late movie at his place.

Eventually, you were finding any excuse possible to give so you could be around him.

You grew accustomed to eating with him, hearing about his day, telling him about yours, encouraging one another, giving advice, venting about your shared hatred for the executive director. A nightly routine naturally developed before you climbed in bed together to sleep.

Things progressed slowly from there. Over the course of a few months, your life adjusted ever so casually to fit your new routine with him. And while sneaking around never became less stressful, per say, it did become second nature.

Chan learned exactly how to act in public so as not to raise suspicion (or your nerves). And you learned more of his tells and sleeping habits so as to help him get the best sleep possible.

When Chan laid next to you and opened his arms, your brain instinctively released that sweet hit of serotonin, and it wasn't long before you found yourself highly addicted.

But you can never admit that to him. After all...you're his manager.

This evening, the volume on his TV is low, just something playing in the background, neither of you really paying attention to the film at all. You have far too much paperwork to finish.

Chan flops onto the couch next to you, stretching with a groan, loudly announcing his exhaustion after back-to-back schedules that day.

You roll your eyes. “You know, you have no one to blame but yourself.”

“What do you mean?” His arm lands on the couch behind you.

“You overworked yourself today.”

He clicks his tongue in defiance. “I did my job.”

“You did your job, the mover’s job, the stage hand’s job, the performance director’s job–”

“They needed help.”

You shake your head. He’s always been like this – helpful to a fault, always taking on more than he should.

“They had each other. You, on the other hand, have been running on fumes for weeks now.”

Chan huffs, but instead of arguing further, he drops his head back against the couch with a heavy sigh. “Maybe I just like keeping busy.”

“And maybe I need you to take it easy because you have a solo stage tomorrow you can't be burned out for.”

Chan cracks one eye open, a small smirk tugging at his lips. “You need me to take it easy?”

“Yes,” you say firmly. “Because if you push yourself too hard and mess up your performance, guess who’s going to have to deal with your grumpy, self-loathing ass?”

His smirk fades into something softer. “You worry too much.”

“And you don’t worry enough.”

He doesn’t argue this time. Instead, he sows his lips shut, sinking further into the couch. You take that as a small victory. At least he’s not immediately running off to do more work.

You finish your last document and shut your laptop, placing it on the floor, so you can finally relax on the couch next to him.

It starts with some space. A shift here, a scoot there. You're not sure exactly when, but at some point his arm falls off the back of the couch and lands around your shoulder.

Then, at some point, your head drops lightly against his shoulder, and your body turns into his. It doesn't take long for his arm to drape across your waist now. Without thinking, you lean further into him, legs naturally tucking against his.

Neither of you acknowledge it.

Neither of you move away.

He draws mindless shapes across your back, his breathing deep and steady. It’s so casual, so normal – and maybe that’s what makes it all the more dangerous.

Because for the first time, you’re not sure if this is still about sleep, or if it’s something else entirely.

His fingers continue to trace lazy patterns up and down your waist, every so often dragging your shirt with it only for it to fall again. But you notice those few moments his bare finger brushes against your bare skin, like it's second nature, like he’s done this a hundred times before.

And yeah, one could argue that he has. He's certainly traced the lines of your body as he's fallen asleep before, always claiming it soothes him to feel you under his fingertips.

But this is different.

As the movie plays on, you find yourself thinking less about the plot and more about the way he feels under your weight.

This isn’t about sleep.

This isn’t about comfort.

This is about Chan.

And suddenly, you’re acutely aware that your heart is racing solely because of him.

Eventually, the evening sunset turns dark, and the leaning against him turns into laying on him.

And now, here you are, tummy on top of his tummy, cheek on his chest as his head lays on the arm rest, and his hand lazily strokes your back. He's watching the TV, his heartbeat singing against your ear, soft and calm, unconsciously making your heartbeat copy the rhythm.

You shift slightly, resting your chin on his chest, watching him react to the movie. Every so often, his tummy bounces when he chuckles at the cartoon, making you bounce with it. You wonder if he even realizes he’s petting you, or that you've been fidgeting with the loose seam of his shirt for the last half hour.

And that’s when it hits you.

This is the first time you've cuddled without the expectation of immediate sleep.

This is just the two of you. Being close. Because you want to be. Because it feels right.

And suddenly, that realization makes your heart beat just a little too fast, telling your anxiety that you're about to be in grave danger of feeling too much.

Your breath catches in your throat. Your fingers twitch against his shirt as the weight of that realization settles over you, making you feel heavy on top of him. The warmth of his touch, the steady rise and fall of his breathing – it’s too right. Too easy. Too natural. Too good.

You're starting to treasure it too much. Way too much. Eventually, all this has to end, right? If just thinking about it hurts this much…how much more will it hurt when…

You need space.

Slowly, you shift away, carefully untangling yourself from him as you sit up to straddle his waist instead.

Chan blinks, his arm falling to the empty space on his chest where you’d just been. “What’s wrong?”

You force a small smile, rubbing your face as if that’ll clear your head. “I’m just tired. Ready to turn in for the night.”

He doesn't hesitate to grab the remote and stop the movie.

“Okay,” he says easily, already sitting up as well, holding you in place so you don't fall off his lap. “Whatever you want, ___.”

Whatever you want? Why did he say your name like that? Like he genuinely cares about you. So soft. So certain. Like he’d do anything for you, no questions asked. Like your comfort, your needs, your wants matter more to him than anything else.

It’s not the first time he’s said your name, clearly. Not even the first time he’s looked at you with that quiet sincerity in his eyes. But tonight feels different. Or maybe you’re just feeling different.

That's dangerous.

Because if you allow yourself to believe, even for a single second, that this is something more, then you’re stepping into uncharted territory.

One where the lines between comfort and affection blur.

One where cuddling isn’t just about helping him sleep anymore.

One where you’re not sure if you’d be able to stop, even if you needed to.

You shake the thought away, forcing a small smile as you nod, pretending like nothing has changed inside your mind. But as he’s here, holding you so delicately in his lap, watching you with those careful – dare you say, loving – eyes, you realize everything is changing.

He stretches slightly before gesturing for you to go first, so you stand up. Then he stands up as well, gesturing for you to follow him down the hall.

But your feet don't move. You're just shifting your weight from one leg to the other.

Chan (of course) notices immediately. His brow furrows. “What is it?”

You frown down at your legs, rolling your ankles slightly. “I think my legs fell asleep from laying on the couch.”

His concern melts into an affectionate smirk. “Seriously?”

You nod, small, with an unconscious pout.

“You know you could just ask,” he whispers as if it's some sort of secret. “I don't mind.”

You blink. “Mind what?”

Before you can react, he makes his move, swift and effortless as his arms sweep under your knees and back. He lifts you bridal style, bouncing you once to make sure you're secure.

A surprised noise escapes you. “Chan! Oh my god, what–?”

“You said your legs were numb,” he reminds you, grinning as if he wanted to do this. “Let me help.”

“This is not what I meant! Put me down!”

But he just smiles and says, “Nope.” And he starts his way towards his bedroom.

Your retorts start serious, but they gradually change to giggles the faster he walks, as if he just can't wait to get you into bed.

He’s careful as he lays you down, adjusting the blankets before slipping in beside you. But he doesn't pull the blankets up just yet.

Without hesitation, he reaches down, his hands wrapping around your calves as he starts massaging slow, gentle circles into the muscles.

You blink at him, reaching down to place a hand on his. “What are you doing?”

“Helping,” he mutters and pushes your hand away, like it’s the most obvious thing in the world. His thumbs press lightly into your skin, his touch warm, soothing. “I can't sleep until I've made sure you're okay.”

Oh god, there's something about his eyes when he meets yours. They're completely innocent, but there's something in them that terrifies you. Not because you're scared of Chan…you're scared of yourself.

You bite your lip, trying to steady your heart as it begins racing faster and faster. His eyes are so open, so trusting, almost too much for you to handle in this moment. There’s nothing but warmth in them, an earnestness that makes your stomach churn in fear. But it's the way he's looking at you, with that gentle patience, that understanding, that makes you feel so safe.

Your eyes naturally glance at his lips.

Stop! You can't do this!

Your pulse quickens, and it feels like your chest is too small for everything inside it. You should pull away. You should run as fast as you can. But you can’t move. Can’t convince yourself to leave the warmth of his presence when it feels so right.

You didn't think it was possible to physically feel the moment you fall in love with someone…but it's happening. There's no denying it anymore.

You've been falling in love with Chan for god knows how long. And right now, in this exact moment, you've officially fallen in love with him.

You force yourself to look away, trying to calm the wild beat of your heart, but the damage has already been done. You’re sure he didn't mean to, but Chan did it; he simultaneously healed and hurt you in the exact same moment.

“___?” He manages to bring your attention and eyes back to him.

“Hm?”

His hands pause. “Why are you crying?”

You blink, surprised at the wetness on your cheeks, and quickly wipe it away with the back of your hand, but it’s too late. He’s already seen.

“Nothing,” you say quickly, a weak attempt to brush it off. “I’m fine.”

But his gaze never wavers, and his concern only grows as he shifts to the top of the bed beside you, his thumb gently grazing your cheek. “Don’t lie to me. What’s going on?”

He means well, but the warmth of his touch on your face only makes everything harder.

“Just a long day…” you trail off, unable to finish. You know he knows you're lying anyway.

But instead of edging you on and insisting on an explanation, Chan gently lays you down, his arm as your pillow and his body as your shield. You hide yourself in him as he pulls the covers over your shoulder.

You're crying over a boy for the first time in your life. And it's over Chan…and he doesn't even know it.

You shouldn’t be doing this. The cuddles, the closeness, pretending this is all normal, like you’re not harboring feelings much deeper than just friendship.

It’s getting dangerous. The feeling sinks deep in the pit of your stomach as you lay next to him, and his warmth envelops you. His hand brushes against yours, and it's like a thousand fireworks pop under your skin. It’s getting harder to breathe – or are you just crying too hard?

It's too much to ignore the way your heart races when he hums gently to sooth your whimpers, when he looks at you like you matter more than you should let yourself believe you do.

The realization settles into your bones, heavy and terrifying, but also…inevitable. It’s been there for a while, hasn’t it? Lurking beneath every stolen glance, every lingering touch, every heartbeat that races just a little too fast when he pulls you close.

You're fucking in love with him. How could you not be?

Every night spent in his arms, every whispered conversation in the dark, every quiet laugh shared between just the two of you – it's all led to this moment. To the undeniable truth pressing against your ribs, demanding to be acknowledged.

You love him. And he doesn't even know.

The thought terrifies you, makes your hands shake as you tuck them away so he can't see them physically trembling. Do you say something? You can’t keep pretending this is just comfort, just habit, just something casual between friends.

Because it’s not. Not for you at least.

But if you tell him…how can you continue to be by his side as his manager?

Then again, how can you continue to be by his side at all? Will these feelings grow more and more every day if you stay?

Eventually, you start to drift off, and the tears dry under your eyes. As you feel sleep take over your body, Chan’s arms tighten around you, offering a silent promise of protection.

Perhaps for the last time.

When you're right on the brink of unconsciousness, while the world is blurred and sounds feel thick, a gentle puff of warm breath hits your earlobe alongside gentle words your tired brain can't quite make out.

::

Chan smiles out at the crowd. Twisting in a single, white chair, he answers questions from the MC with practiced ease.

Of course, the majority of the stage today is scripted, with some flexibility to share pre-screened details and stories, given he finishes in the appropriate time limit.

But Chan misses the genuineness of a fully free stage. When he has a microphone and nothing else. When it's just him and STAY, being together, enjoying the moment.

You're always sure he gets those moments during interview stages. But unfortunately, his stage management was given to someone else for this event. Someone just as capable, but far less accustomed to how you do things. This substitute manager doesn't have an inch of space to spare for idol-fan connection.

Chan doesn't want to complain though.

It's been hell for you with whatever side projects the executive director assigned. You showed up at butt crack o’clock this morning, and he hasn't really seen you all day.

“So, Chan,” the MC cheerily continues, checking their notecards, “how does it feel to be the most successful idol in the industry right now?”

Another scripted question.

"Thank you for the kind words. Really, it's an honor to be where I am today, and I'm just really grateful to have this opportunity to do what I love. Of course, I always strive to improve and challenge myself, so I’ll continue working hard to give my fans the best music and performances. I wouldn’t be here without all of you, so thank you so much for your support! I love you guys!”

The MC smiles as the fans cheer. “Of course, the fans support you a hundred percent, and I'm sure they are a huge source of motivation for you. But is there anyone else you want to shout out? Someone…special?”

Not a scripted question.

It catches Chan briefly off guard. He has to collect himself for a moment, quickly hide his surprised expression so the camera doesn't pick up on any unpreparedness.

“Oh, umm, of course! Yeah, I couldn't have done it without the support of the amazing staff and my team. Every achievement is a collective effort–”

“But is there anyone specific you want to mention,” the MC interrupts, a saucy lift of their brows as they speak, “a special girl in your life, maybe? I'm sure the fans would love to know.”

Okay, this is definitely off script. Chan makes a mental note to report this MC after the show is over because what the actual hell?

Are they seriously asking him if he has a personal, romantic relationship behind the scenes? Are they trying to pressure him in front of a live audience right now?

Chan forces a smile, feeling the heat rise in his cheeks. He’s trained for moments like this, and he's faced plenty of curveball questions in the past. But this one? This one hits different. His gaze flickers to the camera, to the crowd, to the team of staff behind the scenes.

It's incredible how quickly his mind turns to you in this moment.

The MC’s grin only widens, clearly enjoying the uncomfortable tension building in the air, as if this is what they aimed for.

"Oh gosh, you're gonna make me shy," Chan begins, hearing the fans’ voices slowly aweing from the crowd. Even though his pulse quickens, he keeps his voice steady, "I mean, my fans are my baby girls and baby boys, so they are my special someone. I love you, STAY!” He makes a heart to the audience, a successful response coming back to him.

The MC doesn’t let up though. "Ah, but come on. You must have someone special. You’re the hottest thing in the industry right now, Chan! Surely, there’s someone who makes your heart skip a beat, right?"

His fingers tighten around his microphone, tongue in cheek. He clears his throat, mentally reminding himself that sticking to the safe answers is the most important thing right now.

“I’m really focused on my career and STAY. I think we've come a long way, but we've still got a long way to go. We can go even higher and higher – there's no stopping us if we work together. That’s really what keeps me motivated.”

The MC, sensing it’s not going to go any further, reluctantly shifts gears. "Alright, alright. We’ll respect your privacy,” a wink, “for now."

For now? The fuck you will.

As the interview continues, Chan can’t shake the seed of uneasiness the MC has planted. He hates how the question, casual as it seemed, dug deep into something he’s been trying to bury.

Perhaps for too long.

::

Chan sits on his bed, arms crossed, staring at the floor. He can’t focus on anything it seems. His thoughts keep swirling around, always coming back to one thing. One person.

You.

He can't shake the memory of last night. Something was very wrong, even if you weren’t ready to share exactly what. Somewhere in the back of his mind, he wonders if the closeness has become uncomfortable for you.

When he picks you up, when he clings to you, when you’re both wrapped up in each other. It feels easy for him. But perhaps you feel burdened?

The cuddling, the late-night talks, the way his heart skips whenever you get close. He's not stupid; every night, he feels the tension growing between you both, and he wonders if maybe it’s getting awkward for you.

Is that why you cried?

Was it something he said? Something he did – the massage maybe?

He just wants to take care of you like you take care of him. Is that such a bad thing?

On stage, you were the answer to that MC’s question. All his success these last months is largely thanks to your cuddles, as weird as some might find that truth to be.

But if it makes you cry…maybe the two of you should stop.

The thought rips through his chest like shrapnel, sharp and sudden, leaving behind shreds of devastating loss – feelings he was not prepared to encounter.

Why does this hurt so damn much?

The realization crashes into him like a wave he wasn’t braced for, dragging him down father and father into depths suffocating and inevitable. And then he finally realizes...

He's in love with you.

Of course, he's in love with you.

That’s what this ache is. This all encompassing ache that seems to infect every nerve ending and bone in his body. That’s why the thought of you leaving feels like the end of his entire world. It’s not just sleep. It’s not just comfort.

It’s you. All of you.

He’s fallen for you somewhere between the sleepy mornings and quiet nights, in the curve of your smile and the weight of your head on his chest. And now, knowing that what brought you close might be the very thing pushing you away…he can barely breathe.

If cuddling him hurts you that much, if it makes you that uncomfortable, of course, you should stop. But if the two of you stop cuddling, he'll be miserable.

Oh god, how can he be so selfish as to even consider continuing something that clearly hurts you!? How can he even think to go on like this when you're so obviously not okay with it anymore?

He's decided. He'll tell you the truth about how he feels, and if things end, then things end.

He has to be ready to let you go if that's what you want.

He has to trust that if he puts his heart in your hands, you'll walk away if you need to.

Even if it leaves him shattered.

A soft knock on the door.

It's you.

His heart perks up inside his chest like it always does when it hears you coming. He has to remind it to settle down…there's probably no cuddles tonight. Or ever again.

He stands up and moves toward the door, mentally preparing himself before he opens it.

Maybe it's the dim entry glow that catches your eyes, making them softer and warmer than usual. Or maybe it’s the way his oversized shirt is draped over your arm, just waiting to be worn. Or maybe it’s the simple fact that there's a chance he's about to break his own heart.

Or maybe you're just that devastatingly beautiful to him.

For your sake, he’ll pretend you're not ruining him as tragically as you are.

You blink up at him, seemingly oblivious to the war inside his mind. A soft smile, a tilt of your head – fuck, do you even know what you do to him?

He takes a breath, but it doesn’t help. This may be harder than he thought (not that he thought it would be easy).

“Hey.”

“Hey,” you reply sweetly, your uneven smile already signaling that something is wrong. Of course, Chan already knew that. You never knock anymore.

“Come on in,” he welcomes you, stepping aside and closing the door behind you. “We should probably talk.”

“I think so too.”

Chan pauses at the door. “You do?”

“Yeah,” you exhale, steadying yourself as you enter his apartment. “There's something I need to tell you.”

Chan leads you to the couch where you can both sit. It seems whatever you have to say will cause you to be unbalanced if your nervous knees are any indication. He's never seen you quite like this before, and it's rather concerning.

What he has planned to say is on the back burner until further notice. All he wants now is to listen to you and hopefully help support some of the obvious weight you carried into the apartment.

“What is it?” he asks, moving to place a hand on your shoulder, but pulling back at the last moment.

“Chan… I’ve decided to resign as your manager.”

His brows pull together, eyes wide with a quiet panic. His lips part slightly, like he wants to say something but doesn’t know what, and his entire posture has stiffened. He wasn't braced for that kind of impact, and the punch of your words to his gut has knocked the air right out his lungs.

“What? But we've been a team since trainee days. I don't understand. Why now?”

“Because, I…”

God, this is harder than you thought – you can only hesitate for so long until the words have to come out. You owe him the truth, but it seems you underestimated just how difficult it would be to confess what you're really thinking.

He's looking at you like the solid ground beneath him will turn into water, and you're his only lifeline. If you leave, he's surely condemned to sink.

There’s a different kind of fear in his gaze now, something deeper than just confusion. Like he’s trying to read between the lines, trying to piece together if you’re sick, if someone hurt you, if something happened that maybe he can fix.

Chan. Always believing he can fix anything. And usually, he can at least mend a few scratches…but you're not sure there's anything that will be able to mend the heartbreak you've brought upon yourself. Not even him.

“I just need some space,” you finally say.

He leans in slightly, tilting his head to better see your face when you look away from him.

“I knew it.”

You glance at him. “Knew what?”

“This is all my fault,” he groans, shooting to his feet, one hand raking through his hair as he starts to pace. “I crossed the line. I should’ve known I was making you uncomfortable, but I didn't want to give you space. I got selfish, and I didn't even stop to think about how it was affecting you.”

He turns sharply and drops to his knee in front of you, eyes searching yours with raw desperation. “I never meant to make you feel pressured or obligated or, fuck, guilty. I never should have asked you to go so far beyond your responsibility as my manager. I just…” His voice falters, shaking as he takes your hands in his. “I’m so sorry, ___. You have to know I’d never want to hurt you. I didn’t mean for things to get so messy. All this, this is all on me. All of it."

“No, Chan, wait,” you stop him by gripping his hands, speaking quickly before he starts rambling more, “it's not you. It's me. I'm just…not cut out for this industry.”

You didn't come in here with the intention of lying, but now that you're next to him, here of all places, it's proving tumultuous to tell him the real reason behind your decision.

But maybe this is better. Maybe this way, you can save some hurt feelings. Save yourself some anguish.

He slowly stands up, arms crossing and expression turning stale.

“Well, that's bullshit.”

“Excuse me?”

“I'm sorry, but that's actually bullshit. ___, you're the best manager in the industry. Everyone knows that.”

You stand as well with a sharp scoff. “That's not true. I make more than my share of mistakes, and I've been lacking as your manager for months. If I don't resign, JYPE will probably fire me.”

“That's ridiculous!” Chan insists. “What kind of mental spiral did you go down to even get that idea?”

“I didn't!”

“Well, I'm sorry, but that's the most absurd thing I've heard in my life. And I don't know why you think I would ever believe shit like that.”

You squeeze your eyes shut for a moment, trying to regain a foothold as every solid piece of ground starts crumbling underneath you.

You just said the first thing that came to mind that's not the truth, and clearly Chan isn't buying any of it. With your face in your hands and your shoulders sagging in exhaustion, you take a deep breath.

“Can't you just let me lie?”

“No,” he says calmly, taking a step closer. “Whatever it is, is obviously hurting you. How could I let you suffer behind a lie?”

“Because maybe it's better if you don’t know the truth. Maybe that way, I don't have to lose you completely.”

“Why would you lose me?” Chan whispers, cupping your cheeks in his warm hands and bringing you closer. “Listen. There's nothing you could ever do that would make you lose me. If you want me to let you walk away, you better give me a damn good reason why I should.”

“Do you promise?”

“I promise.”

You take a shaky breath, your pulse pounding in your ears. The moment stretches into hours, taut and heavy. Dreadfully, you look up at him, your chest tightening at the sight of the gentle concern written across his face, and you almost lose your nerve again. Because no matter what kind of promise he makes, you know that after he hears the truth, he won't be able to keep it. There's no possible way he could.

“I’ve developed feelings for you,” you say quietly. “And it’s not professional. I’ve tried to ignore it, to stay objective, but it’s not working. Being your manager isn't right anymore. I'm falling for you, and I’m afraid being in love with you is making things way too complicated. So, I want to leave...while I still have some of my heart left in tact."

Chan freezes, eyelids fluttering with each word you speak. He doesn't reply, doesn't move, doesn't breathe.

You smile, small and sad, and take a step back, allowing his hands to drop through the air. “That’s the truth. Having these feelings and being close to you hurts too much. So, I'm turning in my resignation tomorrow.”

For several moments, there’s only silence.

You wait for him to say something, anything, but he just stands there. You can’t tell if it’s anger, disappointment, or confusion blanketing his features. Maybe it’s all of them.

“Chan? Aren’t you going to say something?”

Still no reply. His chest starts to lift and fall as he breathes again, his lips parting as if he wants to speak. But he doesn't.

Your hands drop uselessly to your sides, everything in the air settling into nothing. You were so terrified to admit your feelings, and now his anticlimactic response leaves you feeling worthless and unheard.

You should have known it was too much to hope that he might have some kind of perfect response to something so sudden and messy.

“I’m sorry,” you add softly. “I didn’t mean for this to happen. I should go.”

You turn toward the door, heart pounding so loudly it drowns out everything else, including your footsteps. Your chest caves in on itself, throat tight from holding back the wave threatening to crash over you. You don’t want to cry. Not again. Certainly not in front of him.

You make it three steps.

And then suddenly–

His fingers around your wrist, gentle, but with a desperation that stops you cold.

You freeze, feet numb as he tugs you back, just enough to spin you around. The world tilts, your vision blurry from unshed tears, and before you can even process what’s happening–

He's pulled you in.

One hand still around your wrist, the other around your waist, holding your body flush to his. And his lips on yours like a dam that's broken from the pressure.

It’s not soft. It’s not careful. It’s raw, reckless, full of everything he's ever felt but never said. His kiss translates a sense of fear, desperate longing, and the panic of almost losing you. His heart is in every movement, every push and pull, trembling and wide open.

Every emotion he buried. Every time he misread the signs. He puts his everything into this very kiss. So you can feel it all.

And you kiss him back like it’s the only thing keeping you alive.

You're not careful. You're not logical. Because this is not the product of a slow realization. It’s a need. It’s a confession. It’s everything that’s been simmering under the surface from the very first night you climbed into his arms and called it “just cuddling.”

Your hands are in his hair, and his are gripping your shirt around your hips before your mind even has time to catch up to what’s happening. The air around you disappears, replaced only by the sensation of his mouth moving against yours like it’s the first time he’s breathed all day.

When he finally pulls back, his forehead rests against yours. You’re both still catching your breath. He pushes forward to brush against your lips lightly, dragging his hands further around your waist to pull you against him more, as if he can't be close enough.

“Don't be afraid to fall. I'll catch you.”

“Chan…does that mean…?”

He smiles, just a little before moving his lips to be beside your ear, and whispers, “I'm in love with you too.”

Your breath catches again. Not from nerves this time, but from sheer disbelief. Relief. The feeling returning to your feet on the ground.

You pull back just enough to see his face. His eyes are so close, so full of warmth and truth, and there’s no trace of hesitation. No regret. Just him, looking at you like he’s known he's loved you for forever, but finally now has the courage to say it.

“Say it again,” you whisper, barely audible, afraid he'll disappear if you blink.

He leans in once more, lips brushing your cheek as he murmurs, “I’m in love with you.”

“Again?”

“I’m in love with you,” the other cheek this time, voice softer, like a vow.

Your arms close around his neck, and he holds you like you’re the most precious thing in the world. Because to him, you are. Your head tucks into the curve of his shoulder, and for the first time in what feels like forever, you breathe easily.

You're not sure what exactly happens now, except for when Chan scoops under your legs and wraps them around his waist, so he can carry you to the bedroom.

Tonight, his bed is visited by more than just cuddles. But the important part is that there’s no pretending. No agreements. No routines.

Just love.

And the steady beat of his heart against yours long after the sun peeks through his windows, and he's turned off the alarm more than once.

::

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