hiiiiii wolfieeeee i have a request if itâs okay đ„č could you do chan x reader where reader accidentally deletes something off chains laptop that he was working on and gets reallyy nervous and feels horrible
STRAY KIDS â Bang Chan
ă âłâ§ïœ„ïŸ SUMMARY: You probably should be more careful around Chan's work.
ă âłâ§ïœ„ïŸ WORD COUNT: k
ă âłâ§ïœ„ïŸ CW: Established relationship, reasonably frustrated!Chan. Happy ending obvi.
ă âłâ§ïœ„ïŸ A/N: This is lowkey canon for me. Thanks anon for the plot. Hope u like<3
(pictures are not mine. Credits to their respective owners!)
It wasn't odd for you to pick up the metallic device and use it yourself. Chan knew how to share, especially with you, his girlfriend of almost three years. Sure, it was his computer, a silver macbook he carried everywhere. But when he was at home and didn't use it, sometimes you used it for your meaningless stuff: looking up recipes, going on social media, watching a movie...
Today was no different. You sat on the couch and brought the slim device onto your lap. Opened it, typed in the passcode Chris had shared with you about a year ago.
A tab was open.
You didn't think much of it. Barely glanced at the screen before exiting automatically. Then you opened the browser. A recipe blog loaded onto the screen. You stared at it for maybe five seconds before your stomach tightened suddenly. Wait. Your hand stilled over the trackpad. Slowly, your eyes drifted toward the little icon at the bottom of the screen.
Had that been? Cubase? No.
Quickly, you clicked back into the program, stomach sinking before it had even fully loaded.
No. You were always careful about Cubase. Chan had specifically asked you to when he first started sharing his laptop with you.
A blank screen welcomed you. Had a project been there before? It was probably saved somewhere. It had to be. Chan had copies of copies of drafts and finished songs.
You stared at the screen, suddenly too scared to touch anything else in fear of making it worse.
"Baby?" You called out carefully.
He'd been in the bedroom for a bit. Headed straight for the shower after coming home from the gym. "Yeah?" You head him yell out.
"Uh, could you come here for a sec?"
You heard movement from the bedroom; your anxiety making you hyperaware. The sound of his feet, bare on the floor as he took heavy steps to you. He smiled when he found you; his natural reaction to you, then he leaned to see in the computer. He'd assumed you had an insignificant problem, some little thing you didn't know how to fix. Chan wasn't an expert, but he was savvy enough.
Then he saw it.
The program open on a new project. The same way it did when it loaded back open. He froze for a second. Then, he understood.
He removed the device from you quietly, grabbing it recklessly from the upper part of the screen.
"Y-you... have a copy, right?" You asked in a small voice. Scared.
Chan breathed, didn't reply. You didn't press either. Terrified to find out just how angry he was. If he was angry, for you couldn't read his expression.
He messed with it for a while, then dropped the metallic device on the coffee table. "Please don't touch anything," he murmured, almost grumbled as he walked away.
You sat there like a scolded child. Small and quiet. The guilt seeping into your bones, trying to convince yourself these things happened. But your mind wasn't as kind.
You froze when you heard grumbles exchanged in the bedroom. On the phone, he seemed to be. Time seemed to stretch before he came back. Jaw tight, eyes darkened. Clearly frustrated.
"It's okay." He reassured, even if his voice didn't sound too gentle. "I'm not mad."
Chan knew how fragile your heart was. Childhood trauma. He knew he needed tact with certain things, and this was one of them.
"I'm sorry," you spoke. "I didn't see... I thoughtâ"
"Stop, Y/N." he sighed. "Please."
He sounded irritated. For you, in your sensitive, hyperaware mind, he did.
And maybe he was.
Your eyes burned as you looked down at your hands twisting together in your lap. âI said I was sorry.â
Chan dragged a hand over his face immediately after you spoke, regret flashing through his expression. âI know,â he muttered.
The apartment fell quiet again except for the muffled sound of traffic outside and the buzzing in your ears.
You hated this feeling. The waiting. The tension. Trying to figure out if someone was angry before they finally admitted it.
Chan noticed the exact second you started retreating into yourself. Shoulders curled inward, eyes avoiding his, body small against the couch cushions.
âHey.â Softer this time. âBaby, câmere.â
âI donât wanna make it worse.â you admitted without looking up.
That made his heart ache, because suddenly this wasnât about a corrupted project anymore. It was about you sitting there terrified over an accident. Like you used to when you were a child.
Chan closed his eyes briefly before crouching in front of the couch. âYou didnât ruin anything, okay?â He said carefully. âThe fileâs probably recoverable, I'm sure Bin has a copy somewhere. I was just... frustrated because I thought I lost hours of work, okay?â You finally glanced at him then, uncertain. âIâm not mad at you.â
Your voice came out quiet. âYou sounded mad.â
âI know.â His shoulders dropped. He reached for your hands slowly, cradling you like you could shatter. Like you were precious. âI wasnât trying to scare you, baby.â
And the tears came.
They gathered in your eyes and finally spilled over, more from relief than anything else.
Chanâs face softened immediately. âBaby girlâŠâ Before you could hide your face, he pulled you forward into him, arms wrapping around your shoulders as he pressed his cheek against your head.
âItâs okay, I'm sorry.â he murmured quietly. âComputerâs replaceable. Files are replaceable. I'm sorry. Everything's okay.â He insisted softly.
You cried for a bit before you pulled back to dry your tears.
"Accidents happen?" He asked softly while looking for your eyes.
description: Two years of secrecy had rules. Donât look too long. Donât stand too close. Donât make it obvious. chan followed every single one.
Until the moment you got hurt.
Tags: idol!bangchan, secret relationship, protective chan, airport incident, sasaeng behavior, staff conflict, soft for reader, public vs private, âdonât touch herâ, hidden girlfriend, emotional hurt/comfort.
The airport is too loud.
Thatâs the first thing Chan notices.
Not the cameras. Not the flashes. Not even the suffocating crowd pressing in from every direction.
Itâs the noise.
Shouting. Screaming. Phones clicking nonstop. His name being called over and over again.
âChan look here!â
âOppa!â
âChris!â
His jaw tightens.
Too many people. Not enough security. Again.
He pulls his cap lower, shoulders tense as he walks. The members are ahead of him, staff loosely surrounding them, but itâs messy. Disorganized. Not safe.
And then thereâs you.
Behind them, exactly where youâre supposed to be.
Dressed like staff in all black, mask on, blending in as much as possible. Head down, staying close, doing everything right.
His girlfriend.
Two years.
Two years of hidden touches, quiet nights, and pretending in public like you donât exist to each other.
He hates it.
His eyes flick back just for a second to check on you. Youâre there. Safe. For now.
A sudden push breaks the flow.
Jeongin stumbles forward slightly.
Chanâs head snaps up, eyes narrowing.
Someone shoved him.
Not enough to cause a scene, but enough.
His patience is already hanging by a thread.
âSeriouslyâŠâ he mutters under his breath, irritation sharp now.
They keep moving.
They have to.
But the crowd only gets worse. They start pushing more, trying to get closer.
Then it happens.
A fan pushes forward again, arm stretched out with a phone, trying to get a close video of Chan.
The phone comes straight at your face. You donât even have time to react.
It hits you.
A sharp impact against your cheek.
You gasp, stumbling back, your balance completely thrown off. Your foot catches and suddenly youâre falling.
Chan sees it.
Everything stops.
His hand shoots out, slapping the phone away hard.
âBack off!â
The sound is loud enough to cut through the chaos.
Gasps ripple through the crowd.
âFor fuckâs sakeâŠâ he snaps, voice low but furious.
And then heâs moving.
Straight to you.
He doesnât think about the cameras.
Doesnât think about the consequences.
Youâre on the ground.
Youâre all that matters.
He drops down in front of you instantly, hands reaching for you, careful but urgent.
âHey, hey⊠are you okay?â
His voice softens immediately, completely different from seconds ago.
You blink up at him, still stunned, one hand pressed to your cheek.
âIâm okay,â you say quietly, but you look shaken.
He doesnât like that.
Not one bit.
Before he can say anything else, someone pushes forward again. Another phone, too close, way too close.
Chanâs head snaps up.
âAre you serious right now?â
The fan doesnât move back.
Wrong choice.
He grabs the phone straight out of their hand.
The crowd gasps louder this time.
âBack off,â he says, voice cold.
And then he drops it.
Right onto the airport floor.
Shattered.
People start whispering, reacting, recording even more now, but Chan doesnât even look down.
He doesnât care.
Heâs already focused on you again.
âCome here,â he says softly, helping you up, one hand steady on your arm, the other at your back.
Once youâre standing, he doesnât let go.
Not this time.
He pulls you close to his side, arm wrapped around you protectively, shielding you from the crowd.
âStay with me,â he murmurs.
Staff finally tighten around you both, trying to fix the situation, but Chan is already in his own world now.
He reaches up, takes off his cap, and places it on your head without hesitation.
He adjusts it gently, pulling it lower to cover your face.
âThere. Better,â he mutters.
Your heart is racing.
From the fall. From the chaos.
From him.
âChanâŠâ you whisper.
âIâve got you,â he says firmly.
And he means it.
The second the doors close behind you, everything explodes.
âChan, what was that?â
The managerâs voice cuts through the hallway immediately. Sharp. Controlled, but barely.
Staff are talking over each other, tension thick in the air, security trying to reorganize while moving you all forward.
Chan doesnât answer right away.
Heâs still focused on you.
His hand is on your arm, grip firm but careful, eyes scanning your face again.
âLet me see,â he murmurs, tilting your chin slightly despite the mask. âDid it hit hard?â
âIâm okay, really,â you say softly, though your cheek still stings.
He doesnât look convinced.
âChris.â
That tone again.
Warning.
Chan exhales slowly, finally looking up at the manager.
âWhat?â he replies, already defensive.
âWhat do you mean what?â the manager snaps, lowering his voice but not his anger. âYou shoved a fanâs phone and smashed it on the ground. In front of everyone.â
âThey hit her,â Chan shoots back instantly.
The hallway goes quiet for half a second.
âYou still canât react like that,â another staff member cuts in. âDo you understand what that looks like? There are cameras everywhere.â
âI donât care what it looks like,â Chan says, voice dropping.
And thatâs the problem.
The manager runs a hand through his hair, clearly trying to stay calm.
âYou have to care,â he says more firmly. âYouâre not just Chris right now. Youâre Bang Chan. Leader of the group. People are already going to question why you reacted like that to a staff member.â
Staff member.
The word sits wrong in Chanâs chest.
His jaw tightens again.
âSheâs not justââ he starts, then stops himself.
Too close.
Too much.
The manager notices anyway.
And that makes everything worse.
âExactly,â he says quietly. âSo we need to handle this carefully.â
Silence stretches.
You can feel the tension pressing in from all sides.
This is exactly what you both tried to avoid for two years.
Chanâs hand shifts slightly, still holding onto you like heâs afraid if he lets go, something will happen again.
âLet go of her for a second,â the manager says, softer now but still firm.
Chan doesnât move.
âChan.â
A beat.
Then finally, reluctantly, his hand slips away from your arm.
It feels wrong immediately.
Cold.
You miss it the second itâs gone.
A female staff member steps closer to you, checking your face gently.
âAre you okay?â she asks.
You nod. âIâm fine, really.â
But your voice is small.
Chan hears it.
His hands curl into fists at his sides.
âFine isnât the point,â he mutters.
The manager sighs.
âLook,â he says, trying to regain control of the situation. âWeâre not saying you shouldnât be concerned. But the way you handled it? Thatâs going to spread.â
Heâs right.
Everyone knows it.
Videos are already online.
Chan knocking a phone away. Chan yelling. Chan smashing a device. Chan pulling you close.
Too close.
âDispatch is going to have a field day if this escalates,â another staff member adds under their breath.
Your stomach drops.
Chanâs head snaps toward them.
âDonât,â he says sharply.
âDonât what?â they reply. âIgnore reality? We have to think about the group.â
âI am thinking about the group,â Chan shoots back. âIâm also thinking about basic human decency.â
âAlrightâ the manager says, âweâll handle this later, right now we have to get on the plane.â He looks at chan dissatisfied with this whole situation.
summary: you fell for him, but the timing was just wrong
pairing: bang chan x fem!reader
genre: heavy angst, no comfort
word count: 4074 words
a/n: got a sudden burst of inspiration and got a bit carried away... enjoy the angst fest âĄ
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~°~
The first time you realize youâre in love with Bang Chan, heâs half-asleep in the makeup chair.
The band schedule had been brutal that week â three back to back music shows, a fansign, rehearsal sessions that stretched past midnight â and yet he still smiled at everyone who walked into the room. He always did that, he always made sure to make everyone feel important, including you.
âDid you sleep at all?â you murmur, dabbing concealer beneath his eyes.
Chan cracked one eye open, âTwo hours⊠ah maybe three if you count passing out in the car.â
âYouâre impossible,â you shake your head.
âLeader duties,â he smiled at you softly.
âYou need to take care of yourself, Chan, youâre taking too much stress.â You sighed.
âWellâŠâ he said softly, his voice was rough with exhaustion, âyou are here to take care of me.â
Your hands stilled.Â
Itâs dangerous, the way he says things. Dangerous because heâs warm in ways he doesnât even realize. This is just who he is â gentle, respectful, attentive and impossibly kind. He treats everyone well, but sometimes it feels different with you. Different because it's the way he texts to make sure you got home safe. In the way he saves you a seat without thinking about it, like of course thereâs always supposed to be a place for you beside him. In the way his eyes find yours first whenever he laughs, like your reaction is the one heâs waiting for.Â
And maybe none of it means anything, and your heart is selfish enough to want to believe it means more, because he smiles at everyone like that. He always makes everyone feel a little chosen anyway.
But then when the room empties out, the noise fades, and he looks at you with an unbearably tender gaze that feels lingering and far too intimate to be called innocent.
And thatâs the cruelest part of all. Not your feelings for him. Not the uncertainty. Not even the fear of rejection. But the quiet, devastating truth that he already belongs to someone else.
Everyone in the SKZ team knows about the relationship. Itâs not publicly known, but enough people in the industry whisper about it. A female idol from another group. Beautiful, talented, sweet from what youâve heard.Â
You want to hate her. God, you want to hate her so bad⊠but you canât.Â
Because she makes him happy, thereâs a softness in him whenever he talks about her that makes it painfully obvious how deeply he cares. And maybe thatâs what destroys you most of all, that sheâs good to him. That she makes him happy in ways you never could.Â
They are perfect for each other because they belong in the same industry and live the same K-pop idol life. They go through the same exhausting schedules, the same pressure, the same understanding of what it means to live under constant scrutiny. She understands parts of him you never could. Youâre just a girl trying to make it through the month without falling behind on bills. Quietly ordinary in every possible way. While sheâs everything dazzling, like truly, sheâs the kind of girl loved by millions. The kind of girl cameras adore, the kind of girl songs are written about.
And standing beside her, youâve never felt smaller.
So instead of being jealous of her, you do the only thing you can. You stand there quietly as SKZâs makeup artist, smile when youâre supposed to, and let yourself break a little more each day.
******************************************
âHyung,â Changbin called from across the room, âyour girlfriend sent coffee again.â
The entire dressing room erupted into teasing.
Chan laughs, cheeks pink as he accepted the drink carrier from staff. âShe said I sounded tired.â
âWhipped,â Hyunjin said immediately.
âDisgustingly whipped,â Seungmin added.
You kept your head down, pretending to organize brushes. You think youâre hiding it well, but Chan noticed the shift in your mood immediately â he always noticed.
âYou didnât have your morning coffee yet,â Chan said suddenly, walking and holding out the cup toward you. âTake mine.â
Your throat tightened. âItâs okay.â
âI can share.â
You finally looked at him, and that was your mistake, because there it is again⊠that gaze. That quiet, lingering fondness he always carries in his eyes, like looking at you is the most important thing in the world.Â
And for one horrible, stupid second, you let yourself imagine this isnât borrowed affection. That maybe, just maybe, the way he looks at you means something more and it wasnât just in your head.Â
Then his phone lit up.
my girl <3
The screen flashed with a new message.
Miss you already.
And just like that, reality crashed back so hard it nearly stole your breath.
You stepped away before anyone noticed the crack in your expression.
âI need to clean the other station,â you lied.
Chan watched you go.
That was the day you decided you needed to set strict boundaries with him. He was taken and you would never be a homewrecker. If you continued staying close to him, it would only get worse. Your feelings would deepen, settle in places you wouldnât be able to scrape out later.Â
God, you felt pathetic. Like why would you even let yourself think like this in the first place for a taken man. You were the problem.
So, you made a decision, you would avoid him. Not completely, of course. You still had a job to do. You still powdered his face before performances, still fixed his hair between takes, still smiled politely when the camera was around and when it wasnât.Â
But you stopped lingering and letting conversations stretch beyond what was necessary. You stopped replying to his jokes the way you used to, instead you kept your eyes on your work, hands busy, focused elsewhere, like anywhere but him.
And whenever he tried to pull you into ease, into familiarity, you didnât follow.
You could tell it was getting to him.
The way his smiles didnât come as easily around you anymore. The way his gaze lingered a second longer, like he was trying to figure out what changed and when he stopped being allowed to reach you the way he used to.
But it had to be this way, because if he knew, if he ever found out what you were really feeling â it wouldnât just be messy. It would ruin everything. The team, the trust, the easy comfort that had always existed between you.
And worse than all of that⊠he would look at you differently, maybe with disappointment or even disgust, for daring to feel something like this when he already loved someone else.
So you swallowed it down, all of it, and strictly kept your distance.
It kept going for weeks, until one evening after rehearsal, he cornered you near the backstage hallway while everyone else packed up.
âDid I do something wrong?â
The question caught you off guard.
âWhat?â
âYouâve been distant lately.â
âIâve just been busyââ
âYouâre lying,â his voice was sharp when he cut you off.
You busy yourself stuffing products into your kit. âChanââ
âDid someone say something to you?â he asks. âAre you uncomfortable working with us?â
âNo! God, no.â
âThen why are you avoiding me?â
Because Iâm in love with you.
Because every time you smile at me I forget youâre not mine.
Because hearing your girlfriend call during touch-ups feels like swallowing glass.
Instead, you forced out, âYouâre overthinking.â
Chan stared at you for a long moment, then quietly asked, âAm I?â
You couldnât answer that, not when heâs looking at you like that.
His gaze didnât move away from you.
âIt doesnât feel like I am,â he said sadly.
âIâm just focused on work,â you said again, quieter this time.
âRight,â he said, after a pause, but it didn't sound like he was convinced. âJust work.â
He studied you for a moment longer, like heâs trying to pull an answer out of you without words.
âJustâŠâ he started, frustration creeping into his voice. âJust tell me what I did wrong.âÂ
You shook your head immediately.Â
âYou didnât do anything wrong.â
But you donât elaborate further, you just let the heavy and suffocating silence stretch.
Then his phone lit up and her name flashes across the screen.
Neither of you move at first.
His eyes flick down to it, then back to you â like heâs still waiting for the ringtone to stop, like heâs desperately trying to hold this conversation.
You swallowed hard.
âYou should answer her,â you said softly. âI should go. Iâll⊠catch you later.â
Before he can respond, before he can stop you, you turn away quickly and leave, forcing your feet to keep moving, not daring to look back.
Behind you, he exhaled faintly. Chan looked at the screen for a long moment before sighing, his thumb hovered over the call and then he declined it.
He slipped the phone back into his pocket, but he didn't move right away. He was too exhausted and too overwhelmed to move, so he just stood there staring at the ceiling, his eyes stinging as tears built up.Â
******************************************
He tried again and then again the next day. And the day after that.
But it was always the same now. You found a reason before the conversation could even begin â work, schedules, something urgent that couldnât wait. Anything that kept things contained and professional.
At first, he still tried to reach you through the gaps. Small questions and lingering glances. He showed quiet patience that seemed like it could stretch forever.
But slowly, even that faded.
Chan stopped trying to close the distance.
He stopped looking for you the way he used to between takes. He completely stopped waiting near your station after rehearsals and stopped turning casual moments into something more just by the way he stayed a little longer than necessary.
Now, when he spoke to you, it was strictly about work. He spoke in a way that was polite and detached, like there had never been anything softer between you to begin with.
It was what you wanted.
You kept telling yourself that.
That this was better. That you had done the right thing before anything could spiral into something messy and irreversible.
But still, the quiet that followed didnât feel like relief. It felt more like an absence and you didnât know what to do with that.
It went on for four days.
Four days of careful distance, professional exchanges and pretending that nothing had shifted, when everything clearly had.
And then the day before the weekend finally arrived. At the end of your shift, you let out a breath you didnât realize you were holding.
At least you could rest for a couple of days, and you wouldnât have to keep pretending tomorrow. At least there would be space to breathe without having to carefully measure every interaction, every glance or every word.
You gathered your things a little quicker than usual, already thinking ahead to the quiet of your room, the comfort of shutting the world out for a while.
As you made your way toward the bus stand, the evening air felt softer than usual. The streets were busy, but not overwhelming. People were heading home, just like you, wrapped up in their own routines, and somehow, in that quiet in-between, your mind drifted again⊠to him.
You kept recalling the past and how it used to be easier. Chan would sometimes stay back after his schedules ended, casually offering you a ride home as if it was the most natural thing in the world. You used to laugh it off, decline politely, insist you were fine taking the bus. But you never won the argument and heâd always end up driving you home anyway.Â
And somewhere along the way, those rides became something more than just a way to get back. Sometimes youâd make spontaneous stops at an ice-cream place, sitting in his car with the engine off, talking for hours about nothing and everything, ending up laughing over the smallest things. Youâd make him try flavours his typical indecisive Libra self would never choose on his own, teasing him until he finally gave in, only to decide he actually liked them. And somehow, between shared scoops and easy conversation, it always turned into something warm, light, and effortlessly fun, like the world outside didnât exist at all.Â
Other times, he would buy you hotteok from a small roadside stall, that felt warm in your hands against the night air. He always preferred the ones filled with red bean paste, insisting they tasted better that way, while you argued the cinnamon sugar ones were superior.
Sometimes he would park his car in front of the Han River, the city lights stretching across the water in quiet reflections while everything else slowed down around you. Youâd sit side by side, sharing snacks his mom sent him from Australia, unwrapping them carefully like they were something precious. Heâd always insist you try first, watching your reaction with that small, expectant dimpled smile of his. And then heâd talk about his childhood back in Australia, the streets he grew up on, the sun that felt different there, the way home used to sound and smell. He spoke about it casually, but there was always a hint of softer nostalgia underneath.
Youâd listen without interrupting, occasionally asking questions when his voice trailed off, while the river moved quietly outside the windshield like it had all the time in the world.
And in those moments, it never felt like anything complicated. It was just him and you, and a car full of borrowed stories, shared snacks, and a kind of peace you didnât realize youâd start holding onto.
It was simple and mundane, easy in a way you didnât realize youâd start missing until it was gone. Now, the memory sat differently in your chest. He doesnât do that anymore and itâs your fault.
You swallow hard, pushing the thought down as quickly as it rises.
You ruined a good thing, you recall sadly. You lost a great friendship, all because you couldnât control your damn feelings. In hindsight, you realized that feeling had always been there, quietly building in the spaces between conversations and shared silence.
Oh if only you had understood your own feelings back then.
By the time you understood you were in love with him, he already started falling for someone else. Or maybe even if you had realized and confessed back then, he wouldâve rejected you anyway, because you were no match for him, his feelings for you were always platonic for sure. The thought settles heavily, but you donât fight it this time, because it feels like the truth youâve been avoiding.Â
The bus arrives with a low hiss of brakes.
You step onto the bus, letting the doors close behind you with a soft mechanical sigh that feels louder than it should. The world outside is cut off in an instant, replaced by the dim, familiar interior of late evening travel.
You move down the aisle and take the seat at the very end of the row, near the window. From here, the city stretches out like a moving painting â streets glowing with gold and white lights, brake lamps bleeding into soft red streaks, buildings dissolving into blurred shapes as the bus pulls forward.
Everything keeps moving.
The hum of the engine fills the space around you, steady and low, vibrating faintly through the seat and into your bones. It should be comforting in its predictability, something to anchor you, something to keep your mind from drifting where it shouldnât.
But it doesnât work tonight. You lean your head against the cool glass beside you, letting the slight chill press into your skin. The movement of the bus rocks you gently, almost like itâs trying to lull you into stillness. Your body feels heavy in a way that has nothing to do with physical exhaustion, and everything to do with carrying too much you donât know where to put.
You slip your headphones on without thinking, more out of habit than intention, and let your playlist begin on its own.
At first, itâs nothing more than background noise. Familiar songs pass through your ears without meaning, soft melodies that donât ask anything of you, that donât require attention or emotion. They drift in one side and out the other, barely registering.
And then everything changes when you hear his voice.
Eternity by Bang Chan starts playing.
It hits you so suddenly that your entire body stills, like something inside you has paused without permission. It feels almost unreal at first, like your mind is playing a trick on you, like it shouldnât be possible for him to exist here â in something so ordinary, so mundane, so far removed from where he actually is.
But he does.
He fills the space inside your headphones completely, as if there is no room for anything else. As if the world outside the bus, the people sitting around you, even your own thoughts, have all been pushed aside just to make space for him.
You remember adding this song. When he talked about his pet dog, Berry, and how much he missed her. A breath caught in your throat before you can stop it, small and unsteady, followed by another that you try to control but fail to steady. Your fingers curl slightly in your lap, pressing into your palms as if grounding yourself physically could stop whatâs happening internally.
But it doesnât.
The lyrics donât simply play. They settle. They sink in slowly, deliberately, as if theyâve been waiting for you specifically. Each line feels heavier than the last, threading through every carefully built barrier youâve spent weeks putting up, slipping through the cracks you thought you had sealed tightly enough.
Memories rise without warning, uninvited and sharp at the edgesâquiet laughter during late schedules, shared silence that never felt uncomfortable, the easy comfort of sitting beside him without overthinking what it meant. And then, more recently, the distance. The careful politeness. The way everything between you shifted without either of you saying it out loud.Â
You turn your face slightly toward the window, pressing your forehead more firmly against the glass. The cold against your skin is sharp enough to ground you for a second, to remind you where you are, to remind you that this is just a bus ride home and nothing more.
Outside, life continues in fragments. People get on, people get off, conversations begin and end without meaning to linger. No one looks long enough to notice anything beyond the surface. No one sees the way your expression tightens, the way something inside you quietly starts to break apart without sound.
You swallow hard, forcing your breathing into something steady, something controlled. But it doesnât matter how still you sit, how tightly you hold yourself together, or how carefully you try to look away from what youâre feeling.
Because itâs already there and the tear slips anyway.Â
God, you just want to go home and sleep.
******************************************
Award show season becomes torture.
You stand backstage adjusting the clasp of Chanâs in-ear monitors when she arrives.
Sheâs even more breathtaking in person. The kind of beauty cameras never fully capture. And Chanâs entire face lit up when he saw her.
Not polite, it was just pure admiration. Deeply in love kinda gaze.Â
âBaby,â he breathed.
Your chest caved in.
She wrapped her arms around his waist carefully, mindful of his outfit. âYou look so handsome.â
âAnd you look so beautiful, baby,â he said quietly, eyes softening as if the world around them had faded out.
âI missed you.â She said cupping his face.
The intimacy of it felt private. You shouldnât be standing here witnessing this.Â
You step back immediately. âIâll go check the others.â
Neither of them notice you leaving. Like you didnât even exist and that hurt more than it should.
That night, after the performance, Chan finds you alone on the rooftop of the venue parking structure.
Cold wind whipped past as you stared over the city lights below.
âYou disappeared.â
You didnât turn around. âNeeded air.â
A silence settled between you.Â
âDid seeing her upset you?â
Your heart stopped. Slowly, you looked at him.
Chanâs expression was unreadable. He looked hesitant.
âI donât know what you mean.â
âYes, you do.â
You laugh weakly. âChanââ
âYou look at me like your heartâs breaking.â
The words shattered something inside you.
You shake your head immediately. âDonât.â
âDonât what?â
âDonât say things like that.â
His brows pull together. âWhy not? Isnât that the truth?â
âNo,â you whispered, finally meeting his eyes, âitâs not.â
The wind felt freezing now. Chan stepped closer, way too close. You stepped back immediately and he held your wrist to stop you.
âStop running away from me, dammit,â he snapped, though his voice betrayed a slight shake.
âChan, itâs⊠letâs not talk about it, please.â You sighed sadly, âmy heart canât handle this conversation.â
âI justâŠâ he started, then stopped, like the sentence didnât know where to go.
His eyes flicked away from yours. And when he spoke again, it was quieter, carefully stripped of anything that sounded too honest.
âI just donât like when things feel different between us.â
âIâm sorry. I was just buââ
âBusy with work,â he cut you off immediately, a faint edge slipping through before he could stop it. âYeah. You said that.â
He sighed, running a hand down his face.Â
âI know,â he said finally, quieter now. âI know youâre busy.â
The silence stretched.
You took a step back. âChan, just⊠let it go, okay? This is getting too much.â
At that, something in his expression flickered, he looked pissed at this point.
âIâm not trying to make it âtoo much,ââ he said, making air quotes around the word.
You swallowed. âChan, I didnât mean it like that.â
âThen donât say things like that.â
You frowned slightly. âLike what?â
His jaw tightened.
âLike you canât handle talking to me,â he said, slower now. âLike Iâm something you have to escape from.â
That landed heavier than it shouldâve.
âI wasnât trying to!â you said defensively. âIâm here minding my own business. Youâre the one trying to make an issue out of a situation thatâs nothing!â
âOh yeah?â His voice snapped sharper now. âStop lying.â
âI am not lying! Iâm just doing my job. Iâm giving you space. Thatâs all it is.â
His breath came out sharper this time.
âSo it is space.â
âItâs notââ
âThen what is it?â he interrupted, frustration finally breaking through the restraint. âBecause it feels like Iâm being erased from your life one interaction at a time.â
The words stole the air from your lungs. For a second, neither of you moved.
And then his voice dropped, âIâm not okay with this.â
That was all he gave you. Just the raw and unfiltered truth. Your throat tightened.
âChanâŠâ
âBeing not around you is making me lose my mind, canât you see that?â He said shakily.
You froze slightly. âWhat⊠why does it matter?â
His breath came out uneven now, like he hated that heâd said it.
âBecause I care about you,â he said, voice breaking at the edges. âI donât know how to deal with losing you.â
And there it is, the worst part, because you know he does. Chan loves deeply and fiercely. He gives pieces of himself to everyone he treasures. But not the way you ache for him, his one was purely platonic for you.
So you smile sadly and say the only thing that will save you both.Â
âI know.âÂ
His face fell slightly.Â
âYou should go back to her,â you continue softly. âSheâs probably waiting.âÂ
For a second, something flickers in his expression, it looked like a mix of conflict, guilt, longing. Itâs gone almost immediately.Â
Chan looked away first.Â
ââŠYeah.âÂ
That one word nearly killed you. He hesitates before leaving. Like he wanted to say more.Â
But in the end, he walks away. And you let him, because loving him means accepting that sometimes someone can give you tenderness, trust, late-night conversations, lingering looks, just a little bit of their heart, while the rest belongs to somebody else. The one they truly want.Â
in which chris has a baby dream on valentineâs day.
Chris loves Valentineâs Day. And no, not because of the sexual expectationânot entirely, save for after he takes you to a nice restaurant later that nightâbut because of the intimacy, the opportunity to spoil you just a bit more without an excuse on his tongue for your feigned scolding.
Heâs always adored acts of service, after all.
Which is why, per your request to stay in this Valentines, youâre curled up together in bed until late that morning. Where afternoon sunlight peers through the curtains, limbs entangled like knotted ribbon. His beefy arm, always so warm, has curled its way around you, cocooned against his chest and left subject to wherever his dreams tug him.
In this case, youâre currently being tugged to his other side, maneuvered as if a ragdoll by the evidently unconscious husband of yours, leaving no argument but a grunt from yourself.
The thing is, you can always tell when he has an intense dream. Face scrunching, hugging you tighter to his body akin to a child. Close, perfect nose pressed to your neck, in your hair. Seeking your scent as you do him.
After a particularly deep breath, he wakes himself up, bleary eyes cracking open before grumbling to himself and ushering you closer (if closer was even possible at this rate).
âDreaminâ?â You prompt gently, voice rasping against lack of use, gaze flickering up to his equally sleepy one past your lashes.
Unconsciously, his index eases a strand of hair from your face, careful to tuck behind your ear.
Tender, mindful. Following that comes a kiss to your forehead, his lips curving into this giddy smile youâve come to adore.
âThe best dream,â He answers, pupils dilating as you roll around to face him. Soaking in your expressions amidst a hazy, post-slumber daze. Thumbing away the sleep from your eyes, another kiss arrives, this time on your nose.
And itâs those next words of his that clarify that it wasnât a nightmare he was experiencing.
âWe had a baby.â He whispers, the words disbelieving even to his own ears. Soft, tentative. Like holding an egg oh so carefully in fear it would break at the slightest movement.
âShe was perfect.â
To see your husband become emotional over something already broke your heart into pieces, but it was an entirely different rodeo when he was happy. Glossy eyes, this marveling smile. A tone so sweet you had no need for chocolates today.
He taps the edge of your lips.
âHad your smile. âWas so happy just to see me.â
His arm comes up over his eyes, shifting onto his back. And while initially content with letting him back in awe, his hiccuping sniffle was something you werenât prepared for.
Springing upwards instantaneously, you patiently ease his hands from his eyes, shushing the tears away with chaste pecks to his face and one slow, final kiss that the both of you melt into instinctively. Naturally.
âDidnât mean to get so emotional-â
Another hiccup. You hush his words.
Another kiss, sighing into your lips.
âI just love you so much-â
Another kiss, his hands curling around your lower back where you prop yourself atop him.
Silence consumes the room. But it isnât uncomfortable. Steady, soft. Your fingers in his hair, his palms running slow patterns along your hips.
It had been a discussion. Once or twice. After four years of marriage, another member of the family. Contemplating, debating. Ensuring. Emotional wellness, financial security. The little things that Chris treated like religion. Getting blood tests, working out more.
His responsibility as much as yours to be a parent, he would remind you. Remind you that pregnancy wouldnât be a process youâd endure alone.
âChris.â Your turn to whisper, nose buried into his cheek. He hums in response.
âIâm ovulating.â
A wordless: Iâm ready.
Maybe you thought his reaction would be immediate. Shell-shocked, gaping. Totally oblivious until nearly thirty seconds later where he falls frozen still, like a fish out of water.
And very quickly does the man come to realize it wasnât a fact, but an invitation.
His ears warm a thousand degrees, the bedroom dissolving into your laughter and his blazing embarrassment where he hides himself in your neck.
Synopsis when your parents decide to invite the neighbors on your family trip, you and your window partner find more ways to keep warm than the hot tub.
Prompt (s) holiday vacation, snowy hot tub
Warnings fluff, angst, miscommunication?, idiots in love, flirting, sexual tension, 'friends' to lovers, smut, semi-public sex, unprotected piv, hot tub makeout session, vaginal fingering, pull out method, explicit sexual descriptions.
Word Count 7.4k
A/N hi guys, i hope your christmas was good. sorry for the delay, this was so much fun to write and i really hope you enjoy this and leave your thoughts. likes, comments, or reblogs are encouraged, welcome, appreciated. huge thanks to @breakmeoff and @angel-writes-skz-here for coming up with and organizing this event, i'm very glad to have been a part of it. also check out the other writer's posts in this event, they've got some great stuff too. attaching the masterlist here.
âAnd so I told them to just come with us, weâre basically familyâ, Your mom said in the car on the way to the airport. Something she apparently only felt the need to share when it was much too late to back out. âOh thatâs lovely honey, Iâm glad we finally worked one outâ, your dad said. Worked one out? âThey said the same, I canât believe weâve never done thisâ, Your mom said excitedly. You grimaced, itâs not that you have an issue with your neighbors joining you on this trip, itâs just that it can get a little awkward whenever they are around. Your parents and your neighbors have been neighbors since before you were born and are so close you often had dinners or breakfasts with them.Â
So itâs not awkward in a sense of not really knowing them but itâs awkward in the way that they always feel the need to meddle in your love life. Itâs apparently been a life mission after you and the neighborsâ son were born to become a real family. Everytime you see the neighbors they offer up information about him that you truly could care less about. You have nothing against him, itâs just you prefer to fall in love naturally. Set ups feel disingenuous and you donât want someone else to take credit for you falling in love. In fact since you both went off to college, you barely saw each other. So, it was like hearing information about a stranger, though he wasnât really a stranger.
You and Chris, their son, knew each other enough. I mean you had those breakfasts and dinners and sometimes you would come over to help him watch his younger siblings when your parents went to go on some double date. You just never really exchanged words with him more than the hospitable hi and bye. Plus, Chris has many friends. You hear about it when your mom hogs the landline talking to his mom, never really understanding why they just canât go talk in person. But apparently his parents are really worried about his love life because he doesnât seem to take anyone seriously.
Which is another reason why you donât understand why there is such a huge deal to try to get you guys together. It was clearly a plan set for failure, so why did they push it so much? âY/N, Chris will be there, I know you havenât see each other in forever so youâll be each otherâs buddyâ, your mom said. âDoesnât he have siblings?â, you ask sarcastically. She sighs, âBaby, theyâre young and they wonât be coming. Theyâre overseas to visit their grandparents. Me, dad, and the Bahngs will be busy for most of itâ, she said. That confused you. A family trip? âSpontaneouslyâ inviting the neighbors? But they will be busy, while you and Chris werenât?
You sighed, âMom can you at least have some tactâ, you say. Your dad laughs, âLook sweetheart, heâs a good kid no oneâs saying to date him but you try to have fun you knowâ, he says. âI just thought it would be us spending time togetherâ, you said, pulling out your phone and sending a text to your friends about the situation that is unfolding. âDonât be like that, weâll spend timeâ, your mom said. Conveniently you made it to the airport around the same time the Bahngs did. When the car stopped you got out, stretched your legs, and went to greet them. âOh, Y/N itâs so good to see youâ, Mrs. Bahng. âItâs good to see you tooâ, you say, welcoming the embrace she began to extend.
âY/N! Howâve you been, I hope schoolâs going wellâ, Mr. Bahng says, surfacing from the car. âIâm well and it has been, how about you.â, you say, responding, moving towards him to welcome the embrace he was extending. âCanât complain, everyoneâs doing well and I got this knucklehead to tag along finallyâ, he says gesturing. You look to where heâs gesturing and nearly fall to your knees. It was Chris. I mean of course, who else would it be. The blond hair, the fact that he had it in a ponytail. He looks up as if sensing he was being talked aboutâogled at.
Your eyes meet his and he smiles. You donât know what your mouth does, but you know it makes him smirk. You can sense your parents making glances at each other and you know for the most superficial of reasons, their plan might actually work. âCome on guys, we have to get through TSA, Lord knows how long that will take at this time of yearâ, your dad says. You break your âstareâ and move to get your bags from the car, this trip might actually not be that bad.
DAY ONE
It was bad. For some peculiar reason your parents booked two rooms, next door to each other for you and Chris to inhabit. When you made it in, yesterday afternoon, and received your keys, you were a little stoked to have your own room. Typically your parents choose the wallet friendly route and book just one room and you sleep in the next bed over. You liked not being completely alone, but sleep was absolutely horrible. Theyâd flirt late into the night, assuming you were asleep or get up in the middle of the night to turn on the air conditioning.
So you werenât complaining about having your own room. But the fact that you and Chris shared an awkward elevator ride, got off on the same floor, and walked equal distance down the same hallway. It was all planned. They were really trying their hardest to get you two together. And now after an obviously planned text sent to the both of you about meeting for breakfast in the resortâs dining room, youâre sitting across from each other eating breakfast. Quietly.
âGood morningâ, he suddenly says. You look up from the waffle on your plate and respond, âmorningâ. It goes back to the silence youâre used to. Until he decides to speak again. âTheyâre being super obvious this time you know, why is that? You been talking about me?â he asks in faux accusation. You put down your fork this time looking up once again from your waffle. âYou know people often accuse others of what theyâve done, so was that it? That why they force us on a âdateââ, you say in response. He beams, âa date huh? And here I was under the impression we were just two neighbors at breakfastâ, he said. âI donât think itâs a dateâ, you say in offense.
Though it doesnât have much bite to it, the man in front of you really grew into his looks and you wouldnât be entirely opposed to it being a date, if thatâs what it actually was. He doesnât respond, he just goes back to eating his breakfast and the silence between you resumes. He gets up a little after that, discarding his trash and putting away his dirty dish, leaving you there at the table alone. You donât mind it, really, you finally got out of yet another forced interaction your parents set up, but he couldâve at least said bye. You finish the rest of your breakfast, get up and put away your dish.
Now that you were alone, you decided to find something to do. Leaving the dining room and heading to the front desk to ask about the events. âGood morning, what can I help you withâ, the receptionist asks. âWhere can I find the event schedule?â you ask. The dude turns in his rolling chair to the back counter and grabs a sheet of paper with the different events the resort had to offer. Handing it to you, he spoke, âthereâs a qr code on there that lets you sign up, if you have any problems with it, just call the front desk and we can manually sign you upâ. You take the sheet of paper and thank the man before turning to go to the elevators.
The ride up the elevators is peaceful this time and so is the walk down the hallway. What was not, was getting to your door. Because the moment you are three feet away from it and getting ready to key in, Chris walks out in sweats and a tshirt, holding a gym bag. You could die. Not only has he grown into his looks, but he grew into his body. It was obvious to the blind that you were checking him out. Except to him apparently because he didnât even make a face or a comment. He just kept walking like nothing happened. Like he didnât walk out of his room looking like that.
Hearing how your thoughts sound you grimace, he was just in workout clothes it was seriously no big deal. But you admit that if you had less pride you would âconvenientlyâ be heading to the gym too. But doing so would only make him think you like him, that the reason your parents are amping up their efforts is because you made it known. So, you key in and walk into your room as you previously planned. But finding an event to go to was definitely not on your mind anymore. You feel like a creep, checking him out so shamelessly, twice not even 24 hours into this trip.Â
And the voice in your head is against you. Maybe itâs good that the Bahngâs are here on this trip. No. You wonât allow your parents to be right. Chris was fine but thatâs it. But based on the way your âfeelingsâ, well hormones, were acting it was clear something would come of this trip. You decide that what you need is a day inside. That way, there are no other instances that you could potentially run into him until you have to eat later. Well, when your parents decide they want to pretend to eat together forcing yet another awkward meal, with the man they so desperately want to have as their son in law.
DAY TWO
You ignored the meet for breakfast text, not dumb oblivious enough to fall for the same trick twice. Also, you canât face Chris today. Last night you had a dream that you went to the gym a little after he left for it. It was so detailed it left you blushing when you woke. You couldnât believe it. It was a classic case of your subconscious trying to solve âproblemsâ for you, but all it did was create new ones.
Because the hope was now true, you might actually have a crush on Chris. Maybe the lack of speaking to him stemmed from nervousness. Perhaps you always liked him. He was never ugly to you, sharing a window with each other had a few mishaps.
But it was most likely the obvious explanation of attraction, you probably only found him attractive or maybe even liked him because he was close. Always around even if he wasnât actually there. You did always tune in a little more when your moms were on the phone sharing information about you both. Maybe that was intentional, maybe he was listening in too. Great, now youâre thinking about him. A knock comes at your door.
You sit up from your place in bed to look towards the door. Surely, someone got the wrong door. Your parents would let you know they were coming, but theyâve already said theyâd be busy. âY/N, itâs meâ, a voice called beyond the door. The voice that haunted you in your dream nightmare.Â
This had to be a joke. There was no way avoidance only brought him to you. âI know youâre up, come with me to the gymâ, he said. You nearly jumped out of bed. Come with him to the gym? Was he sick? He had to have noticed the eyes on him as he left yesterday. Why ,suddenly, does he want me to go with him? You get out of bed and straighten out your pajamas before you go to the door. You open the door and see him standing there. âYou went by yourself yesterday, why do I need to comeâ, you say, voice not giving you away. He smiled then spoke, âSeemed like you wanted to come yesterdayâ, he says.
So he definitely knew you were staring, but why did he hold onto it for so long. It canât possibly mean anything to him can it? âHmm, stuck on your mind huh?â, you say. He pushes past you into your room at that. Youâre caught off guard and stumble a little, glaring at him and closing the door. âWhat are you doing?â, you say. Heâs just looking around your room, as if he didnât have the same layout a room over. âWhyâd you ditch me for our date?â, he asked. You scoff, âYou canât be seriousâ, you said.
âSo serious, I thought I did well enough yesterday for a secondâ, he said with a pout. âYou left and didnât even say bye, plus it wasnât a dateâ, you say. âOh did that bother you, should I say goodbye to you from now on?â, he asked mockingly. You groaned, âYouâre kind of an ass, you know that?â, you say. âYeah?â, he says, eyes squinting. You hate that the tone he uses affects you. He laughs, âI think you should drop the frontâ, he says. âThe front?â, you ask. âYouâre so obvious, if you donât like me itâs definitely somethingâ, he says. You ignore him, âIf Iâm supposed to be going to the gym with you are you going to let me get dressed?â, you asked.
He laughs, obviously amused at your redirection. âYeah, go change in your bathroomâ, he says. âBut this is my room, how about you leaveâ, you say, flustered at the idea that he so casually suggested being a mere ten feet from each other with the knowledge that one of you was waiting for the other to get dressed and that the other would be getting near naked. Was he working for his parents? âSo you can ditch me on our date again?â, he asked. Date? âDate?â, you actualized the thought. âYeah, get dressedâ.
Your eyes were stuck to the floor the entire time you were at the gym. The same couldnât be said about him though, because he was absolutely looking only at you. And his closeness when he âspottedâ you was something you were sure to think about when it was over. âArch your back a little bit more, yeahhh, like thatâ, he said âfixingâ your form, his hand pressing into the small of your back. You cut your eyes at him when the set was done.
It was infuriating, how hot he was. Infuriating that at some point a t-shirt was too hot and he took it off. His toned body stealing your attention momentarily before you realized the intention and looked away, refusing to give him what he wanted.
It carries on that way the rest of the time youâre there. On the walk back, itâs silent. Not because of awkwardness, but because too many cards were shown today. Itâs obvious there is a level of attraction between the two of you, but what he pulled today was purposeful. At the rate this is going you might just start giving your parents what they want. Your body felt hyperaware when you both stepped onto the elevator. Mimicking the day you got here, but this time you werenât speaking because you didnât know what would come out of your mouth.
The elevator dinged when you reached your floor and you practically hightailed it out of there. You heard a faint chuckle from behind you. âStill got energy?, thought we burned it all?â, he calls out. You want to curse him for saying something like that in the middle of the hallway, but when you think about it he really didnât say anything crazy. Whatâs going on with me? You ignore him, making it to your door and pulling out your card. âIâm gonna take a shower, catch you laterâ, he says. It throws you off, just how fast he had to have walked to catch up to you. But now the thought of him in the shower is fresh on your mind, you scoff and key in.
He knows what heâs doing, that much is clear now. But you canât call it out because what if you actually do like him. What if you were just trying to find reason in things that donât have any. This is also a trip he is on. His parents also ditched him on a family trip. He could just be trying to make the most of his time here. Afterall, youâre not complete strangers. The flirting or what you think is flirting, could actually just be him poking fun at the way your parents are trying to make you guys a thing. You sigh, trying to make sense of it feels like youâre gaslighting yourself.
You need something to do to get your mind off of it. Right! The events. You grabbed the paper you laid on your nightstand yesterday and looked over it. Hmmm, Christmas tree lighting and a massage speed date? It was way too cold outside to do the tree lighting. There was no way you would willingly stand in the freezing cold for an hour waiting for a tree to be turned on. The only choice was the massage speed date. Just what kind of resort was this? It gets you out of your room and who knows maybe youâll meet your soulmate there. Then finally your parents will back off a little and you could make sense of your feelings without them being put on you.
You scanned the qr code and signed up, then went to the bathroom to wash up so you could take a quick nap. You wake up a bit later than you wouldâve liked and put on something comfortable before heading to the hotel conference room, for the event. It was decorated with a romantic christmas vibe. And it hit you, todayâs Christmas Eve. you had been so preoccupied with Chris you didnât even notice that Christmas was in a few hours. Speaking of Chris, you noticed him when you took a look around the room. Snapping your head from his direction when you noticed him looking at you.
The event host explained how the event would work and then instructed people to lay on the massage tables, scattered in the room. You managed to find one that was unoccupied and laid on top of it letting your head relax in the cradle. âOkay, everyone thatâs still standing Iâm putting on a timer, I want you to walk around until it beeps and stop at that table. Introduce yourselves and then just do your thing.â, the host said. Laying on the table was relaxing, but the idea that Chris might have still been standing keeps you on edge. The timer beeps.Â
And as if the universe was also a part of the elaborate scheme, âHey, Iâm Chris, but you know thatâ, he says. You stiffen, ârelax, itâs just me, or maybe thatâs why you canâtâ, he says. You hate that what he says affects you. âShut upâ, you say. He laughs from above you. Your shoulders begin to feel warm, light pressure. âAgainst the rules, we have to talk love, itâs a speed dateâ, he says. The pet name is doing damage to your psyche. âWhat are you doing?â, you say. âMassaging you, duhâ, he says. âNoâyouâre being flirty and using pet names, and that shit you pulled earlierâ, you say, airing your grievances. He laughs, âSeems thatâs what you want it to beâ, he says.
Your heart flutters, did that mean you were right about him just poking fun at the situation you both found yourself in. You went quiet, he notices. âY/N?â, he checks in. You donât respond, you donât know why that line of thought soured you. The timer beeps, he removes his hand and walks away at the instruction of the host, but you donât want to be here anymore. You get up from the table, muttering an apology to the person that replaced him and left. You went straight back to your room and let Christmas come in alone.
DAY THREE
You groggily roll out of bed. Your heart feels heavy. Iâm so stupid. You needed to get dressed, itâs Christmas the one day your parents decided it would actually be a family trip. You donât want to go there and face them, theyâll know something is wrong and no doubt will they comment on it. You donât want him to know. Itâs pathetic, the stupid plan worked. Worked so well to trick you into thinking it would actually work. This was a joke to him. You canât even feel mad at him, heâs not obligated to like you just because his parents want him too. Normally a tease wouldnât bother you, but that felt like him placing a boundary.
Reminding you not to project your feelings onto him. You put on the outfit your parents coordinated and grabbed your things, heading out of the room to meet them for breakfast. You make it halfway down the hall before you hear a door close, you turn your head to look. Itâs him. You snap your head back, walking faster to catch the elevator on your own. When you make it down to the dining room, you feel a moment of relief. Your parents beaming brightly, the Bahngs looking cheerful. You smile as you come to sit at the table with them. âYou didnât walk with Chris?â, your mother asks. You force a smile and shake your head, âno mom, why would I?â, you ask with a âlaughâ.
âItâs been three days, we left you alone to hang out with each other and youâre telling me nothing is happening?â, Mrs. Bahng teased, playfully. You just laughed inwardly. âOh, there he is, Merry Christmas my sonâ, Mr. Bahng spoke. You felt like the air was thin. He had chosen to sit next to you. From the corner of your eye you catch his appearance better than mere moments ago, when you were trying to avoid him. He looks good, his cologne filling your senses. Things that were always there, that you notice more intensely now that you choose to admit it. It hurts.
But you arenât too surprised, you had already heard about it before. He had plenty of âloversâ, but none he actually took seriously, and dumbly you thought the flirting was real. Muffled voices begin to come clear, breaking your thoughts. âY/N, sweetie, did you hear me?â, you glance at your mom, raising your eyebrows in acknowledgement. She sighs, mouth forming a faux pout, âBaby, are you okay?â, she asks.
The attention of the table is suddenly on you, the heaviness of the gaze from next to you makes your heart speed up. âYeah, Iâm fine, just tired, stayed up watching Christmas movies last night,â you lie. You hear him laugh in a huff and you ignore it. What was funny? âOh! I know you love those, I was saying we were going to go into town for a little, they have some events going on today, so dress warm when we finish eatingâ, your mom said sweetly.
But his laugh bothered you. âWhatâs with the laugh son? Were you both up âwatching christmas moviesââ, his dad says. Mrs. Bahng smacks her husbandâs arm playfully and laughs, as if to say cut it out. Your parents join in with their laughter.
You get up from the table to go make yourself a plate, any other time you would find it a little funny and brush them off or tell them to chill, but not today. You fill your plate with what you filled it with the first time and move to grab syrup for your waffle. You didnât notice he had gotten up too, too in your head to realize he moved when you moved. Your hands brush as you both reach for the syrup. The sensation makes your body heat. You snatch your hand away, moving to go back to the table with your plate. You ate your meal, no longer checked in to what was going on around you. You felt sick. You wanted to go away.
You sat your fork down, âI don't feel well, Iâm going to try to get some more sleepâ, you say. You dad looks at you sympathetic, âOk, sweetheart, weâll bring you something backâ, he says. You get up from the table and discard your trash and half eaten meal. You walked quickly out of the dining room, opting for the stairs, in case he decided to follow you. You doubt it, but just in case.
When you make it back to your room, you canât help the tears that fall. This trip was a humiliation ritual. Youâre completely convinced. All it took was the absence of your parents to realize that maybe there was some chemistry between you.
But then the crushing reality is that it was in your head because the idea that you too would be perfect for each other was implanted in your head. He obviously had free will, he was dating people despite the shipping your parents were doing. And then you start âseeingâ âitâ and the âitâ isnât even there. That laugh felt mocking, like he knew you were lying and found it pathetic. The moment you realize that your feelings were there all along, you learn theyâre unrequited. You get into your bed, balling up and just let the tears fall until you drift off to sleep. Unbeknownst to you, that you were indeed followed and the man who did, could hear you.
Not knowing what to say, he retires to his room to get changed and then leaves to head out to town. Hours pass and you wake up feeling worse than before, your head has a slight ache and your heart feels the same. Itâs all out there now, you canât hide it from yourself anymore. You check your phone and see that your parents sent pictures of the lights and the things they planned to bring back. They werenât coming back yet, you needed to get out of your room. You checked the event paper and noticed that there was facilities information. This place had a hot tub? You called the front desk and asked about the hot tub, they told you it was open 24/7 and was located outside of the hotel in their snow cabin. Perfect.
You went into your luggage and prayed you actually packed your bathing suit, just in case. Luckily you remembered to, so you slipped it on and put on your sweatpants and coat, to head outside. It was freezing out there, the snow was falling sideways and the wind was picking up. You shivered as you trudged to the cabin and let out a sigh of relief as you made it in. It was warm. You saw there were towels stocked in the corner and felt grateful as you forgot to bring one. You stripped from your clothes until you were only in your bathing suit.
Walking up the side steps and slowly lowering yourself into the jet bubbled water. You closed your eyes as you sat down. This was exactly what you needed. The water was the perfect temperature to help you forget about the way the trip has been going. You feel a little dramatic, it really isnât that serious. You said you werenât going to be forced together so thankfully this happened. Truthfully, you were embarrassed. You basically told him how you perceived the interaction and he shut you down. The feelings will fade.
You hear the door click open behind you. You turn to look and instantly feel a sense of dread. âI was looking for youâ, he said. You turn back around. You really donât have time to be included in his boredom. âY/N, whatâs wrong?â, he asked, voice closer. You still ignore it. âSeriously, whatâs wrong?, you ran off at breakfast, youâve been avoiding me, and I heard you crying earlierâ, he says in a voice laced with frustration. âThis is so low of youâ, you say. He scoffs, confused, âLow? Asking if youâre okay is low?â, he asks. You turn to face him.
Your eyebrows scrunched and your eyes watery, âYes, low. Look I get that our parents want us to be together but trying to pretend to actually care is lowâ, you say. He sucks his teeth, âWhat are you even talking about?â, he asks. âThis whole trip, youâve been playing around. The flirting, the touching and then when I bring it up, you tell me Iâm taking it that way?!â, you exclaim. He stares at you, and you nod, his silence confirming your beliefs.
âBut itâs my fault, I actually like you so I just thought maybe you might feel the same, but you were just playing around. All because itâs funny to you that our parents want it. You werenât flirting with me, thatâs just who you are, all those girlfriends you had and not one of them are still around.You toyed with me because you think I think itâs ridiculous tooâ, you say. Tears beginning to fall. You turn away again, not wanting him to see. âCan you leave?â, you ask him.
He doesnât respond, but you hear shuffling behind you. Through the corner of your eye you see him coming up the sidesteps. He steps into the water, coming and sitting right next to you. âYou like me?â, he asks. You sigh and roll your eyes. âSeriously, thatâs what this is about? you like me and you think Iâm playing with your feelings?â, he asks. There's an edge to his voice but his tone is soft. âBecause I said it seems like you want it to be that?â, he asks. You look to the side he isnât sitting on. His hand comes to rest at your thigh.
âBecause none of my girlfriends last? Thatâs not fairâ, he says. You look at him, âHowâs it not fairââ âthey never last because of youâ, he says, cutting you off. Your eyebrows scrunch in confusion. âBecause Iâve liked you, for a while, talk about you all the timeâ, he admits. Your heart races, the hand on your thigh feeling hotter than the water. âYouâve always dismissed me, so I tried to move on. When my mom said you were still single and we were invited on this trip, I canceled my plans just to be able to comeâ, he continued.
âWhen I noticed you were interested in me, I didnât want that chance to slip. When you asked me about my advances, I didnât want you to shut me down so I deflected, but it was 100% purposeful baby, Iâm not playingâ, he said. âOur parents are only that bad because of me, Iâm not acting like this because of my parentsâ, he said. You search his eyes for sincerity and you truly canât feel that heâs lying. âAre you serious?â, you ask. âDeadâ, he replies. You sit there looking at each other for a moment in silence before he breaks it.
âCan I kiss you?â, he asks. You blink, feeling flustered, his hand squeezes your thigh reassuringly, you nod. He moves in and you close your eyes, anticipating his plush lips meeting yours. The kiss is soft, unsure, but you kiss back and give it confidence. Itâs a slow kiss, mouths parting experimentally as if you both think this is a dream. The hand on your thigh, once grounding makes your mind swirl with thoughts. You deepen the kiss, soft mewl escaping your lips and heâs there to match you.
You both turn your bodies into each other, his free hand coming up to cradle your jaw. Wet smacks and sucks fill the air. Your heart is racing, stomach dipping when he lets out a groan into the kiss. His tongue makes its way through your parted lips, intertwining with yours and sucking, before the hand on your thigh moves to grip higher. A whimper slips through the madness, and he pulls back from the kiss, biting your lip slightly before fully pulling away. His pupils were blown and you both sat there panting.
His ears and chest tinted a pink, red. âWas that okay?â, he asks, near breathless. You nod, afraid of how pathetic youâd sound if you speak. âCan I kiss you again?â, he asks. You canât help but to say, âYesâ. Your voice shocks you, strained with want. But a want of what? This time he moves his arm to wrap around your waist, lifting you slightly to bring you to sit on his lap. You gasp and his lips claim yours again. This time much rougher, deeper than the one that just ended. His arm around your waist keeps you pressed down against him.
Subconsciously grinding against him, soft groans and moans intermingling with the wet sound of your kisses. You felt yourself growing wet, despite the fact you were in water. The escalation had your mind swimming. His lips felt so good against yours and you never wanted to stop. âFuck your lips are so softâ, he spoke between kisses. You moaned at the minor praise. He moved his arm back to his side, his hands coming up to grip at your waist and rub occasionally over the expanse of your butt.
Lifting you and dropping you slightly to aid in the grind. You felt hotter, feeling his length harden beneath you. It snapped you back to reality, breaking away from the kiss with a string of saliva connecting you. He looked at you in concern, âyou okay?â, he asked. You nodded, âItâs hot, letâs get outâ, you say. Itâs like your words make him aware of his body, he laughs. âYeah it isâ, he says. You get up from his lap, making your way out of the hot tub. Your legs feel like jelly from the weight of the water, but you feel it could also be from the ache between your thighs.
Heâs right behind you as you descend the side steps and his arms wrap around your waist. Youâre pulled flush against his toned torso and your body heats at the familiar hardness poking at you. Heâs peppering kisses along your neck, and you sigh, leaning into it. âWait-Chris?â, you say, suddenly pulling away and turning to face him. He tilts his head at you, signaling for you to say what you wanted to say.
âAre we escalating things here?â, you ask. âIf you want to, we donât have toâ, he says. âWe can go back to our room, I wasnât expecting I-â âNo! No, I want to, I justâ, that huge windowâ, you say. He looks over at it as if it was never there. âItâs okay, I doubt anyone would walk by, nothing but mountains and treesâ, he says. You look at him, unconvinced. He smiles, âwe can also go back to the room and do it baby, I promise Iâll still want you if we leave here and go backâ, he says. The idea of walking back to your room to do it started to seem less appealing as his reassurance only served to make the need between your legs grow.
âYouâre right though, no one should walk byâ, you say, making him raise an eyebrow. âDonât think I can walk that far, need you nowâ, you say. He groans, closing the gap between you and connecting your lips once again. This time a hand roaming down your body. It starts at your breast first, kneading and groping. Your nipple hardens against the fabric of your top, soft moans dancing between your lips. The explorative hand moves down, gently caressing at your side, slipping slightly into the side of your bottoms.
The feeling of his hand near where you need him most, sent your heart fluttering.you open your legs slightly. âPleaseâ, you mutter out, he deepens the kiss in response. Hand moving downwards toward the front of your bottoms resting on your mons pubis, tips of his fingers brushing over your clit. Your hips buck back and he smiles against your mouth. âSo wet babyâ, he says, feeling your slick stick to the tips without even really being on you. He moves his hand down a little, fully feeling where youâre excited.
He lets his middle and ring, circle your clit. You let out a breathy moan, against his lips. Your hips reacting to the stimulation, his other arm coming to wrap around your waist to keep you standing upright. He moved them against you faster, humping languidly against your leg as your kiss slowly turned into moaning against each other's mouths. You could hear the quiet slosh of your wetness with each move of his hand. âOh, fuck, please pleaseââ âshhhh, I know let go when you want to babyâ, he says.
âFeel perfect, havenât even felt inside, can I?â, he asks, you nodded quickly, âyes yes, fuck Chrisâ, you moan out. You feel the feeling building up from the rubs, from the kisses. He slips his fingers down into your pulsing entrance. The breach feels heavenly, your legs shake and you clench around his fingers. Youâve always looked at them and noticed things you werenât proud to admit you thought about. Feeling them inside you now had you tumbling helplessly towards your orgasm.Â
He curled his fingers up, to hit that rough, bumpy patch that had your eyes crossing. Your thighs trembled, all the stimulation prior aiding in the intensity of the wave crashing over you. âOh!â, you moan near breathless with a pitch. âThatâs right, let go, feels so good, yeah?â, he says, fingers maintaining, keeping you in that state. A clear warmth leaves you and you feel like you could collapse. Your hand comes down to reach his wrist, squeezing, letting him know itâs enough.
He slows, eventually pulling his hand from your bottoms. He doesnât hesitate to lift his fingers to his mouth, sucking off your release with a groan. âTaste so good, baby, fuck I need to eat it, can I? Please?â, he nearly begs. As hot as it was, you think youâll die if he doesnât fuck you. âLater, need you insideâ, you say. The noise he lets out sounds animalistic, as he releases you from his hold and lets you get into a position of choice. Your legs feel wobbly, as you move to prop yourself over the side of the hot tub.
You spread your legs as you bend over slightly, looking back at him. His eyes rake over your body and he lets out a low whistle, âfuck, youâre perfectâ he says. You smile dumbly at his praise. You watch as he fishes himself from his bottoms, cock hard, tip glistening with pre. He spreads it along his length with his hand as he gives himself a few pumps. He walks towards you, pulling your bottoms to the side. âPussyâs pretty tooâ, he says. You felt him rub the head through your fold, both of you moaning at the sensation, before he pushed in. The stretch is intoxicating, as he fills you inch, by heavy inch. You feel so full.
He stills for a moment to breathe, âYou feel goodâ, he groans from behind you. It makes you clench around the delicious intrusion, he sucks in a sharp breath. It earns you a shallow thrust, âlike when I praise you huh?â, he asks. âYesâ, you tell him. He begins to move, it nearly knocks the breath from your lungs. His strokes are deep, reaching that spot deep within you better than his fingers did prior. âFuckâ, you moan out, feeling the pleasurable sensation of his throbbing length gliding within your walls.
âTaking me so well, knew you wouldâ, he spoke, lips coming down, peppering kisses at the nape of your neck and shoulder. His hands came to grip at your hips for stability as he increased the pace of his thrusts. The repetitive sound of his pelvis smacking against your ass mixed well with the harmony of your moans. âFuck, Iâm so glad I got to tell you how I feel, need you foreverâ, he said, lifting his head from the kisses. Voice low below your ear. You wanted to respond, but the pleasure you were feeling from his strokes rendered you speechless.
âShit, squeezinâ me so good, messy cunt gonna milk meâ, he groaned, you clenched. âYouâre dangerous baby, canât do thatâ, he said, with a slight laugh. But, you really didnât mean to, your body responding instinctively, you knew you were reaching your end soon. âCum, iâm gonna cum!â, you whine out. âThen come on baby, cream on my dick, give it to meâ, he said. Your hands opened and closed, searching for anything to hold and you felt electricity shoot through your body. Legs trembling and babbling out nonsense about how good you feel, how good he made you feel, that you love him. Waitâyou love him?Â
His pace becomes sporadic, the squelch of your wetness and release growing louder, before he pulls out, cumming on your back with a soft groan. Your cunt twitches with the aftershocks of your orgasm. You both stay where you are breathing. He soon moves to grab a towel, wiping you both down and then helping you put on your clothes so you could leave. âYou feel okay?â, he asks you in your silence. You nod in a shy smile, âso okayâ, you say. He makes moves to kiss you again. Itâs calmer now, tender. You both pull away with a grin. âI love you tooâ.
DAY FOUR
You wake up wrapped in each otherâs arms, slow rhythmic breaths falling on each other. Soft smiles forming on your faces. Itâs the last day of the trip, youâd go home today. âWe should get upâ, you say. He shifts closer, holding you tighter. âIn a little, been waiting for this, give me a little longerâ, he says. You relax more into his hold. The thoughts of last night coming to mind and filling your heart with joy.Â
You were together now, the plan worked. Your parents were right, though they acted in accordance with each of your already existing feelings. Speaking of parents, you had to have breakfast with them. âOk, come on, we got to get upâ, you say. He groans and reluctantly releases you. Rolling out of bed and stretching. You get out of bed too, walking to where he was and giving him a kiss. Itâs a quick peck. One that feels more intimate now that the sun rose. It wasnât a dream. It was real. He hugged you once more, before heading to his room. You had to get dressed and pack your bag back for check out.Â
When you are done, you look around the room one last time. Youâre glad this trip happened. When you step out of your room, your heart blooms at the sight of Chris standing there waiting for you. He smiles, coming to take your bags. âI got itâ, you say shyly. He just shakes his head, âwanted to hold your bags when we got hereâ, he said taking them with his own. You donât argue with him on it, just walk with him down the hall in silence. This time, a comfortable silence as you ride the elevator down.Â
When you step into the dining room your parents canât believe their eyes. But they smile and cry anyways. âChristmas miracleâ, you mom says and Mrs. Bahng agrees. Breakfast goes smoothly and after, you all check out. Walking into the brisk cold as you get ready to ride the shuttle to the airport you have a moment to yourselves before you split off with your families again. He looks at you fondly, having placed your bags in the shuttle for you. âIâm glad we cameâ, he says. You nod, âI do tooâ, you say. âSee you at home, neighborâ, he says. You laugh, âsee you at homeâ.Â
blxksun2025, do not copy or translate my works. happy reading !
Summary : "Do you even still love me?" It was the desperate question that almost ended your marriage and the only one that could finally save it.
"Are we really going to do this again?" you asked.
You didn't turn around. You kept your hands in the soapy water, staring blankly at the kitchen window. Outside, it was pitch black. The clock on the microwave read 11:45 PM.
"Do what?" Bangchan replied. He was sitting at the dining table behind you. He didn't look up from his laptop.
"Fight about nothing until two in the morning," you said. You turned off the tap. The sudden silence in the kitchen was loud.
Bangchan stopped typing. He closed the laptop slowly. "I'm not fighting with you. I just asked why the car wasn't taken to the shop today. That is a normal question."
"And I told you I didn't have time. But you asked it three times in the last hour," you said, drying your hands on a towel. You finally turned to look at him. "You don't ask to get an answer, Chris. You ask to make me feel incompetent."
Bangchan sighed. He rubbed the back of his neck. He looked incredibly tired, but right now, you couldn't find it in yourself to care. You were tired, too.
"You're overthinking it," he said, his voice flat. "I just wanted to know."
"Right." You threw the towel onto the counter. "I'm going to bed."
"Are you just going to walk away again?" Bangchan's voice rose slightly.
You stopped at the hallway. You looked back at him. "Yes. Because if I stay here, we will just go in circles. You will point out what I did wrong. I will point out what you did wrong. Neither of us will apologize. I have to wake up at six tomorrow to get Minjun ready for school. Goodnight."
You walked into your bedroom and closed the door. You didn't lock it, but it felt like a wall anyway.
Six years. You had been married for six years. When you first moved into this house, you two used to sit at that exact same dining table and talk until the sun came up. Now, you could barely be in the same room for ten minutes without someone getting annoyed.
You got into bed and pulled the blanket up to your chin. You lay on the far right side of the mattress, leaving a wide, empty gap in the middle. Half an hour later, the door opened. Bangchan walked in quietly. He went to the bathroom, brushed his teeth, and changed into his sleepwear. He got into bed on the far left side. He turned his back to you. You kept your back to him.
Neither of you said a word.
The next morning was the same routine.
You woke up at 6:00 AM. Bangchan was already in the shower. You went straight to Minjunâs room. Your five year old son was still fast asleep, clutching a small toy dinosaur. You sat on the edge of the bed and stroked his hair.
"Minjun, wake up. Time for school," you whispered.
Minjun groaned and rubbed his eyes. "Mommy, Five more minutes."
"No more five minutes, Come on."
By the time you got Minjun dressed and out to the kitchen, Bangchan was already dressed for work. He was standing by the coffee maker. He had poured himself a mug. There was a second mug sitting on the counter, filled with black coffee, just the way you liked it.
He didn't say he made it for you. He just left it there.
"Morning, Dad," Minjun said, climbing into his chair. He looked at Bangchan, then at you. Even at five years old, kids notice things. "Are you mad at Mommy?"
Bangchan froze with his coffee mug halfway to his mouth. You stopped pouring cereal into Minjunâs bowl.
"No," Bangchan said quickly. "Why would you say that?"
"You didn't kiss her good morning," Minjun pointed out, stuffing a dry piece of cereal into his mouth. "You always kiss her."
"I did earlier," Bangchan lied. He cleared his throat and looked at his watch. "I have an early meeting. I need to go."
He grabbed his keys from the bowl by the door. "Bye, Minjun. Have a good day at school."
"Bye, Dad."
Bangchan looked at you for a brief second. "I'll be home around seven."
"Okay," you said. You didn't look at him. You just kept pouring milk into the bowl.
The front door clicked shut. You let out a long breath you didn't realize you were holding. You looked at the second mug of coffee on the counter. You picked it up. It was warm. You took a sip, but it tasted bitter.
The weeks passed like this. You were living like two strangers sharing a house. You paid the bills, you cleaned the rooms, you took turns picking up Minjun from kindergarten, but you didn't really talk.
It was emotional exhaustion. You knew what it was. It wasn't that you hated each other. It was just that you expected too much and communicated too little. Bangchan wanted a perfectly managed home and a wife who understood his work stress without him having to explain it. You wanted a partner who helped without being asked and a husband who still looked at you like a woman, not just a housemate.
Neither of you said these things out loud. Instead, you just got angry when the other person failed to read your mind.
On a Friday evening, things finally hit a breaking point.
You were exhausted. You had a terrible day at work, your boss had yelled at you, and you got stuck in traffic for an hour in the rain. When you walked through the front door, all you wanted was to take off your shoes, take a hot shower, and sleep.
You walked into the living room. Minjun was sitting on the floor, watching cartoons. Toys were scattered everywhere. Bangchan was on the couch, typing on his phone.
"I'm home," you said, dropping your bag on the chair.
"Hey," Bangchan said, not looking up. "Did you pick up the dry cleaning?"
You stopped walking. You closed your eyes for a second. "No. I forgot."
Bangchan sighed. It was a short, sharp sigh, but it was enough to light a match in your chest.
"I have the company dinner tomorrow," he said, finally putting his phone down. "I told you yesterday I needed that suit."
"I said I forgot, Chris. I had a long day. Traffic was terrible. I just walked through the door."
"I had a long day too," he replied, standing up. "I'm just asking for one simple thing. It was on your way home."
"It's not on my way home, it's three blocks away in the opposite direction," you said, your voice getting louder. "If it's so important, why didn't you pick it up yourself?"
"Because I asked you to do it!" Bangchan raised his voice too.
"Mommy? Daddy?"
You both stopped. Minjun was looking at you from the floor. His eyes were wide and anxious. He had his hands clamped over his toy car.
You looked at your son, and suddenly, all the anger drained out of you. It was replaced by a heavy, suffocating sadness. You realized what you two were doing. You were ruining this house. You were ruining Minjunâs childhood.
"I'm sorry, baby," you said softly to Minjun. "Mommy and Daddy are just talking."
You looked back at Bangchan. He looked annoyed, his jaw clenched, still waiting for you to defend yourself. But you didn't want to fight anymore. You didn't want to win the argument. You just wanted it to end.
"I'll go get it right now," you said quietly. You picked up your bag and walked back to the front door.
"Look, the place closes in ten minutes, just forget it," Bangchan said, frustrated.
"I said I'll get it," you repeated, opening the door and walking out into the rain.
When you got back an hour later with the suit, the house was quiet. Minjun was already in bed. Bangchan was in the kitchen, drinking a glass of water.
You hung the suit on the back of the dining chair. You didn't say anything. You walked to the fridge and poured yourself a glass of cold water. Your hands were shaking slightly.
"I put Minjun to bed," Bangchan said.
"Thank you."
Silence fell over the kitchen again. It was that heavy, suffocating silence you had gotten so used to.
"Look," Bangchan started, leaning against the counter. "I didn't mean to yell in front of him. But you have to admit, you've been really careless lately. It's like you don't even listen when I talk to you."
You put your glass down on the counter. The glass made a sharp clack against the marble. You gripped the edges of the counter, looking down at your hands.
"Is that what you think?" you asked quietly.
"What else am I supposed to think?" Bangchan crossed his arms. "You forget things. You're always in a bad mood. You don't talk to me unless it's about bills or Minjun. I'm just trying to keep things running around here."
You looked up. Your eyes were red, but you weren't crying. You were completely, utterly empty.
"I think we should get a divorce."
The words came out simply. They weren't yelled. They weren't dramatic. You said it the same way you would say you were out of milk.
Bangchan's arms slowly dropped to his sides. His face went blank. He stared at you for a long time, as if he didn't understand the English language.
"What?" he whispered.
"I can't do this anymore, Chris," you said. Your voice broke slightly, but you kept going. "I am so tired. You are so tired. All we do is argue. We are just two angry people living in the same house, trying to prove who is right and who is wrong."
"Please, stop." Bangchan took a step forward, panic flashing in his eyes.
"No, let me finish," you said, stepping back. "I saw Minjun's face today when we were yelling. He is five years old. He shouldn't be scared in his own home. He shouldn't have to guess if his parents are mad at each other every single day. It's not fair to him."
"We just had a fight. Normal couples fight," Bangchan said quickly. His voice was shaking now.
"Normal couples resolve things. We don't. We just bury it until the next day, and then we fight again. It's been like this for two years." You looked at him. You looked at his face, the face you used to love more than anything in the world. "I just want peace. I want you to be happy, and I want to be happy. And we are not happy together anymore."
Bangchan stared at you. His chest was rising and falling rapidly. He opened his mouth to argue, to point out why you were wrong, to defend his actions. It was his instinct. He was a smart man, he always knew how to win an argument.
But then you asked one last question.
"Chris," you said, a single tear finally falling down your cheek. "Do you even still love me?"
Bangchan stopped breathing.
"Or are you just staying because of pride? Because you don't want a failed marriage?" you asked, your voice cracking. "Because if you don't love me anymore, just tell me. Please. Let me go."
The question hit him physically. It felt like someone had punched him in the chest. All the anger, the frustration, the stress from work, the annoyance about the dry cleaning, it all vanished.
He looked at you. Really looked at you. He saw the dark circles under your eyes. He saw how thin you had gotten. He saw how defeated you looked standing in your kitchen, begging him to let you go because you thought he didn't care about you.
What was he doing? What the hell was he doing?
He had spent the last two years fighting to be right, that he hadn't realized he was destroying the only thing he actually cared about. He was about to lose you. He was about to break his family apart over dry cleaning, unspoken chores, and his own stupid ego.
Winning didn't matter. None of it mattered if you weren't here.
Bangchan didn't say a word. He walked across the kitchen, closing the distance between you two. You flinched slightly, expecting him to yell.
Instead, he wrapped his arms around you and pulled you into his chest.
He held you tightly. His hand pressed against the back of your head, hiding your face in his shoulder. He closed his eyes and buried his face in your hair.
You froze. Your arms stayed stiff at your sides. You tried to pull away. "Chris, don'tâ"
"I love you," he said. His voice was thick and desperate. He tightened his grip, refusing to let you step back. "I love you. I never stopped loving you. Not for a single second."
You stopped struggling. Your breath hitched.
"I'm so sorry," Bangchan whispered against your hair. His own eyes were wet now. "I am so stupid. I am so sorry."
You slowly raised your hands and grabbed the fabric of his shirt. You didn't hug him back, you just held onto him to keep from falling. You started to cry. It wasn't a loud cry, but quiet, heavy sobs that shook your entire body.
Bangchan just held you. He rubbed your back slowly, letting you cry out all the exhaustion and sadness you had been holding in for months.
"I don't want a divorce," Bangchan said quietly. "Please don't say that again. Please."
You stood there in the kitchen for a long time. Eventually, your crying slowed down. You rested your forehead against his chest.
Bangchan slowly pulled back, just enough to look at your face. He wiped a tear from your cheek with his thumb.
"I have been a terrible husband," he said honestly. "I let my stress turn me into a jerk. I stopped listening to you. I expected you to just do everything and I got mad when you couldn't. It wasn't fair."
You looked up at him. "I haven't been fair either. I shut you out. I stopped trying to talk to you because I assumed you wouldn't listen. I kept all my anger inside and just used it against you."
"We both messed up," Bangchan said. He took your hands in his. His hands were warm. "But listen, you are the only woman I have ever loved. You are the mother of my son. I don't want to win arguments anymore. I just want you."
You looked at your intertwined hands. "I'm just so tired, Chris. I don't know how to fix this."
"We start over," he said firmly. He looked you directly in the eyes. There was no pride left in his face. No ego. Just a man begging for his marriage. "We throw away the last two years. We drop the pride. If you are tired, tell me. If I am stressed, I will talk to you instead of getting angry. We start from zero."
You hesitated. "Can we really do that? Just forget it?"
"We don't forget it. We learn from it," Bangchan said. "But we don't use it as ammunition anymore. I promise you, I will change. Give me a chance to be the husband you married six years ago. Please."
You looked at him. You saw the sincerity in his eyes. You remembered the man he used to be, the man who used to make you laugh until your stomach hurt, the man who held your hand during Minjun's birth. That man was still there, buried under layers of stress and pride.
You took a deep breath. "Okay."
Bangchan let out a shaky breath and smiled. A real, relieved smile. He pulled you into another hug, burying his face in your neck. "Thank you. I love you so much."
"I love you too," you whispered back.
The next morning, you woke up at 6:00 AM.
The bed was warm. You turned around. Bangchan was still in bed. He was lying on his side, watching you.
"Morning," he said softly.
"You're not up," you said, confused.
"It's Saturday. I don't have work," he said. He reached out and brushed a piece of hair out of your face. "I'll go wake up Minjun and make breakfast. You sleep a little more."
You looked at him. It was a small thing. Just making breakfast. But it was something he hadn't offered to do in a very long time.
"Are you sure?" you asked.
"Yes," Bangchan smiled. He leaned in and kissed your forehead. Then, he kissed your lips gently. It felt a little awkward, a little new, like you were dating again. "Sleep."
He got out of bed and quietly left the room.
You lay in bed for a few minutes. You could hear the faint sound of Bangchan talking to Minjun in the hallway. You heard Minjun laugh. Then you heard the clinking of pans in the kitchen.
You turned over and closed your eyes. It wasn't a magic fix. You would probably still argue in the future. You still had a lot to work on.
But for the first time in six years, the house didn't feel heavy. It felt like home again.
