✿ Summary: An argument leads to Chan making some petty decisions. Why not add more fuel to the fire?
✿ Pairing: Chan x f!reader
✿ Word count: 3.7k
✿ Tags/Warnings: angst, clear resolution, suggestive - MDNI, a lot of very harsh things from both reader and Chan lol
✿ Author’s note: every time that Chan has sent a workout video, this concept appeared in the back of my mind… enjoy!!!
The cursor on your screen flickered on repeat as you stared aimlessly into space. You were nearing the end of your shift, but your mind was somewhere far away.
The second you walked out the door this morning, your mind kept replaying the argument you shared with Chan.
It was stupid - most of your arguments are.
You aren’t even sure how things had blown out of proportion so rapidly. One second Chan was upset about the mess of your shoes by the front door. Next thing you know, the two of you were arguing about the lack of effort you’d seen in the relationship. You called Chan a workaholic; he called you lazy.
Both of you said things that you didn’t mean, but that didn’t make it hurt any less. The second you walked out the door, nothing but pain and guilt filled your heart, weighing you down all day.
You wanted nothing more than to communicate. You wanted to fix things.
“Y/N?” Fingers waved in front of your face. Your coworker, Jungsoo, was trying to get your attention.
“I’m sorry. I was zoned out,” you tried to dismiss with a faint laugh.
“You’ve been zoned out,” Jungsoo replied with a slight smirk. “Boss said we could go home an hour early. There’s a storm that’s supposed to start sometime soon.” Your ears perked up at this information.
“Oh, sweet. Thanks for letting me know,” you replied with a slight yawn. The combination of work and the argument weighing on your shoulders left you exhausted.
“Some of us are heading out to grab dinner; you should come.” There was no denying the flirtatious undertone hiding beneath his invitation.
Nobody at work knew of your relationship due to Chan’s career. It never bothered you to keep your relationship secret, but it definitely sucked in moments like these.
“I think that I’m okay,” you politely refused. “I won’t complain about an extra hour to myself to sleep.”
“Well, if you change your mind,” Jungsoo trailed off, implying that you were more than welcome to join. “Just get home safe.”
With a firm squeeze to your shoulder, Jungsoo returned to his own cubicle to wrap up for the day.
Clicking out of the tab that was burning into your screen, you sighed and sunk further into your office chair. You needed to decompress and create a plan to communicate with Chan after getting home; your biggest fear was starting another fight.
Seeing as you were a light packer, you didn’t really need to gather your belongings before leaving. However, you wanted to take a moment to yourself before heading home anyway. Trying to wind down, you opened your phone and began checking your notifications.
A feeling of disappointment lingered when you noticed that Chan hadn’t messaged you all day. Usually, even if you’re fighting, he always checks in with you while you’re at work - you must have cut deep this morning with your words.
Though not a direct message from Chan, you did notice one notification with his name on it: Bubble. From the notification preview, it appears that Chan had sent a short message with two video attachments.
Curiously, you clicked on the message notification. Nothing could mimic the turmoil that you felt when the messages appeared on your screen.
Two videos in a row of Chan working out played on a loop as your brows furrowed together. With each message, your confusion slowly morphed into anger. Chan always sent his workout videos to you first.
In the first video, Chan was facing the camera making the most lewd faces known to mankind as he worked on his biceps. As nice as his arms looked, you both knew the true intention behind this angle: pure evil.
The second video is what had your eye twitching.
The second video showed Chan’s back muscles in all of their glory. He had taken his shirt off and was facing away from the camera in this video. With each movement, his muscles grew more defined. It didn’t help that the filter he applied to the video only emphasized the ridges along his back.
The message that accompanied the videos is what fully sent you over the edge.
- Don’t let anyone make you feel like you aren’t enough for them. -
“Excuse me?” you muttered under your breath. You had never seen a more intentional callout in your life.
These messages and videos were explicitly intended to get under your skin. Chan sent these to make you angry. It almost disappointed you that his goal was working, because you were fuming.
Chan wants to be petty? You can be petty back.
Grabbing your wallet and keys, you make your way toward Jungsoo’s desk.
“Hey. On second thought, I am kind of hungry. If the invitation stands, I’d love to join you all,” you batted your lashes as you sweet-talked Jungsoo.
With a faint blush kissing his cheeks, Jungsoo nodded eagerly, “Yes - of course. I’d love to have you join - we’d love to have you join,” he attempted to correct himself with a cough.
“I’m ready when you are,” you replied, laughing at the flustered boy.
There were four of you sitting in a small corner booth surrounded by food. Jungsoo sat directly across from you.
While you were absolutely starving, the anger in the back of your mind was overwhelming. As you stared at the food before you, your revenge plan started to fall into place.
Opening Instagram, you decided to make a post on your story so that Chan would know that you weren’t simply at work. Based on his status, he was currently active, so he was likely at home. Inevitably, he would see your story within the hour.
Opening the camera, you angled your phone just to enough to leave room for imagination. You didn’t want to blast Jungsoo’s face all over social media - God knows that Chan would hunt the poor boy down. However, you were going to use Chan’s jealous nature to your advantage.
In the photo, you made sure to catch a glimpse of Jungsoo’s perfectly tailored button-down and tie in the background. From the angle, it wasn’t clear that other people were enjoying dinner with you two. You framed the scene to look like a solo dinner: something that would immediately get under Chan’s skin.
You captioned the picture - Name a better way to wind down from a rough day…I’ll wait. - and pressed post.
With a slight smirk, you put your phone in your pocket and joined your coworkers in conversation before digging into your meal.
You weren’t even halfway through your dish before your phone buzzed rhythmically. Taking a quick peak at your phone, you tried to conceal the shit-eating grin that spread across your face seeing Chan’s name in your notifications.
Chan: Where are you?
Chan: Come home.
Chan: Now.
Leaving him on read, you shut your phone off and continued to enjoy your meal. Staying true to your word, if Chan wanted to be petty, you could be pettier.
After finishing your meal, Jungsoo insisted on taking you home. Regardless of how sweet the offer was, you didn’t want to lead him on too much. You already felt a slight guilt for using him to get back at your boyfriend as it is.
Stepping out into the late-night streets of Seoul, you shivered as you walked toward the bus stop. To your luck, the bus you would need to catch absolutely flew by the second you finally reached the stop.
“Are you joking?” you sighed to yourself.
With it being chilly out, you didn’t necessarily want to walk home. You pulled up the bus schedule on your phone, only to be met with disappointment.
At the top of the screen, there was a giant, red warning flashing across the screen.
ATTENTION: ALL ROUTES WILL CLOSE AT 20:00 DUE TO FORECASTED WEATHER!
Of course, the bus that had flown by was the last bus home for the night - you’d have to walk home.
With a slight huff, you wrapped your jacket around yourself tightly and began the twenty-five minute journey home.
Not even two minutes into your walk, a giant raindrop fell onto your cheek. Gradually, the rain started to fall faster and faster. As if this day couldn’t get any worse.
By the time you made it home, you were drenched. The rain had only gotten worse with each block you passed. When you were a mile out from home, the wind started to pick up, blowing the rain into every nook and cranny of your body. The jacket wrapped around yourself did nothing for protection.
With a slight grumble, you struggled to get the key into the lock: the rain had made your hands slippery.
Once you finally made it inside, you were immediately met with Chan - jaw tight and arms crossed.
“What? Your new boyfriend couldn’t drive you home?” he questioned you with a venom-laced tone.
“Don’t,” you sighed, dismissing him with a wave. After walking home in a downpour, all of your energy reserved for this conversation went out the window.
“No, we are having this conversation,” Chan declared, his voice raising ever so slightly.
You rolled your eyes and started walking toward the bathroom to shed your sopping wet clothes. With determination, Chan followed each wet footstep.
“You don’t get to say that I care more about work than our relationship and then turn around and do this. I was home - not at work - and you were out on a date with some dude?” Chan spat every word at you.
“It wasn’t a fucking date, Chan. I went out with coworkers - plural,” you winced as you freed your arms from the clinging material of your jacket.
“Oh, yeah? How am I supposed to know that you are telling the truth? How am I supposed to trust that you aren’t cheating on me?” Chan accused with a pointed glare.
“Cheating?” you allowed your frustration to bubble over, regardless of how exhausted you felt. “You really think that I would cheat on you?”
Chan’s silence and look of defeat was enough of an answer for you.
“That’s what I thought. You know I’d never stoop that low,” you fought back, pointing a finger at him. “You think I’d be stupid enough to post something like that online, too? You must really think lowly of me.”
“Then why did you post it?” Chan finally broke his silence.
“Because you fucking started this! You were the one who decided to make this argument a public matter when you went running to your fans instead of confronting me like a man,” you shouted, only getting angrier with each word that left your lips.
“So you went on a date because I posted some workout videos? You’re being childish, Y/N.”
“It wasn’t a fucking date!” you defended yourself once more as thunder shook your home. It was almost like the storm was responding to your emotions. “And you know that those videos weren’t just ‘some workout videos.’ The angles? The caption? That was personal, Chan. You can’t gaslight me. You’re the one who is being childish.”
“Gaslighting? If anything, you’re the one being manipulative! Posting that photo so you can get a reaction out of me? Of course I’m going to be pissed when my girl is out there having a nice dinner with some guy,” Chan blew up when you turned the tables back on him.
“Maybe if you took me out more often, I wouldn’t have to rely on other men,” you regretted your words before you even finished speaking. You weren’t going to deny his comment about you also being manipulative in the moment. Unfortunately, this was common when the two of you argued.
“Fucking excuse me? Say that again,” Chan dared you to speak again. “Say it again and look me in the eyes.”
Slowly unbuttoning your drenched shirt, you hesitantly met Chan’s gaze. His eyes were dark and filled with a mixture of hurt and anger at an intensity that you had never seen.
“I-“ you attempted to speak, but nothing came out. With shaky hands, you continued to focus on getting yourself out of these uncomfortable clothes, looking away from Chan again.
“That’s what I thought. I dare you to say some shit like that again,” Chan spoke in a low, deep voice as he pinched the bridge of his nose in frustration.
“You can’t put all of the blame on me,” your voice was much softer when you spoke this time around. Granted, the anger was still there, but you couldn’t bring yourself to shout. “You started this argument at 10:00 this morning.”
“I wasn’t wrong for pointing out your mess,” Chan said defensively. “As a matter of fact, you’re doing it again; you are literally throwing your wet clothes all over the place!”
At this point, your back was turned to Chan as you worked on the worst part of your outfit: your slacks. The bottoms clung to you in a way that was more uncomfortable than the conversation at hand. Struggling to step out of the pant legs was causing your inevitable headache to only grow stronger.
“What do you want me to do? Sorry I’m not fucking perfect, Chan. You show me where to throw these, then. It’s not like I’ve had a shitty day and just want to focus on relaxing,” you broke down as you responded to his critique.
Turning around, wet khakis in hand, you threw your clothes at Chan, immediately leaving a wet stain on his grey shirt. Chan’s eyes immediately went from the clothes in his arms to you. The moment he locked eyes with your frustrated expression, a switch flipped.
It only look Chan seconds to take in your figure before the anger in his eyes was replaced with lust. The sight of you left in only your underwear accompanied by rain drops cascading down your body from your wet hair turned him into another man. Without another word, Chan dropped the clothing to the ground.
“What the fuck are you doing?” you asked, upset at the fact that he was being messy in the same way that angered him moments ago.
Before you could open your mouth again, Chan had cornered you between his towering body and the bathroom sink. With an affirmative grip on your jaw, Chan brought you in for a searing kiss.
You wanted to fight back, to not give in, but Chan knows your body all too well. The way his lips slotted against yours had you melting within seconds. When Chan’s free hand had snuck around to grab a handful of your ass, the moan you released told Chan that you had surrendered.
Without detaching his lips from you, Chan walked the two of you into the bedroom. Effortlessly, he tossed you onto the bed, careless to the fact that even your underwear was slightly damp from the storm. He took no time at all crawling onto the mattress to cage you in once more.
His hands immediately found their place on your hips, his thumbs playing with the hem of your panties.
“Did you wear this matching set to impress your coworker, or me?” Chan was snarky as he snapped the elastic of your underwear against your skin.
“Just shut up and kiss me,” you panted, breathless from the back and forth of emotions.
Chan didn’t need to be told twice. His grip tightened as he tilted his head down and allowed his lips to hungrily take over. Without asking for permission, his tongue pried in between your lips and began gliding in sync with your own.
When the two of you had finally stopped to catch a breath, Chan took a second to look at you. Both of you had red, swollen lips from the start of your makeout session. Now, your lips shined just as much as the rest of your wet skin.
When lightning lit up the bedroom, Chan got a glance at the way the light hit your breasts. The water seeping from your bra defined your boobs in a way that had him mesmerized.
“You don’t know what you do to me,” Chan mumbled before attaching his lips to your jaw.
As his lips trailed down toward your neck, you couldn’t help but allow your mind to go into overdrive. With the storm intensifying outside, your brain mimicked the weather.
This is what happens every time that you two argue. Instead of working out your problems, you have heated intimacy and never mention the problem again.
You know that this isn’t healthy. Communication is key in a relationship, but both of you seemed to be afraid of it. Instead, you always resort to escalating the situation until it tips over like this.
With your mind being somewhere far, you weren’t even aware when the tears started to pool in your eyes. It wasn’t until Chan’s lips froze right above your collar bone that you realized you had started crying. The first sniffle that escaped you caused Chan to immediately stop everything.
“Baby, what’s wrong? Why are you crying? Did I do something?” Chan asked with a gentle voice as he placed a tiny bit of space between the two of you. Seeing as this was the first time he had been gentle with you all day, your heart only ached more as your whimpers turned into full blown sobs.
Chan reacted quickly, readjusting your positions and scooping you into his arms. One arm rubbed slight circles into your back while the other wiped the nonstop tears escaping from your eyes.
“Hey, it’s okay. Let it out,” Chan cooed as he tried to reassure you.
“It’s not okay,” you managed to squeak through your babbling mess.
“What’s not okay? I can’t help you if I don’t know what to do,” Chan was direct as he tried to get you to speak more.
“This,” you weakly gestured with one hand between the two of you. “What we do after every fight. We don’t talk, Chan. That’s bad.”
Even through your broken voice, Chan understood each word that left your lips. With each syllable, he felt his heart break further. Sure, he’d even had these thoughts about your relationship before, but he never thought those thoughts would be spoken aloud. It hurt him even more to see how this was wrecking you.
“I know what you mean,” he admitted, tightening his grip as he hugged you tighter. “It’s always the same pattern and it isn’t good for either of us.”
“Then why do you keep initiating it?” Your voice was frail.
Chan couldn’t deny, he was almost always responsible for wrapping up your heated arguments with distractions. This questions rattled his brain, yet he couldn’t find an answer.
“I- I don’t know,” Chan’s voice cracked as his walls finally started to break.
“I love you, but it’s not healthy for us to keep doing this,” you sniffled. “We can’t thrive as a couple if we can’t even talk to one another.”
“I know,” Chan admitted defeatedly. “I just - I can’t lose you. I’m so scared of losing you.” Tears started dropping from his eyes as well.
“Then don’t run away,” you whispered, pushing your cheek against his solid chest. “Being scared of talking to me is only going to break us apart.”
That reality broke Chan. He was no longer successful at masking his tears as his body shook against yours. When his chest began to shake, you lifted your head and wrapped your arms around him. Holding one another, the two of you cried into each other’s embrace.
“I’m sorry,” Chan whimpered. “I’m sorry for today. I’m sorry for every time that I’ve fucked up in our relationship. I’m sorry that I’ve been too scared to man-up and apologize.”
“I’m sorry, too,” you whispered. Before Chan could butt in to dismiss your need to apologize, you continued, “We were both assholes today. That is no excuse for me to continue to escalate things. I think that’s something that we both need to work on.”
“I’m sorry for the Bubble videos,” Chan apologized yet again. “I wanted to send them to you so badly, but my stupid brain was too stubborn.”
You let out a tiny laugh at this confession. Even when pissed, doing things for you is always in the back of his mind.
“I also know that you’d never cheat on me. I was just angry and jealous,” Chan sighed, his shoulders slumping further into your embrace. “I shouldn’t have said any of that, but I wanted to get under your skin the same way you did mine.”
“Well, I shouldn’t have posted that photo in the first place. It was petty. Literally everything that happened today was petty and spiteful,” you confessed with a sigh of your own. “I shouldn’t have brought Jungsoo into this.”
“Oh, so that’s his name?” Chan’s voice went up an octave with his question.
“Don’t turn jealous again, now,” you slightly huffed out a laugh, Chan doing the same.
“Sorry, sorry. I know. I just really am terrified of ever losing you,” he sheepishly admitted through a whisper.
“If we can continue to talk like this, you won’t ever have to worry about losing me,” you comforted Chan, freeing one of your arms to caress his face with your smaller hand.
“I’ll do anything to make sure you don’t leave,” Chan confessed, melting into your hand as you wiped away the stray tears that remained.
“Then we need to change - both of us,” your voice left no room for discussion. It was affirmative that change needed to happen in this relationship.
“Anything for you,” Chan dreamily spoke before bringing your lips in for a gentle kiss.
For the rest of the night, the two of you actively spoke about how you would change for one another. It wasn’t fair that Chan liked to start arguments out of nowhere, and it sure as hell wasn’t fair that you loved to escalate them nine times out of ten.
While the two of you definitely had plenty of things to work on, it was the genuine sense of effort that Chan was promising that gave you hope.
This would take a lot of strict discipline for both yourself and Chan, but you knew that even the baby steps would make a positive change in your relationship.
While only time could tell the future of your relationship, it was undeniable that step one in repairing everything was dealing with the petty, competitive nature that ran rampant between you and Chan both.
Summary: Chan was certain that you two should never have broken up. So, he made up his mind—he was going to find a way to be with you again.
Chan smirked at the bouquet of roses sitting on his counter, the vibrant petals almost mocking him. He felt betrayed—by himself, by the memories that refused to fade. Who was there to blame? It was February 14th, after all. A day that used to mean something. A day when he’d pick out flowers for you—never chocolates, because you didn’t like them.
Now, he was on the verge of laughing at himself. How pathetic was it that, even after a year, he still remembered every little thing about you? The way you preferred lilies over roses but accepted them anyway because he had terrible taste in flowers. The way you’d roll your eyes at grand gestures but secretly adored them. The way Valentine’s Day had never really mattered to you—until it did.
And yet, here he was, staring at a bouquet that wasn’t even meant for you, feeling like a fool.
"That's pretty," you had said a year ago, your gaze lingering on the red roses displayed in the flower shop window as you passed by.
"You want it?" Chan had asked playfully, his tone light but his intent obvious. He would have gotten them for you in a heartbeat.
You chuckled, shaking your head. "There's no reason to get me flowers."
Chan had only smiled, his fingers brushing gently against your cheek as he steered the wheel with his other hand. His voice was soft yet certain when he said, "I don't even need a reason to give you the world."
Now, standing in his kitchen, Chan exhaled sharply, shaking his head at himself. How pathetic. How utterly ridiculous that even after a year, the memory still clung to him like a ghost that refused to be exorcised.
Pushing himself up from the barstool, he grabbed the bouquet in one swift motion. His strides were long and deliberate as he walked to the bin, gripping the same exact roses you had once admired. Without a second thought, he tossed them in.
The petals rustled against the trash bag, a quiet, almost mocking sound. Chan stared for a moment longer, then turned away, jaw clenched.
It was just a bouquet of flowers. Just another February 14th. And yet, it still felt like letting go.
The doorbell rang. Chan let out a sigh, already knowing who it was. It had to be Hansol and Seungkwan.
Dragging himself toward the monitor, he glanced at the screen and chuckled when his guess was confirmed—his two friends stood outside, waiting.
"Go," Chan muttered as he pressed the button to let them in.
He barely lifted his finger before Hansol’s amused laughter came through the speaker, followed by Seungkwan’s dramatic whine. "Why? We brought chicken!"
Shaking his head, Chan unlocked the door. Moments later, they strolled into his living room like they owned the place, setting down a box of fried chicken and a few cans of beer on the coffee table. Chan simply stood there, watching them move around, as if they had done this a thousand times before.
"Why are you guys here?" he finally asked, settling onto the couch.
"Can’t we visit our favorite little brother?" Seungkwan teased, grinning.
Chan cringed. "Never say that again."
Hansol chuckled, stretching his arms before reaching for a can of beer. "There’s a new chicken shop nearby. Everyone says it’s good."
Chan smirked at the excuse. Yeah, right. Deep down, he knew the truth.
A year ago, they were here too. Sitting in this very spot. Eating chicken. Drinking beer. Trying to distract him the night you walked out of his life.
*
Chan stepped into the bakery, his eyes instinctively scanning the space. The warm scent of freshly baked bread filled the air, but it did little to calm the nervous hammering in his chest. His breath hitched at the thought of seeing you again.
Hansol—completely out of sobriety that night—had blurted out something that caught Chan off guard. His so-called "new favorite bakery," the one where he always grabbed kaya bread before practice, was your bakery.
"She opened a bakery?" Chan had blinked, his voice laced with disbelief. Opening a bakery had always been your dream.
Hansol had nodded, looking almost guilty. "I've known since, like, half a year ago."
Seungkwan had chimed in with a sigh, "We’ve known. I told him about the bakery… and we met her."
Chan had tilted his head, eyebrows furrowing. "Why are you telling me this?"
Then, as if catching himself, he shook his head. "No—I mean… That’s great news. She always wanted this." He let out a forced chuckle, but the nervous energy lingered. "I just don’t get why you’re telling me now."
Seungkwan and Hansol exchanged glances before Seungkwan exhaled. "I met her last week," he admitted, pausing for a beat before continuing. "And… she asked about you."
Chan's stomach twisted. He swallowed.
"Now—hear me out," Seungkwan pressed on, his voice softer, more careful. "I know the breakup wasn’t great. I get it. But from where I’m standing, it seems like you two still have feelings for each other."
What made him say that?
Had he been that obvious? Had he been showing everyone that he still had feelings for you?
Chan didn’t like the thought of it. The idea that his emotions were visible—that anyone could see right through him—made his stomach churn. He didn’t want people to think he was pathetic, still holding on to someone who had walked away.
Still loving someone who had already left him.
"What can I help you with?" a shopkeeper asked as Chan wandered through the bakery, his eyes subtly scanning the space.
He turned his head, expecting—hoping—to see you. But it was just the shopkeeper.
Forcing a polite smile, Chan bit down on his lower lip, trying to push away his disappointment. "Do you have any recommendations?" he asked, shifting his attention to the employee.
The shopkeeper's face lit up as he gestured toward the sandwich section. "Here’s our new menu! We have tuna, beef, and bacon sandwiches—perfect for breakfast."
Chan nodded absentmindedly, barely registering the words. "I’ll take ten bacon and ten beef, please." He pulled his wallet from his pocket, handing over his card.
The shopkeeper quickly packed the order, then, to Chan’s surprise, handed him a cup of Americano with a bright smile. "This one’s on the house. Thank you so much!"
Chan hesitated before lifting the cup slightly in acknowledgment. "Oh, you don’t have to… but thanks," he murmured, accepting the drink.
Once he settled into his car, he glanced at the neatly packed boxes of sandwiches in the backseat. He let out a dry chuckle, shaking his head at himself. Pathetic.
Taking a sip of the Americano as he pulled onto the road, he let the familiar bitterness settle on his tongue—except, something was different. His brows furrowed as he pulled the cup away, eyeing it curiously.
That taste.
Americano with berry syrup.
Your favorite.
*
Chan scrunched up his face the moment the taste hit his tongue.
You burst into laughter at his expression, quickly pulling the cup away from him. "Why do you look like that?" you teased, amusement dancing in your eyes.
"It's weird!" Chan exclaimed, wiping his lips as if that would rid him of the lingering taste. "It’s bitter, sweet, and sour all at once. Coffee shouldn’t taste like this."
You smiled, holding the cup close to your chest. "No… it tastes good. It has everything—the sweetness, the bitterness, and the tang of berries. Just like life."
Chan let out a chuckle, raising a brow. "Since when did you get this sentimental?"
You gasped dramatically, pressing a hand to your chest. "Excuse me? I’ve always been a sentimental person!"
Chan shook his head, giving you a playful look of disbelief. "You? Sentimental?" He scoffed. "You literally just leave my goodnight texts on read every night."
You giggled, tilting your head at him. "That’s because they’re too sweet. I was speechless."
Chan rolled his eyes, crossing his arms. "Oh, so you were so speechless that you couldn’t even type a single reply?"
Chan shook his head, exhaling as he tossed the empty cup into the trash before stepping into the practice room.
From across the room, Seungkwan’s sharp eyes immediately caught sight of the plastic bags in Chan’s hands. He recognized the logo instantly—it was your bakery. His gaze flickered to Chan, suspicion creeping into his expression.
Hansol, however, was too excited about the food to notice anything. The moment he got his hands on a sandwich, he eagerly unwrapped it and took a huge bite. "This is delicious!" he mumbled, already reaching for another.
Seungkwan, still observing Chan, took a bite of his own.
"It does taste good. Where did you get this, Chan?"
Before Chan could answer, the other members in the room—who had also helped themselves to the sandwiches—started chiming in.
"Whoa, this is really good."
"I could eat this every day."
"Seriously, where did you buy these?"
Chan sighed, rubbing the back of his neck as he glanced at the growing pile of empty sandwich wrappers. He hadn't planned for this much attention.
"This is from the place where I always get my kaya bread," Hansol said nonchalantly, taking another bite.
But the moment the words left his mouth, his chewing slowed. His eyes widened as realization sank in, and he snapped his head toward Chan.
"Wait—really?!"
As if finally processing his own words, Hansol immediately glared at the younger, his eyes practically screaming, You went there?!
Chan sighed, rubbing the back of his neck as he avoided Hansol’s accusing stare. He knew this was coming. Meanwhile, Seungkwan let out a knowing exhale, arms crossed, as if he had expected this exact scene to unfold.
The other members, noticing the sudden shift in Hansol’s behavior, exchanged confused glances.
"What’s up with him?" one of them muttered, glancing between Hansol and Chan.
Seungkwan, ever the smooth talker, quickly waved them off with a casual grin. "Ah, you know Hansol. He’s just being a little extra again."
Hansol scoffed but kept his mouth shut, though the way he kept side-eyeing Chan made it obvious—this conversation wasn’t over.
*
"He came again today."
You glanced up as you packed the leftover pastries into the boxes Sunoo had set up on the counter. You knew exactly who he was talking about—Chan, your idol ex-boyfriend. But for the sake of keeping up appearances (and maybe your own pride), you feigned ignorance.
"Who?" you asked, keeping your voice light.
Sunoo shrugged, his legs dangling off the counter like a kid who had just discovered something amusing. His knowing smirk didn’t help.
"That well-known ex of yours," he mumbled.
You snorted. "No one even knows we were dating. Never got caught." There was a hint of pride in your voice, as if that secrecy had been some kind of achievement.
Sunoo rolled his eyes. "I mean that well-known person who also happens to be your ex-boyfriend. Stop pretending you're not affected! He’s been coming here almost every day for a week."
Your hands stilled for a moment, but you quickly resumed packing, forcing a chuckle. "Maybe he just really likes the sandwiches."
Sunoo gave you a deadpan stare. "Right. And I’m the Crown Prince of Korea."
"And?" you asked, sealing the box filled with leftover donuts before heading to the sink to wash your hands.
"And you’ve been hiding in the kitchen every single time he comes in, i thought you still love him." Sunoo huffed in frustration, arms crossed over his chest. The pout on his face made him look even cuter than usual, which only made you laugh.
"I do..." you admitted, drying your hands.
Sunoo’s eyebrows shot up. "Then?"
"That’s it," you shrugged, lifting the box into your arms.
Sunoo let out an exaggerated sigh, grabbing another box and trailing behind you as you made your way to the exit where your car was parked.
You popped open the backseat door and carefully placed the boxes inside. Tonight, you’d be dropping off the leftovers at the nearest police station—something you did regularly.
Sunoo, still not letting the topic go, leaned against the car with a pointed look. "With him constantly visiting, don’t you think it’s time to get back together? I mean, he might feel the same way."
You froze for just a second before turning to face him. Sunoo shifted under your gaze, suddenly looking unsure.
"Having the same feelings isn’t enough to get back together," you said softly.
Sunoo shrugged. "But at least it gives you a reason. Isn't love about finding a reason?"
You chuckled at his comment. "You're right. But how do you know that? Didn’t you just graduate high school?"
Sunoo snorted as if you had just said the dumbest thing he’d heard all year. "I might’ve dated more people than you, and I only graduated high school."
You rolled your eyes, but before you could respond, his voice softened. "But really. Stop denying your feelings. That’s what’s hurting you the most."
You sighed, slipping into the driver's seat. Sunoo stood there, watching you expectantly, but you simply started the car and drove away.
You weren’t denying your feelings. You never had.
You let them flow, like water, even after breaking up with Chan. You still celebrated his birthday and his band’s anniversary by preparing special treats at your bakery. You still kept up with his activities on social media.
You never once denied the warmth that still lingered in your heart.
But you refused to give yourself false hope.
The idea that Chan might still feel the same way—it was too dangerous to entertain. When Seungkwan and Hansol had shown up at your bakery out of nowhere, catching you off guard, they reassured you that they held no resentment toward you. Then, just as casually, they mentioned that Chan had gone through the hardest year of his life after the breakup. That he hadn’t shown a single sign of moving on.
And that was unlike him.
This was Chan—a man who had never let himself be alone for long. A man who, before you, had always found himself in a relationship.
Yet, a year had passed since you walked out that door. And he was still alone.
*
Meeting you at the police station wasn’t something on his to-do list—not today, not this month, not even this year. Yet, here you were.
Chan had just been about to step out, his younger brother trailing behind him, when he saw you standing there, frozen in place, holding a box of what he assumed were pastries. The sight of you made his heart race, and he felt a mix of surprise and anxiety.
Beside him, his brother cleared his throat awkwardly, as if he wasn’t the reason Chan was here in the first place.
Great. Another reason to slap the remaining puberty out of his high school brother:
1. Getting into a fight with another student.
2. Making Chan come all the way here to pick him up.
3. And now—leading him straight to you.
Also, what the hell were you doing here with pastries?
Chan's mind raced. He hadn't seen you since the breakup, and now, here you were, looking as beautiful as ever.
Before either of you could speak, an officer approached, breaking the thick tension hanging between you and Chan.
"Ms. Ji, good evening. Long time no see," the officer greeted politely.
Chan immediately shifted his gaze, suddenly very interested in the interior of the police station. He kept his expression neutral, but his ears burned at the sound of your name.
You smiled at the officer, handing him the box of pastries. "Good job for today, Officer. Thanks for the hard work." Your voice was soft—just like it used to be when you’d ask him if he had eaten after a long, exhausting day.
The officer beamed at you. "You didn’t have to come all the way here for this, Ms. Ji. But thank you so much!"
Then, as if only just noticing the thick, unspoken air between you and Chan, the officer glanced between the two of you.
"Do you two know each other?" he asked, clearly curious.
Chan stiffened. He wanted to say something, anything, but his throat felt dry.
But you? You barely hesitated.
"We’re acquaintances," you replied smoothly, sparing Chan the briefest glance before looking away again.
"I should go, good evening." You bid the officer goodbye with a polite nod, turning on your heel to leave. The officer walked you out to the entrance.
Chan looked conflicted, exhaling sharply before running a hand through his hair. Then, with a pointed look at his younger brother—a silent command—he made his intentions clear.
Go hail a cab.
For once, his brother didn’t argue. He simply sighed, pulling out his phone as he stepped toward the curb. Thank goodness. Even though he had just been detained for fighting with another student, at least he had the decency to recognize that Chan’s love life was a bigger mess.
Chan, however, had no time to dwell on that. His long strides carried him after you, his heartbeat picking up as the crisp night air bit at his skin.
"Hey."
You stopped.
Your fingers instinctively tightened around the strap of your bag before you slowly turned to face him.
"Hey."
It had been over a year, yet your voice still sounded exactly the same—soft, steady, untouched by heartbreak.
Chan swallowed, his hands digging deeper into his pockets. How did you still manage to look so unaffected?
"You, uh… come here often?"
A dry breath of amusement left you as you tilted your head slightly. "If you’re trying to make a joke, that was a terrible attempt."
He huffed out a short chuckle, shaking his head at himself. "Yeah, figured." His gaze flickered to the police station building, then back to the box in your arms. "You do this a lot? Bringing pastries to the station?"
You shrugged, adjusting your grip on the box. "Yeah. They work long hours, and I always have leftovers. Seemed like a good way to put them to use."
Chan nodded, but his expression remained unreadable. A small muscle in his jaw twitched, like he wanted to say something but couldn’t quite figure out how.
Of course you’d do something like this. Thoughtful. Considerate. Always looking out for others.
Still the same.
And yet, he couldn’t say the same about himself.
The silence between you stretched, thick with unspoken words. The last time you had been this close, it had been different. Warmer. Familiar. Now, there was a distance that couldn’t be measured in steps.
Chan exhaled, his breath visible in the cold. "It’s been a while."
You gave a small nod, your gaze unreadable. "Yeah, it has."
There were a million things he wanted to ask. How have you been? Are you happy? Do you still think about me the way I still think about you? But instead, all that came out was—
"You look good."
The words settled between you, heavier than they should have been.
You pressed your lips together before offering a small smile, the kind that didn't quite reach your eyes. "Thanks."
Chan wanted to say more, to keep you standing there just a little longer, but before he could, a car honked nearby. His brother waved him over from the curb, signaling that the cab had arrived.
You took that as your cue to leave, adjusting your grip on the box before turning slightly. "I should get going."
He nodded, even though everything in him wanted to stop you. "Yeah… me too."
Another pause. Another breath caught between the past and present.
"Take care, Chan."
And just like that, you were walking away.
Chan stood there, watching as you disappeared down the sidewalk, his hands clenching into fists in his pockets.
Funny. He had spent so much time convincing himself that seeing you again wouldn’t change anything.
But now, he wasn’t so sure.
*
That night, Chan found himself doing something he never thought he would—scrolling through your social media. The account he had unblocked just hours ago.
You didn’t post often, just the occasional pictures with friends or snapshots of your bakery. But as he scrolled, his eyes caught on the details—the way your hair had grown out before you cut it again, the soft waves framing your face in a way that tugged at something deep in his chest. That image stayed with him longer than he expected, lingering in the back of his mind like an old song he couldn’t shake.
Then his finger stopped.
A photo of your bakery.
Decorated for his birthday.
Chan’s eyes narrowed, his breath catching slightly as he took in the details. His face on the banners, the pastries colored to match his band’s theme—every little thing meticulously arranged. And the post date? Just last month.
Why would you do this?
You had no reason to. You weren’t together anymore. If anything, he thought you resented the fact that he had chosen his career over you.
Wasn’t that why you broke up in the first place?
A strange feeling curled in his stomach. He didn’t know what it was—regret? Hope? Confusion?
But then, as he scrolled further, the feeling twisted into something else entirely.
A group photo.
You, smiling, standing among friends. And beside you, a man.
His arm slung casually over your shoulders. Too casual. Too comfortable.
Chan’s jaw clenched. His fingers tightened around his phone as he zoomed in slightly, analyzing the guy like it was second nature. As a man himself, he knew that kind of touch. It wasn’t just friendly. There was something in the way the guy stood close to you, the way he seemed at ease, like he belonged there.
"Who the hell is this?" he muttered, brows furrowing.
Like a magnet, his eyes kept finding the same man in different posts. Sitting beside you. Standing beside you. Slinging his arm around yours. Even touching your cheek in one picture—something that had Chan’s stomach flipping uncomfortably.
"What’s up with this guy?" He snorted, irritation creeping into his tone.
He tried to check the guy’s profile, but you hadn’t tagged anyone. Not a single name. Smart. Frustratingly so.
And then—
A notification.
You had just posted an Instagram story.
Chan tapped on it immediately.
A simple, cryptic sentence:
“Even if there’s a reason… could it be the reason?”
His brows shot up.
"What is that supposed to mean?"
He stared at the words, trying to decipher them, trying to connect them to the birthday post, to the pictures with that guy, to you.
And for the first time in a long while, he felt something unfamiliar creeping in—
The unsettling thought that maybe, just maybe—
He had been too late.
*
"That's your problem, Lee Chan. You're too possessive but insecure at the same time."
Seungkwan didn't hold back as he took a sip of his drink, lounging comfortably in his apartment. He, Jeonghan, and Chan had settled into an impromptu drinking session after Chan had shown up unannounced, dragging along bottles of soju and cans of beer—clearly looking for an outlet.
Jeonghan raised a brow, intrigued by the turn of conversation. “That could be true…”
Seungkwan chuckled, shaking his head. “That is true. If you want to have a good relationship, you only need one—either confidence or possessiveness. Look at Mingyu and Seungcheol hyung.”
"Seungcheol is a bit possessive, though," Jeonghan pointed out.
Seungkwan waved a dismissive hand. "That’s just a concept. It makes him look cute."
Chan groaned, running a hand down his face. “But think about it—how could I not be insecure when she never wanted to introduce me to her friends? Was it because of that guy?” His voice tightened on the last part, irritation creeping in.
Seungkwan sighed, exasperated. He pointed a finger at Chan to Jeonghan. “Look at this fool. You’re an idol, Chan. How could she introduce an idol as her boyfriend? Where’s your brain? Did you leave it behind at practice?”
Jeonghan nodded, though he was still weighing both sides. "I actually get where Chan’s coming from, though. Y/n is very beautiful, and she’s competent too—a lot of men want her. But she never really made it clear that she was off-limits.”
Chan’s eyes widened in relief. “Right?! And I was so patient, trying to understand her, trying to make it work. But she was the one who broke up with me?” His voice rose slightly, frustration evident. To anyone else, it would have sounded like a fresh wound rather than something that had happened a year ago.
He put his can of beer down a little too abruptly, the sound echoing in the quiet of Seungkwan’s living room.
Jeonghan glanced at him, amused but also slightly concerned. “What did she say when she broke up with you?”
Chan inhaled sharply, closing his eyes. The memory crashed into him like a wave—too vivid, too raw, even after all this time.
It had been the day after Valentine’s Day.
Chan had just gotten back from a three-day trip abroad, exhausted beyond belief, desperate for nothing more than a proper rest. He had been on edge all day, feeling sensitive after the long flight. But the moment he stepped into his apartment, his fatigue was replaced by confusion.
Your suitcase was sitting in the living room.
Your bag rested beside it.
His heart sank.
Hadn’t you two been arguing all week? Was this about Valentine’s Day? Had it really come to this?
"Let’s not do this," Chan had said the moment he saw you emerge from the bedroom, another bag in your hand.
You didn’t look at him. Didn’t even pause. You simply walked forward, grabbing your luggage as if he wasn’t even standing there.
Chan moved quickly, stepping in front of you, blocking your path. “Where are you going?”
Your expression was unreadable when you finally met his gaze. "Home."
Chan’s chest tightened. "This is your home," he insisted.
But you shook your head. "Let’s take a break."
Chan had never believed in breaks. There was no such thing in his dictionary. A break was just a softer way to say breakup. And if you wanted to break up, then he deserved to at least know why.
"Is this because I chose work over spending Valentine’s Day with you?" he demanded, irritation creeping into his voice.
You frowned slightly. "That’s what you think of me?" A bitter smile tugged at your lips. "Then let’s say that’s the reason."
Chan’s frustration spiked. "What do you mean? At least explain it to me!"
You just shook your head again, gripping your luggage and moving past him.
"How can I let you go if you don’t tell me the real reason?"
That was when you turned to face him, your voice quiet but firm.
"You said it yourself— you chose work over me. That’s the reason."
Chan had stared at you, searching for something in your face. A crack in your expression. A hesitation. Anything that would tell him that you didn’t mean it.
But you nodded, steady. Unwavering.
"Yeah."
And then you walked out of the door, left him.
Back in Seungkwan’s apartment, silence stretched between the three of them after Chan finished recounting the memory.
Seungkwan was the first to break it, crossing his arms over his chest. "If I were you, I wouldn’t believe it."
Chan shot him a skeptical look. "Why? She said it herself."
Seungkwan sighed, shaking his head. “You know… sometimes women don’t tell the truth—not because they want to lie, but because they don’t want to hurt you more than necessary.”
Jeonghan, who had been silently listening, hummed in agreement.
"And maybe," Seungkwan added, his voice softer, "that was the least painful thing she could say to you."
*
"I'm sorry, but we're clo—"
Your words faltered the moment you saw who stood in front of the entrance.
Chan.
There, standing just beyond the threshold, was Chan. His presence felt almost out of place against the warm glow of your bakery’s lights, his frame silhouetted by the dim streetlamps outside. He held a paper bag in one hand, gripping it just a little too tightly. He looked unsure—out of place, as if he wasn’t sure whether he should be standing there at all.
For a second, neither of you spoke. The quiet between you was filled with things unsaid, memories neither of you had dared to touch for too long.
Then, finally, you found your voice.
"Chan… Hey," you greeted, pushing open the counter divider to step closer to him.
You glanced at the clock. 10 PM. The bakery had closed an hour ago, yet here he was, standing at your doorstep like he had something important to say.
"I haven’t come here in a week," he said abruptly, as if that explained his presence.
You nodded, already aware of it. It wasn’t hard to notice when someone like him stopped showing up. He had been coming almost every morning—until that night at the police station. After that, he disappeared.
Your eyes flickered to the bag in his hand. Before you could ask, he extended it toward you.
"I was in Italy for a week," he said, shifting slightly. "I got you a bottle of wine from a local winery there."
Surprise flickered across your face as you carefully took the bag from him. You peeked inside, fingers tracing over the sleek packaging before your eyes landed on the label.
Made in 1999.
Your lips parted slightly. That was the year Chan was born. The wine was as old as he was.
"You didn’t have to," you murmured, glancing up at him. "This must’ve been expensive."
Chan shrugged, his eyes darting toward the bakery’s interior instead of meeting yours. "I just… I wanted to thank you. For the birthday event. The fans must’ve loved it."
Your heart clenched at that. He was referring to the special decorations you had set up last month—his face on banners, pastries in his band’s colors. At the time, you weren’t even sure why you had done it. Maybe it was just an old habit you couldn't shake, or maybe it was something else.
You bit your bottom lip, your gaze shifting to the wine glasses sitting on a cabinet nearby.
Without thinking, you walked over, grabbing two and setting them on a small table near the counter.
"Let’s drink it together," you said, glancing at him over your shoulder.
Chan immediately waved his hand. "No, it’s a present. You should keep it."
You smiled, tilting your head slightly. "It’s okay." A small chuckle escaped your lips. "I don’t like drinking alone."
The moment the words left your mouth, you regretted them.
Because once upon a time, he had been the one you shared drinks with. Late-night conversations, quiet moments, the kind of familiarity that felt effortless.
And now, standing across from him, you weren’t sure if you were trying to relive a memory—
Or trying to forget one.
"Your worker..." Chan started, his voice casual yet laced with something unreadable.
You turned to him as you poured the deep red wine into his glass, the rich aroma filling the small space between you. He looked as charismatic as ever, effortlessly commanding attention even in something as simple as denim pants and a loose white shirt. His long hair, tucked neatly behind his ears, framed his face in a way that made your breath hitch—a sight you hadn’t expected to affect you so much. Unfair. So much unfair.
"Sunoo?" You guessed, already knowing your overly enthusiastic employee was the likely subject. Sunoo had a knack for keeping the bakery alive with his energy and charm, but sometimes—just sometimes—you wished he’d mind his own business, that little menace.
Chan nodded, confirming your suspicion. "Yeah, I think it’s Sunoo. He always makes me that Americano with berry syrup."
You froze.
Oh, dear god.
You needed to sit down. Or disappear. Preferably both.
Internally, you launched into a full-scale attack on Sunoo. That little rascal. That absolute traitor. You should’ve known better than to trust him near the espresso machine unsupervised.
You groaned, dragging a hand down your face. "Oh my god. Chan, I am so sorry. You hate that flavor, don’t you?"
Chan chuckled, waving it off. "Yeah, but it’s fine. He didn’t know."
"No, it’s not fine!" you wailed dramatically, gripping the wine bottle like a lifeline. "I can’t believe he’s been sabotaging your morning coffee all this time. What should I do to make it up to you? Free pastries? Free coffee for life? A legally binding contract that bans Sunoo from touching the espresso machine ever again?"
Chan laughed, shaking his head. "You don’t have to do all that."
"No, I do," you insisted. "And while I’m at it, I might need to stage an intervention for Sunoo. What was he thinking? Who just decides to put berry syrup in an Americano?!"
Chan grinned, watching your mini meltdown with mild amusement. "Maybe he was just trying to be creative?"
You pointed an accusatory finger at him. "No. No. We do not encourage Sunoo’s creative coffee experiments. That’s how we ended up with the Matcha Espresso Disaster of last year."
Chan laughed even harder, and for a moment, the bakery felt a little lighter, like you weren’t two exes dancing around old wounds.
Still, you were going to have a very serious conversation with Sunoo in the morning.
"Have dinner with me."
Chan’s voice cut through the quiet hum of the bakery, steady but carrying something unspoken—something heavy.
Your breath hitched for just a second. "I’m sorry, what?" The words tumbled out before you could catch them, your brows furrowing in disbelief.
Chan didn’t flinch. He only nodded, his gaze locked onto yours with a quiet urgency. "Have dinner with me this weekend. You said you wanted to make it up to me, right?"
A soft, nervous laugh escaped you, but it did nothing to ease the sudden tension that thickened the air. "Chan… I don’t think—"
"As a friend," he cut in, his voice quieter this time, almost pleading. "Just as a friend. Please." His Adam’s apple bobbed as he swallowed, his fingers curling slightly against the counter. "It’s been a while since we really talked."
Your chest tightened. You glanced down at the glass in your hand, as if the deep red of the wine might offer you an escape. "We’re talking now, aren’t we?" You tried to sound casual, but your voice came out softer than you intended.
Chan let out a breath—part scoff, part something else. Then, he leaned in just slightly, the warmth of his presence making it impossible to ignore him.
He licked his lower lip, eyes still on you, unwavering.
"Are we?"
*
You stepped into his house just as the clock struck seven. Chan’s eyes immediately landed on the plastic bag in your hand—probably filled with your favorite food, just like always. It was a habit of yours, bringing something to eat whenever you came over, as if his kitchen wasn’t enough. It was something so familiar, so you, that it almost made him forget how long it had been since you last stood here.
He held the door open as you slipped off your shoes and made your way to the living room.
"It's clean…" You remarked, your eyes scanning the space with mild surprise.
Chan let out a short laugh, rubbing the back of his neck in a nervous tick. "Yeah… I try to keep it that way. But, you know, sometimes a hectic day hits, and it turns into a shipwreck."
You chuckled, settling onto his couch like you belonged there. And maybe that was what threw him off the most—you still fit into this space.
Chan swallowed and turned on his heel, heading toward the kitchen. He quickly grabbed a couple of containers for the food you brought, his hands moving on autopilot. But as he reached for a dish towel, he caught himself—he was stalling. Wiping down a bowl he’d already washed an hour ago just to keep busy, to calm the subtle panic creeping up his spine.
Because if he stopped moving, he’d have to face the fact that this was completely insane.
It had been an impulsive text, one he barely thought through before hitting send. Asking his ex to come over and hang out in his barely put-together apartment on his day off? He should’ve known better.
But what shocked him more was your response.
"Sure."
So casual. So effortless. So unlike the emotional mess he’d expected.
Chan had to check his phone twice to make sure it was actually you who replied.
And now here you were, sitting on his couch like it was the most natural thing in the world, while he stood in his kitchen trying to push down the ridiculous amount of effort he put into cleaning just because you were coming over.
Maybe this was a bad idea.
Or maybe… he wasn’t ready to let go just yet.
Chan approached you, setting the containers down on the coffee table before crouching beside you to help unpack the food. His fingers brushed against yours briefly as he pulled out a box, and for a moment, he wondered if you noticed. If you cared.
"You didn’t have to bring anything," he commented, glancing at you as he reached for another container. "We could’ve just ordered something."
"You say that like you don’t miss my good taste," you teased, but there was something softer in your voice—something familiar.
Chan let out a chuckle, shaking his head. But the moment his eyes landed on what you’d brought, he froze.
His favorite snack.
He blinked, his fingers still hovering over the box as realization settled in.
"I brought this for you," you said, casually, as if it wasn’t a big deal. "It’s from your favorite place."
Chan finally looked up at you, a flicker of surprise in his gaze. "That’s pretty far…"
He knew neither your place nor your bakery was anywhere near the restaurant.
You shrugged. "I went there this morning and got this on my way home. It’s already cold, though."
Cold? Did he care about that? Not at all.
The only thing that mattered was that you thought of him. That you saw the place, remembered him, and stopped to grab something for him.
His chest felt tight, like something warm was curling inside it, something he couldn’t quite name. Instead, he exhaled a quiet laugh and nudged the box closer to himself.
"You remembered," he murmured, more to himself than to you.
And for the first time that night, he let himself believe—just a little—that maybe, just maybe, he still had a place in your heart.
Chan cleared his throat, pushing away the warmth creeping up his chest. He didn’t want to dwell on it—not now, not when you were sitting here in his living room, casually unpacking food like old times. So instead, he latched onto the first neutral topic that came to mind.
"What about your bakery?" he asked, picking up a piece of the snack you’d brought. "Who’s taking care of it while you’re here?"
You glanced at him before reaching for a pair of chopsticks. "It’s closed today."
"Really?" Chan raised a brow. "You barely take a day off."
You nodded, leaning back slightly against the couch. "Sunoo, my part timer, his grandmother passed away. He went back to his hometown for the funeral."
Chan’s expression softened at that. He remembered that part timer, the one that always gave him americano with berry syrup. "Ah… That’s tough. He must’ve been close to her."
"He was," you said, stirring the food absentmindedly. "She basically raised him. That’s why I went to his hometown this morning—to pay my respects."
Chan stilled for a second, his grip on his chopsticks tightening just slightly.
You went all the way there?
His eyes flickered to you, studying your face, but you looked calm—like it was only natural for you to go.
Of course. That was just the kind of person you were. Always showing up for the people you cared about.
Chan exhaled, setting his food down. "You must be exhausted then. Going all the way there and then coming here?"
You tilted your head, as if just realizing it yourself. "Maybe a little," you admitted. "But it’s fine."
Chan clicked his tongue, shaking his head. "You should’ve just gone home to rest."
You shot him a small smirk. "And miss the chance to see your shipwreck of a house? No way."
Chan let out a laugh, finally letting the warmth settle. Once again, maybe, he wasn’t the only one holding on to things that felt familiar.
*
Chan woke up feeling refreshed this morning. He stretched his limbs, tossing and turning in bed to shake off the lingering sleepiness before finally rolling out and heading to change into his workout gear.
On his way to the gym, his fingers were busy scrolling through his phone, instinctively opening your chat from last night after you went home. He hovered over the keyboard, debating whether to send you a message.
A morning text? Too much.
A witty text? Maybe something playful—
"Hey... I dreamed about you last night ;)"
Chan grimaced. Nope. That sounded like a terrible idea for a text to an ex.
Before he could think further, his thumb betrayed him.
"Hey.."
His eyes widened. He gasped.
Did he just—
Chan stopped in his tracks, staring at his screen in horror. Maybe if he deleted it fast enough—
Ding.
Your reply came almost instantly.
"Hey."
Chan blinked. Then exhaled, pressing his lips together to suppress a stupid smile.
Chan: In your bakery?
You: Yup!
Chan: Can I visit after my gym session?
You: Sure. I'll get your sandwich ready then. Bacon?
Chan: Perfect. See you then!
Chan breathed a sigh of relief, his heart feeling oddly lighter as he continued his walk to the gym.
Upon arriving, he spotted Jihoon—a rare sight at this hour. Given that it was still their day off, the older guy usually wasn’t functional before 1 PM.
"You’re here early," Chan noted as Jihoon finished his set, placing the dumbbells down with steady breaths.
Jihoon nodded. "Got an agenda this afternoon."
Chan smirked, whistling playfully. "Oh? That sounds suspicious—"
Jihoon shot him a glare. "Don’t look at me like that as if you weren’t with your ex last night."
Chan’s smirk instantly dropped. His eyes widened. He stepped closer to Jihoon, lowering his voice. "How do you know?"
Jihoon gave him a flat look. "I saw you sending her off. We live in the same area, genius."
Chan groaned, running a hand through his hair. Right. He forgot about that.
Jihoon tilted his head slightly, arms crossed. "So… you two back together?"
Chan shook his head, trying to dismiss whatever was running through Jihoon's mind. "We’re just talking again. As friends, I guess? Yeah..." He nodded, as if saying it out loud would make it more true.
Jihoon hummed, wiping his hands with his towel. "Uh-huh."
Chan shot him a look. "What?"
Jihoon shrugged, tossing the towel over his shoulder. "Nothing. Just funny, that’s all."
Chan rolled his eyes and checked the time. "I don’t know why I still talk to you."
Jihoon chuckled. "Because you need someone to call you out on your denial."
Chan groaned, running a hand through his hair. "I'm not in denial."
"Yeah, keep telling yourself that," Jihoon said, patting his shoulder before grabbing his own water bottle.
Chan sighed, running a hand through his hair before finally giving in. "Alright, fine. I’ll tell you what happened."
Jihoon raised an eyebrow, clearly entertained. "Go on."
Chan leaned against a nearby bench, crossing his arms. "Yesterday, I invited her over. It was kind of impulsive, but she said yes."
Jihoon nodded, waiting for more.
"So, I spent the whole damn day cleaning my place—like, deep cleaning, man. I don’t even know why, but I just wanted it to look nice."
Jihoon smirked but didn’t interrupt.
"She showed up with food, her usual thing, right? But this time, she brought my favorite snack. And guess what? She got it from that place across town—the one that’s way out of her way."
Jihoon let out a low whistle. "That’s commitment."
Chan ignored the way his stomach flipped at that. "I didn’t even know what to say. I just—man, she thought about me while she was out there. That kind of messed with me a little."
Jihoon gave him a knowing look. "And you’re still calling this just talking?"
Chan shot him a glare. "Let me finish."
Jihoon held up his hands in surrender. "Alright, alright. Continue."
Chan exhaled. "We talked, she told me about Sunoo, her staff—he’s dealing with some family stuff, so she visited his hometown earlier that morning."
Jihoon’s expression softened. "Oh, that’s rough."
"Yeah, she closed the bakery for the day because of it. Which means she didn’t even have to be up early, but she still went out of her way for all that."
Jihoon hummed, the teasing tone fading slightly. "She cares, Chan."
Chan rubbed his neck. "I know."
A beat of silence passed before Jihoon smirked again. "And then this morning?"
Chan let out a short laugh. "Woke up feeling... I don’t know, refreshed? Like, it wasn’t a bad feeling, but it wasn’t exactly normal either."
Jihoon raised an eyebrow. "You felt happy."
Chan groaned. "Why do you have to say it like that?"
Jihoon chuckled. "Because it’s the truth."
Chan shook his head. "Anyway, I’m stopping by the bakery after this. She’s already making my usual sandwich."
Jihoon grinned. "She remembers your usual? And you’re still trying to act like this is casual?"
Chan shot him a look. "Hyung."
Jihoon laughed, slapping Chan’s shoulder. "Alright, alright. But I’m telling you, man, this? This is not just talking."
Chan sighed but didn’t argue. Because deep down, he knew Jihoon was right.
*
Days passed, and without either of you realizing it, things started to shift.
It wasn’t a sudden, dramatic change—it was subtle, natural, as if the distance that had settled between you was melting away piece by piece. Conversations stretched longer, laughter came easier, and before Chan knew it, you were slipping back into his life the way you always belonged.
And then, one night, it happened.
A kiss.
It wasn’t planned, it wasn’t talked about—it just happened. Maybe it was the way you looked at him when you laughed, maybe it was how the night air felt warmer with you by his side, or maybe it was just that deep, undeniable pull that had never really left.
But the moment his lips met yours, he knew.
This is it.
This was the cue. The silent signal that everything was starting again, that whatever had broken before was slowly, steadily piecing itself back together.
From then on, Chan didn’t hesitate. After his schedule, he would drive to your bakery just to pick you up, sometimes without even texting beforehand. He’d lean against the counter, watching as you wrapped up the last orders, his presence so familiar that even your staff stopped questioning it.
"Long day?" you’d ask, handing him a cup of tea or whatever you’d decided he needed that day.
And he’d smile, nodding as he took the cup from your hands. "Better now."
Sometimes, the two of you would just drive around with no real destination, the quiet hum of the car and the city lights making everything feel weightless. Other times, you’d take slow walks through empty streets, talking about your days, about nothing and everything at once.
It felt easy. It felt right.
And Chan?
Chan felt like he was finding a part of himself that had been lost all this time.
You.
Chan stepped inside your house, his gaze instinctively sweeping over your living room. It looked different from last year. The cute trinkets and soft pastels that once decorated every corner were gone, replaced with a more refined, mature aesthetic. The change was subtle, but he noticed. It wasn’t just the decor that had shifted—something about the entire space felt different, as if time itself had settled into the walls.
His eyes drifted to the kitchen, where a few dishes sat in the sink, remnants of breakfast still lingering on the counter. Maybe you hadn’t gotten around to cleaning, or maybe you’d spent the night experimenting with new recipes for your bakery. Either way, it was lived-in, real—you. And Chan liked that. It felt warm, like home, like the way you used to make his kitchen feel.
"You want tea? Coffee?" you asked, already moving toward the kitchen.
Chan shook his head, stepping closer. "No need to get your hands busy. Just sit with me," he murmured, tapping the empty space beside him on the couch.
You hesitated for a second before joining him, barely getting comfortable before he pulled you into his arms.
"I like this…" he muttered, his voice low, as if he was admitting something to himself more than to you.
A soft laugh escaped you. "Like what?"
"This," he whispered, arms tightening around you just enough for you to notice. "Being here with you again."
Your breath caught for a moment. His warmth, the quiet rise and fall of his chest, the familiar scent of his cologne—it all felt so natural, so right. Like something neither of you had ever truly let go of.
You sighed, relaxing into him. "I missed this too."
The room was quiet, save for the faint hum of the city outside and the steady rhythm of your breathing against Chan’s chest. His arms tightened around you slightly, as if grounding himself in this moment, as if afraid that if he let go, you’d slip away again.
You shifted just enough to look up at him, and Chan’s gaze met yours—warm, searching, lingering. His fingers brushed lightly along your arm before trailing up to tuck a stray strand of hair behind your ear.
"You’re staring," you murmured, a teasing lilt in your voice.
"Yeah," he admitted without hesitation, his lips curling into a small smile. "I missed looking at you."
Your breath hitched slightly, your heart betraying you with the way it picked up pace. There was something so effortless about Chan, the way he could make you feel like the only person in the world with just a look.
"Then make up for lost time," you whispered.
His eyes flickered down to your lips, hesitation flashing in his features for just a second—one last moment of restraint before he closed the distance between you.
The first brush of his lips was slow, careful, almost like he was testing the waters. But the second? The second was deeper, fuller, laced with all the unsaid words and emotions that had been hanging between. His hand cupped your jaw, tilting your face to his as he pressed in closer, his thumb stroking gently along your cheek.
Your fingers curled into the fabric of his hoodie, pulling him even closer as the kiss deepened. It wasn’t rushed—it was unhurried, savoring, like both of you wanted to memorize this moment, to make sure it wasn’t just a fleeting dream.
Chan sighed against your lips, pulling back just enough to rest his forehead against yours. "Tell me this isn't just nostalgia," he whispered, voice slightly breathless.
You shook your head, brushing your fingers through his hair. "It’s not."
Relief washed over his face before he captured your lips again, this time with more certainty. Like he wasn’t just falling—he was diving headfirst. And this time, he wasn’t afraid of the landing.
Chan woke up with you in his arms almost every morning. Not that he planned it every time, but he tried—and he could. Sometimes he crashed at your place, claiming it was too late to drive home. Other times, he dragged you to his, using the excuse that his bed was bigger, softer, warmer. The truth was, he just wanted to see you first thing in the morning.
Like now.
He blinked against the morning light filtering through your curtains, the weight of your body pressed against his chest grounding him in the best way. Your face was buried in the crook of his neck, your hand lazily resting on his hoodie, the fabric bunched slightly in your grasp as if even in your sleep, you didn’t want him to go.
Chan smiled, his fingers brushing along your back, tracing idle patterns. You stirred slightly, a soft hum escaping your lips before your body relaxed again.
"You're staring," you mumbled, voice still heavy with sleep.
Chan chuckled, pressing a kiss to your forehead. "Yeah. I like looking at you."
"You say that too much," you whined, but the way your fingers curled against his hoodie betrayed the warmth spreading through you.
"Then you should get used to it," he murmured, his lips brushing against your temple. "Because I don’t think I’ll ever stop."
You sighed, tilting your head up just enough for your lips to find his. It was slow, lazy—like the morning itself, like neither of you were in any rush to move, to leave the bubble of warmth you’d created. Chan sighed into the kiss, his hand slipping under the hem of your sweater, resting against the bare skin of your waist.
"You have to open the bakery today?" he asked between kisses.
You hummed, but made no move to pull away. "Not until ten."
Chan smirked. "That means we have at least two more hours."
You rolled your eyes, but your lips were already curving into a smile as Chan flipped you onto your back, leaning over you with that mischievous look in his eyes—the one that always, always made you weak.
"Two hours," you reminded him, though the way you pulled him closer told a different story.
"Plenty of time," he whispered before capturing your lips again.
*
"You're back together."
Hansol mentioned it too casually one day during their recording session for the next comeback, his voice carrying over the hum of instruments and the quiet chatter of the producers.
Chan raised a brow, glancing at him from his seat. "How do you know? Jihoon hyung told you?"
Hansol furrowed his brows. "Jihoon hyung knew?"
Chan let out a nervous chuckle, scratching the back of his neck. "I mean—he saw us. So..."
Hansol nodded slowly, then sighed, arms crossed over his chest. "I saw her in your clothes this morning. That shirt—I gave it to you."
Chan’s mouth formed an "O" as realization hit. Right. That oversized, faded gray shirt you had grabbed from his closet before rushing out the door.
"You're right..." He huffed a laugh before shrugging. "And yeah, we’re talking again."
Hansol smirked. "Isn’t it a bit much to be wearing your clothes in the morning while still in the ‘talking again’ phase?"
Chan scoffed, shaking his head. "Hey, respect all the effort. It took me a whole year to finally realize everything."
Hansol’s smirk softened into something gentler. "Well, I’m happy for you, though." His voice was quieter now, more sincere.
Chan met his gaze, the corners of his lips twitching up. It felt nice, hearing that from Hansol—like the pieces of his life were finally clicking back into place.
"Did Seungkwan know about this?" Hansol asked suddenly, a knowing glint in his eyes.
Chan blinked, then quickly shook his head. "Haven’t told him yet."
Hansol snorted. "Oh, that’s gonna be fun."
The next day, Seungkwan strolled up to Chan with an unreadable expression, arms crossed over his chest like he was about to deliver some sort of life-altering news.
"You’ll never guess who I ran into yesterday," Seungkwan started, watching Chan’s face closely.
Chan barely looked up from his phone, tapping out a quick message before pocketing it. "Who?"
"Wonha."
That got Chan’s attention. He blinked, brows furrowing slightly as he tried to place the name properly. Wonha. His ex from his early twenties. One of the few exes he actually had a good relationship with after the breakup.
"Huh," Chan muttered, tilting his head. "How’s she doing?"
Seungkwan raised a brow. "She’s doing well. And—" He leaned in slightly as if dropping a bombshell. "She asked for your number."
Chan blinked again, this time in mild surprise. "Oh?"
"Yeah. Said she wanted to catch up."
Chan leaned back in his chair, processing that. Wonha had always been a good friend, even when they realized romance wasn’t for them. There was no dramatic fallout, no resentment. Just two people who grew apart but still wished each other well.
"Did you give it to her?"
Seungkwan rolled his eyes. "Would I be telling you this if I didn’t?"
Chan chuckled, shaking his head. "Guess not."
And so, he waited. Not anxiously, not with any particular anticipation, but with a vague curiosity. He knew he wouldn’t reach out first—that wasn’t his style. If she really wanted to talk, she’d text.
And she did.
A simple Hey, Chan! It’s been forever. How’ve you been? popped up on his screen later that evening.
Chan hesitated for half a second before typing back.
Hey, Wonha! Yeah, it has been. I’ve been good. You?
The conversation flowed easily after that, casual and familiar. Like two old friends catching up. Because that’s all it was. A friendly catch-up.
Or at least, that’s what Chan told himself.
The next day, Chan found himself spending the entire afternoon at your bakery, pretending he was just there to help out but mostly just looking for excuses to be near you. He chatted with Sunoo, stole a few samples of the new pastries you were testing, and even helped clean up when things got a little messy in the kitchen. But really, he was just waiting for the clock to hit nine.
And the second it did, he was already grabbing your coat from the rack and tossing it over your shoulders.
"Let's go," he said, nudging you toward the door.
You raised a brow, amused by his impatience. "I need to close up first, you know?"
"I’ll help," he insisted, already moving to flip the sign to closed and gathering whatever needed tidying up.
It barely took five minutes before he was pulling you to his car, a familiar routine by now—one that neither of you questioned anymore.
"Where to?" he asked, fingers drumming against the steering wheel as he glanced at you.
You hummed, thinking. "Han River. Convenience store. Instant noodles and maybe a can of beer."
Chan grinned, nodding as he shifted gears. "Classic."
The drive was smooth, city lights blurring past as the two of you fell into easy conversation about your day. It was moments like this that made Chan realize how much he had missed this—the late-night drives, the effortless company, the way you made him feel like no matter how exhausting his schedule was, this was always worth it.
When you arrived, the convenience store was quiet, only a few other night owls scattered around, either enjoying their own late-night snacks or lost in their own worlds. Chan grabbed a basket, filling it with your usual picks—two cups of instant noodles, a can of beer for you, and a bottle of water for himself. He threw in a bag of chips for good measure before heading to the cashier.
As you both settled at one of the outdoor tables overlooking the river, the crisp night air wrapped around you, but it wasn’t cold. Not with Chan beside you.
"You ever think about how we always end up here?" you mused, watching the steam curl up from your noodles.
Chan chuckled, tapping his chopsticks against the rim of his cup. "Yeah. It’s like our thing, isn’t it?"
You nodded, smiling softly. "Our thing."
Chan watched you for a moment, something warm settling in his chest. Maybe it had always been this simple. Maybe it had always been you.
After a while, between bites of noodles and sips of beer, the conversation flowed effortlessly—talking about anything and everything, teasing each other, reminiscing old memories. The laughter came easily, and for Chan, it felt like breathing.
Then someone approached.
"Chan?"
He looked up, chopsticks frozen mid-air, and his eyes widened in surprise. "Wonha?"
She smiled, standing there with casual ease, as if running into him was the most natural thing in the world. They greeted each other, the familiarity still lingering despite the years apart.
Then her gaze shifted to you, curiosity flickering in her expression. "And you are...?"
Chan blinked. He hadn't thought about this. Hadn't thought about how to define this, to define you. Girlfriend? Ex? Friend? What were you now?
"We're close," he finally said, the words feeling strange on his tongue.
You, ever composed, simply smiled and extended a hand. "Nice to meet you, I'm Y/n."
Wonha shook your hand, offering a polite nod. The conversation that followed was friendly—catching up, lighthearted small talk. Wonha mentioned she was back in town for a while, talked about work, asked about Chan’s schedule. But despite the casual nature, there was an underlying awkwardness, a tension Chan couldn’t quite shake.
And when Wonha finally excused herself, the silence she left behind was even heavier.
You didn’t say anything at first, just finished the last of your drink, eyes focused on the rippling water of the river. Chan shifted in his seat, glancing at you, waiting for you to say something—anything.
Then, after what felt like forever, you spoke.
"Let’s go home."
It was simple, but it carried weight.
Chan let out a breath he didn’t realize he was holding. Finally, the silence is cut.
He nodded, standing up and grabbing the trash, his mind racing as he followed you back to the car.
*
Chan couldn’t reach you for almost a week. At first, he thought you were just busy. He texted, called a couple of times, but the replies were short, if they came at all. He even stopped by your bakery, only to have Sunoo mention in passing that you had gone on a business trip to another town.
That was when the uneasy feeling started creeping in.
You hadn’t mentioned anything about a trip to him. And worse—when he thought about it, he realized you had been slowly distancing yourself for the past week. Maybe even longer.
He wanted to believe he was overthinking, but deep down, he knew better. You were avoiding him.
And as if that wasn’t bad enough, another problem decided to make an appearance.
That morning, his phone was bombarded with notifications—texts, calls, mentions. At first, he thought it was just another work update or a group chat going off. But then Seungkwan's name flashed on his screen.
"Congrats, man. So, when were you planning to tell us?"
Chan frowned. "Tell you what?"
Seungkwan sighed dramatically. "The dating news, obviously. Your article is everywhere."
Chan's heart dropped. He pulled up social media, and there it was—a headline with his name splashed all over the place:
"Seventeen's Dino spotted on a date? Rumors of a relationship surface after café sighting!"
Accompanied by a picture.
A picture of him sitting across from a girl at a café.
And the girl in the photo?
It wasn’t you.
It was Wonha.
Chan froze, staring at the screen in disbelief. His members started chiming in one by one—congratulations, playful teasing, all assuming the article was true.
He ran a hand down his face, exhaling sharply. "This isn’t true."
The only thing he could do now was call the company, demand a clarification, and make sure the world knew that Wonha was just a friend.
But even if he could fix this problem, there was still you.
And right now, you were already slipping away.
"Why don’t you ask the girl you met at the café about her?"
Sunoo’s response was sharp, his words slicing through the tension in the air. Chan had barely stepped foot into the bakery before being met with that cold remark.
It had been a week since the scandal broke, a week since he had last seen you. And now, here he was, standing in the familiar warmth of your bakery, trying to explain himself.
“It was a misunderstanding,” Chan started, his voice firm but laced with frustration. “The media twisted it, like they always do.”
Sunoo didn’t look convinced. He crouched behind the counter, rummaging for something, before standing back up and placing a small sign in front of the register.
Chan furrowed his brows, reading the words aloud.
"House reserves the right to refuse service to anyone."
"Wait—this is a thing?" Chan asked, blinking in disbelief. He had never seen that sign here before.
Sunoo nodded, arms crossed. "House rule. F&B industry stuff. You wouldn’t understand since you come from entertainment."
Chan let out a dry chuckle, rolling his eyes. "You keep talking about industries. Why don’t you just tell me where Y/n is?"
Sunoo’s expression hardened. He leaned against the counter, gaze unwavering. "Why? You want to see her? Talk to her? Do you always check in on your ex like this?"
Chan felt his breath hitch. "What are you talking about?"
But before Sunoo could respond, the bell above the door chimed, signaling a new customer. In an instant, his demeanor shifted.
"Welcome!" Sunoo greeted with a bright, polite voice, flashing a smile at the guest. But just before he turned away completely, he cast Chan one last glance—one filled with something unreadable.
And just like that, Chan was left standing there, feeling as though the ground beneath him had suddenly become unsteady.
"He's gone..." Sunoo murmured, still watching through the bakery window as Chan disappeared down the street.
You stepped out of the kitchen, wiping your hands on a towel before settling onto one of the bar stools. Your expression was unreadable, but Sunoo could see the tension in your shoulders.
"You okay?" he asked, leaning against the counter.
You let out a chuckle, though it lacked humor. "Why wouldn’t I be okay?"
Sunoo raised an eyebrow. "Well, for starters, you’ve been avoiding him for a week. And second, you were just hiding in the kitchen the moment he walked in."
You scoffed, shaking your head. "I was busy."
"Right," Sunoo drawled, crossing his arms. "Too busy to tell him you were going on a business trip? Too busy to tell him you're upset?"
You exhaled, resting your elbows on the counter as you looked down at your hands. "What do you want me to say, Sunoo?"
"Maybe the truth?" he suggested. "Because from where I'm standing, it looks like you're running away."
You bit your lip, but didn’t say anything.
Sunoo sighed, softening his voice. "You know, whatever it is you're feeling, you're allowed to feel it. You don’t have to act like nothing happened."
You glanced at him, eyes flickering with something close to hesitation. Sunoo didn’t push further, but he didn’t back down either.
"Just… think about it," he said before turning back to work, leaving you with your thoughts.
*
You went home, exhausted, only to halt in surprise at the sight of Chan squatting in front of your unit, scrolling through his phone. The glow of the screen illuminated his furrowed brows, but the moment his eyes caught yours, he stood up immediately.
"Now we meet," he said, his voice firm. You could hear the frustration laced in his words, see it in the way his shoulders tensed. But you were more upset than he was, and in your mind, he deserved every second of silence you'd given him.
"You're just going to give me the silent treatment? Like you always do?"
Your hand froze on the door handle. Slowly, you turned to face him.
"I thought we were over a year ago," you said, your tone indifferent.
Chan sighed, raking a hand through his hair. "And here I thought we had a chance."
You crossed your arms, looking at him with unreadable eyes. "What do you want, Chan?"
"You have no idea how crazy I’ve been this past week. After everything between us, you just disappeared, like you always do. This isn’t how you handle things. You don’t just vanish when things get tough."
You scoffed, shaking your head as you looked down at your shoes. "Oh, sure…" Lifting your head, you met his gaze with something sharp, something cold. "You’d know all about that, wouldn’t you? Playing with someone’s heart."
Chan's brows furrowed, his expression a mix of confusion and hurt. "What are you trying to say?"
"You’re good at it," you said, voice unwavering. "Messing with people's feelings."
His frustration cracked into something closer to disbelief. "You’re the one who left me. A year ago and now. Don’t make it seem like I was the one who walked out that night."
Your jaw clenched as you turned away, gripping the door handle once more. "You have no right to tell me that."
"Grow up."
You stopped.
"Nobody in this world is a mind reader," Chan continued, his voice quieter but no less firm. "So grow up and say what’s in your head. I can’t guess what you’re thinking, and I need you to tell me what’s wrong, what needs fixing. I know I lack a lot, but after everything—after seeing you again—I want to be better. But the way you treat me... it's making me feel small."
You didn't respond immediately, your heart pounding in your chest. His words hit you in places you weren’t ready to acknowledge.
"Have you ever thought," you started, voice softer now, "how things would’ve been different if you had asked me to stay that night?"
Silence.
You let out a breath, your lips curling into something bitter. "You wouldn’t know, would you? Because you never even tried. And that’s what hurt me the most."
Finally, you turned fully to him, looking straight into his eyes. "You never knew how hard it was to speak my mind just to be ignored. And that’s why you never understood how much it hurt."
Chan exhaled sharply, as if your words had physically struck him.
"And now, you want me to speak?" Your voice didn’t waver, but there was a slight tremble in your fingertips. "Tell me, Chan, if I do—will you actually listen this time?"
Chan stared at you, his lips parting as if he had something to say, but no words came out. The weight of your words sank into his chest, heavy and suffocating. He had spent so long trying to understand you, but he had never really asked himself whether he had truly listened.
His silence was enough of an answer.
You exhaled sharply, shaking your head as you turned back to your door. “Exactly.”
Chan stepped forward, desperate. "I know I messed up. I know I should’ve done things differently, but Y/n, do you really think I didn’t want you to stay?"
You let out a dry laugh, gripping the doorknob but not turning it yet. "Wanting and actually doing something about it are two different things, Chan. And I waited—God, I waited for you to just say something. But you didn’t."
"I was scared," he admitted, voice raw. "I didn’t know how to ask you to stay without being selfish. I thought maybe—maybe if you left, you’d be happier."
You turned around, eyes narrowing. "And who gave you the right to decide what would make me happy?"
He faltered, guilt flashing across his face. "I—"
"Chan," you sighed, your voice softer this time, tired. "I don’t want to do this again if it's just going to end the same way."
"Then don’t let it," he pleaded. "We can be better this time. I can be better. But I need you to talk to me. No more running, no more silence. Just us—figuring this out together."
You searched his face, seeing the sincerity in his eyes, the desperation, the regret. But was it enough?
"You broke my heart," you whispered.
Chan swallowed hard, his own heart aching at your confession. "I know," he said quietly. "But if you let me, I'll spend however long it takes putting it back together."
The air between you was thick with emotion, the past lingering like a ghost neither of you could quite shake. The choice was yours now. To let him try—or to walk away for good.
You let out a quiet sigh before pushing the door open wider. "Come in."
Chan hesitated for a second, as if he didn’t expect you to actually let him in, but he stepped inside nonetheless. You didn’t want anyone witnessing the two of you arguing in the hallway, and frankly, you were too tired for a public spectacle.
The door clicked shut behind you as you walked to the dining table, pulling out a chair and sitting down. You didn’t look at him. Instead, you focused on the smooth surface of the table, tracing invisible patterns with your fingertips.
Chan, meanwhile, stood by the window, three meters away. His hands were in his pockets, his back against the frame, his posture tense yet composed. His eyes weren’t on you either. The space between you was filled with silence—thick, suffocating, and louder than any argument you could’ve had outside.
Seconds stretched into minutes, neither of you speaking. The weight of the past, of everything left unsaid, settled heavily in the room.
Eventually, Chan broke the silence. His voice was quieter this time, hesitant but firm.
"Why did you leave that night?"
Your fingers stilled against the table. You swallowed, debating whether to answer honestly or give him the same indifference you had been holding onto.
"Because I was tired," you finally said. Your voice was calm, but the bitterness in it was unmistakable.
In the past, you had always known that Chan was friendly and well-liked. That wasn’t the problem. The problem started when you kept hearing from other people—friends, fans, even strangers—that he was still close with all of his exes. Some people even made jokes about how he had never been single for more than a month before jumping into another relationship.
At first, you brushed it off, trusting him. But over time, it started to bother you—not just the rumors, but the way Chan never reassured you about them. Instead of addressing your concerns, he dismissed them like they were insignificant.
“Why are you listening to those people? You know me.”
“Come on, it’s just people making up stories. Don’t let it get in your head.”
“So what if I’m on good terms with them? It’s called being mature.”
Every time you tried to talk about it, he shut it down, making you feel like you were overreacting. He never cheated, but he never made you feel secure either. And that’s what hurt the most—his failure to recognize that trust isn’t just about being faithful, it’s about making your partner feel like they’re the only one who matters.
As months passed, you tried to hold on, tried to trust him, tried to ignore the way doubt kept creeping into your heart. But it became exhausting—feeling like you were the only one fighting against the rumors, the only one trying to hold the relationship together.
Then, there was one final moment that broke you. Maybe it was another passing comment from someone about him still being close to a particular ex. Maybe it was seeing a picture of him with one of them, looking too comfortable, too familiar. Whatever it was, you tried one last time to make him understand.
“Chan, I’m tired of always hearing about you and your exes. I’m tired of feeling like I’m competing with ghosts.”
But instead of listening, he got defensive.
“You don’t trust me at all, do you? Why are you making this such a big deal?”
You sighed deeply, crossing your arms over your chest, as if trying to hold yourself together. “I was tired of fighting with my own thoughts. Because whenever I tried to bring them to the table, you brushed them away.”
Your voice was steady, but Chan could hear the exhaustion beneath it. That quiet kind of hurt—the one that lingers long after the wound is made.
He swallowed, his throat suddenly dry. “I did that?”
You let out a small, bitter laugh, shaking your head. “Yes. And I started to feel alone. Alone… alone… while you were out, hanging out—a lot—with your exes. And I was left by myself. I saw you that night. You were with your friends, and there was her…”
You didn’t have to say her name. He knew exactly who you were talking about.
Chan exhaled sharply, looking away. The weight of your words pressed against his chest, tightening like a vice.
He remembered that night—the night everything between you fell apart.
He could still hear his phone ringing, your name flashing on the screen. He had answered casually, thinking it was just another call. You told him you were at his place. You wanted to talk.
He said he’d be home soon. But he hadn’t meant it.
Instead, he stayed. Another drink. Another story. Another hour.
When he finally did go home, you were already waiting—but not in the way he had expected. You weren’t curled up on his couch, waiting to be held. You weren’t upset, demanding an explanation.
No, you were standing there—rigid, distant, already pulling away.
And before he could even process what was happening, before he could even reach for you—
You ended it.
Just like that. No screaming, no accusations, no dramatic fights.
Just quiet devastation.
“You didn’t trust me.” His voice barely broke the silence.
You met his eyes, and it sent a shiver down his spine. There was no hesitation when you answered.
“You’re right.”
The finality of it crashed into him like a wave.
Chan clenched his fists, his mind spiraling back to that night. He had stood there, watching you walk away, unable to move, unable to say a single word. Because at that moment, he was too caught up in himself.
He hadn’t thought about you. About how you had tried—again and again—to tell him what was wrong. About how you had begged, without ever raising your voice, for him to reassure you.
Instead, he had let his own frustration consume him. He had spent so long convincing himself that you were the problem—that you were overthinking, being irrational, asking for too much.
But now, hearing you say it so plainly—
You didn’t trust him. And he had given you every reason not to.
His voice was quieter this time, almost hesitant. “You never told me why…”
Your eyes flickered with something unreadable—hurt, regret, maybe even disappointment.
“Because you weren’t on the same page as me.”
Silence.
And it was deafening.
Because he knew it was true. Even if you had explained back then, he wouldn’t have understood. He would’ve dismissed it, convinced himself that you were just being insecure.
But this wasn’t insecurity.
This was trust breaking, piece by piece, until there was nothing left to hold onto.
And suddenly, he realized—you hadn’t left because you wanted to. You left because, at that moment, you had no other choice.
And that realization hurt more than he ever thought it would.
Chan knew he had lost you once because he failed to listen. He wouldn’t make that mistake again.
He stood there, leaning against your window frame, the weight of everything sinking in. The silence between you was thick—so many words left unspoken, so much hurt neither of you had truly acknowledged until now.
But this time, he wasn’t going to brush it aside. He wasn’t going to let his own emotions overshadow yours.
Chan took a slow breath and finally spoke, his voice steady but filled with raw sincerity. “I was selfish.”
You didn’t say anything, but the slight twitch in your expression told him you were listening.
“I thought I was doing enough just by being with you. I thought… if I wasn’t doing anything wrong, then there was nothing to fix. But I never stopped to ask myself if I was making you feel safe with me. If I was making you feel like you mattered.”
He pushed off the window frame, stepping closer. Not too close—just enough to show you that this time, he wasn’t running from the conversation.
“You were right to leave me that night,” he admitted. “Because I wasn’t ready to hear you. I wasn’t ready to understand. But I am now.”
The room felt smaller with Chan standing there, his presence filling the silence between you. The weight of everything—the past, the heartbreak, the unspoken words—pressed down on both of you, but for the first time, neither of you looked away.
You exhaled slowly, your arms still crossed, the shield you had built around yourself refusing to fall so easily. "You say all the right things now," you muttered, your voice quieter than before. "But words don’t erase what happened."
Chan nodded, his expression serious. "I know." He took a cautious step forward, just enough to close the emotional distance without overwhelming you. "I know words aren’t enough. But I’m not saying this just to make you forgive me. I just... need you to know that I finally get it."
His voice carried none of the frustration or defensiveness you had once been so used to. Instead, there was something raw—an understanding, a regret that felt real.
You let out a dry chuckle, shaking your head. "It took you losing me to understand?"
"Yeah," he admitted, a small, humorless smile on his lips. "I guess I had to lose you to really see how much I took for granted."
Your shoulders eased just slightly, the tension in your chest loosening. You weren't ready to forgive him, not yet. But something about the way he was speaking—**without excuses, without pushing blame onto you—**made you feel like, for once, he was truly listening.
He glanced down at his hands, exhaling deeply before meeting your gaze again. "I don't expect things to go back to the way they were. I don’t even expect you to give me another chance. But if you ever think there’s even the slightest possibility of trusting me again..." He hesitated, choosing his words carefully. "Then I want to be someone worth trusting."
Silence settled again, but it wasn’t as suffocating this time. The anger that had once flared between you had softened into something else—something uncertain, something hesitant, but no longer painful.
You sighed, finally lowering your arms. "I don’t know if I can just believe you overnight."
Chan nodded, the corner of his lips twitching into the smallest, most understanding smile. "Then let me prove it to you. No rush, no expectations. Just… let me be here. This time, I’ll listen."
And for the first time in a long time, you felt like maybe, just maybe, he would.
*
"Have you seen this?"
Attached was a screenshot—an official announcement from Pledis Entertainment.
"Dino of SEVENTEEN is currently in a relationship with a non-celebrity. We ask for your support and understanding."
The news took you by surprise.
Your name wasn’t mentioned in the official announcement, but you knew. You were the non-celebrity. The one the world was suddenly talking about. The one they were wishing happiness for.
Your phone wouldn’t stop buzzing—friends, acquaintances, even people you hadn’t spoken to in years, all reaching out with the same excitement. "Is it true?" "Are you really dating Dino?" "How did this even happen?"
You stared at the screen, overwhelmed, heart racing.
And then, there was the photo. The one of Chan in an apron, standing behind the counter of your bakery. Box on his hands, sleeves rolled up, a soft smile as he handed a customer their order. It had been taken just last weekend, completely candid. You knew because you had been standing right beside him, laughing as he struggled to tie the apron properly.
You weren’t sure how the photo got out. Maybe a customer had snapped it. Maybe a fan had recognized him. Maybe it didn’t even matter anymore—because now, the world knew.
And surprisingly, they were happy for you.
You had been terrified of this moment. Afraid of what people might say, of the scrutiny that would come with being associated with him again. But as you scrolled through the comments, you saw nothing but excitement, nothing but support.
"Dino looks so happy!"
"He really found someone special."
"He’s literally boyfriend goals, helping out at her bakery like that."
"I hope they stay together for a long time."
Your chest tightened. It felt surreal.
It had taken months to get here. Months of hesitation, of slow conversations, of learning to trust again. Months of Chan proving to you—through actions, not just words—that he had changed.
That he had finally understood.
You thought back to the first time he had shown up at your bakery. He hadn't said much, just stood there awkwardly, asking if you needed help. You had been hesitant, but you let him stay. Then he kept coming back. On his free days, between schedules, whenever he could.
And somewhere in between rolling dough, wiping flour off his face, and sneaking bites of pastries when he thought you weren’t looking—he became part of your life again.
Not as an idol. Not as the Chan you once fought with. Just as him.
You put your phone down, heart still racing.
Chan had yet to text you about the announcement. He was probably waiting, letting you process it on your own.
And for once, you weren’t afraid.
You looked toward the kitchen, where he was now—tying his apron, completely unaware that the world had just found out about you two.
You took a deep breath, stepped forward, and smiled.
"Hey, boyfriend," you teased, leaning against the counter.
Chan looked up, confused for a second, before his phone finally buzzed. His eyes widened.
"You okay?" he asked immediately, concern flickering in his gaze.
You nodded. "Are you?"
He exhaled, then grinned. "Well… at least they got my best angle."
You rolled your eyes, but you laughed. And for the first time in a long time, you weren’t looking at the past anymore.
At first, you weren’t sure how things would change.
Chan had always been social, always surrounded by people, and a part of you feared slipping back into old patterns. The nights where you’d feel left out. The moments where you questioned your place in his life. But this time, things were different.
He made sure of it.
The first time he invited you to hang out with his friends, you hesitated. You still remembered how it felt before—watching from the sidelines while he laughed with people who had known him longer, had history with him in a way you didn’t. But Chan noticed.
And instead of brushing it off, he reached for your hand.
"Hey, come here," he had said softly, pulling you into the conversation. "They’ve been wanting to meet you properly."
Properly.
Not as someone in the background. Not as just another presence in the room. But as his girlfriend.
From that day on, he never made you feel like an outsider. You were part of his world now, not just someone looking in.
Whenever he was with his friends, his arm always found its way around your shoulders. If you were feeling quiet, he’d gently pull you closer, pressing a quick kiss to the side of your head, whispering, "You okay?" If he laughed at an inside joke, he’d take the time to explain it to you. If his friends teased him, saying he had changed, he’d just smile and say, "Yeah. I did."
And then there were his exes.
Chan never cut them out of his life—not because he was holding onto the past, but because he had learned how to balance things. He didn’t hide it from you. He was transparent, always telling you if he happened to run into them, if they caught up once in a while.
But the difference now? He never let it make you feel small.
If his exes were around, he made it clear where he stood. His hand in yours. His attention on you. His presence next to you, always.
"You don’t have to worry," he’d say, eyes sincere. "I know what I want."
And he showed you.
When someone brought up his dating history, he never entertained it. If an old friend joked about how he’d never been single for long, he’d only shrug and say, "That’s in the past."
And if there was ever a moment—even the smallest second—where doubt crept into your mind, he always knew.
One night, after a dinner gathering, he noticed how you grew quiet as an old conversation about his past relationships resurfaced. He didn’t wait for you to bring it up.
In the car ride home, he reached for your hand and held it against his chest.
"Talk to me," he murmured.
You sighed, unsure how to put it into words. "I know you’re close with them. And I don’t want to be the kind of person who’s insecure about it. But sometimes…"
"Sometimes it still lingers?" he finished gently.
You nodded.
Chan didn’t get defensive. He didn’t dismiss it. He just squeezed your hand and said, "I get it. And I’m not asking you to ignore your feelings. Just… let me remind you, whenever you need it."
You looked at him, heart softening. "How will you remind me?"
He turned to you, eyes full of certainty.
"Like this."
And before you could react, he leaned in, pressing a slow, lingering kiss to your lips.
Not rushed. Not just for reassurance. But because he wanted to. Because he chose you.
And he would always make sure you knew that.
*
Seungkwan had absolutely nothing in his head as he stood near the break room, absentmindedly scrolling through his phone. It was one of those rare moments where his brain wasn’t running a hundred miles per hour—no schedules to stress over, no members to yell at for losing their things nor refusing to take their vitamins. Just mindless scrolling.
That was until he overheard Hansol’s voice from inside the room.
“She sent me some pictures. It looked good.”
Seungkwan barely paid attention at first, but then Chan’s voice followed, casual as ever.
“Yeah, she was developing a new recipe last night. She told you about that? Jeez, you’re still her favorite member, hyung.”
Seungkwan’s thumb froze mid-scroll.
She?
Recipe?
His eyes narrowed. He replayed the sentence in his head, dissecting it like a scientist analyzing a new discovery. There was only one “she” in their circle who was obsessed with baking.
His heart dropped to his stomach.
His brain took a second too long to process the words. The next thing he knew, he was barging into the room, his eyes darting between Hansol and Chan.
"WAIT, WHAT?! WHAT’S GOING ON?!"
Chan looked up lazily from his phone, blinking at Seungkwan like he had just asked if water was wet. "Uh… what do you mean?"
Seungkwan’s jaw dropped. "DID YOU JUST SAY SHE—AS IN Y/N?!"
Hansol smirked but said nothing, sipping his drink.
Chan nodded, still looking completely unbothered. "Yeah? Why?"
Seungkwan’s face contorted in a mix of betrayal and disbelief. "YOU’RE BACK TOGETHER?!"
"Uh-huh."
"AND YOU DIDN’T TELL ME?!"
Hansol chuckled, leaning back. "Dude, it’s been months."
Seungkwan gasped dramatically. "Months?!" He placed a hand on his chest as if he had just been personally attacked. "And I was the last to know?"
Chan shrugged, completely unfazed. "We didn’t exactly keep it a secret. You were just… too busy freaking out over the whole scandal thing."
"Busy freaking out—Chan, I lost SLEEP over that! I thought I ruined your life! I was having nightmares about it!" Seungkwan clutched his head as if reliving the trauma. "And the whole time, you two were just happily together behind my back?!"
Hansol patted his shoulder, failing to suppress a laugh. "Yeah, man. You really stressed yourself out for nothing."
Seungkwan groaned, collapsing onto the couch. "Unbelievable. This is betrayal. I feel so betrayed." He pointed an accusatory finger at Chan. "You should’ve told me! I deserve better than this!"
Chan chuckled, finally setting his phone down and walking over to ruffle Seungkwan’s hair. "Alright, alright. I’ll make it up to you. How about we all hang out at the bakery tomorrow? She’s testing out her new recipe."
Seungkwan’s ears perked up slightly, but he kept up his sulking act. "...The one with the cream filling?"
Chan smirked. "Yup."
Silence.
"...Fine," Seungkwan muttered, crossing his arms. "But only because of the food."
Hansol shook his head. "He forgives fast."
Seungkwan scoffed but didn’t deny it. "You’re lucky I love desserts. But I’m still mad at you."
Chan laughed, slinging an arm around him. "Sure, sure. I’ll let her know her favorite member is coming by."
Seungkwan rolled his eyes, "liar. You said it was Hansol earlier." But he couldn't help the small, satisfied smile that tugged at his lips.
And just like that, the weight of the past lifted, leaving only laughter, warmth, and the start of something even better.
ᯓwho☆: 𝒹ino x reader (fluff x fic)
ᯓwhat☆: chan and you, longtime frenemies with undeniable chemistry, finally go on a date after he nervously waits outside your apartment holding a bouquet of roses, panicking that you’ll say “wait.”
ᯓword count☆: 1k+ (1513)
ᯓnotes☆: this is my first fic on here and of course its dino! i hope you enjoy it!
you’re late. ten minutes, to be exact, but it feels like a lifetime. your heart’s been racing since the clock hit seven and the realization sank in. he’s outside. chan is actually outside your apartment building waiting for you. chan, of all people. the boy who’s spent half his life teasing you, competing with you, finding ways to drive you insane. your frenemy. your challenge. your constant. and now, your date.
you tell yourself this is ridiculous. that this is just him being cocky again, that saying yes to this date was just a way to prove you weren’t intimidated by him. except now you’re pacing your room with butterflies in your stomach and lip gloss smudged on your hand because you wiped it off and reapplied it three times. you can’t stop thinking about how good he looked when he asked you out — eyes bright, smile a little nervous, voice softer than usual like he was afraid you’d laugh at him. you did laugh, of course, because it’s chan, but then you said yes. and now you’re panicking.
“okay he’s hot but he’s my frenemy for a reason,” you mutter to yourself, trying to shake the feeling that’s been growing since that day. the same feeling that makes your chest tighten every time you catch him staring at you for too long.
meanwhile, outside, chan’s been standing near the entrance of your apartment lobby for the past fifteen minutes, holding a bouquet of red roses in one hand and pretending he’s not freaking out. he’s replaying everything in his head — the way you smiled when you said yes, the way your voice sounded lighter than usual, almost curious. he’s been waiting for this for months. maybe longer. and now he’s here, hands shaking slightly, heart pounding too fast, wondering if he looks as nervous as he feels.
he glances at his reflection in the glass door, straightens his shirt, brushes his hair back, and mutters, “it’s fine. you’re fine. she’s just late. not ditching you. probably.”
his phone buzzes in his hand, and he realizes it’s already been ten minutes. that’s when he gives in, pressing your contact and bringing the phone to his ear.
the line clicks, and before you can even say hello, his voice fills the silence — low, a little rough from the chill air. “please don’t tell me, ‘wait.’”
you freeze in front of the mirror, eyes wide, lips parting in surprise. the sound of his voice sends a shiver straight down your spine. you can hear the smile in it, that familiar mix of teasing and sincerity that only he can pull off.
“chan,” you start, but your voice catches.
“please,” he says, softer now, “don’t make me wait any longer.”
you hang up.
outside, chan’s staring at his phone, half ready to groan in defeat when he looks up — and there you are, leaning against the glass doors with a smirk. you look a little breathless, eyes catching his under the lobby light.
for a moment, everything stops. the noise of the city fades, and it’s just the two of you standing there. you, in your simple outfit that somehow looks perfect, and him, with roses still clutched in his hand, mouth curling into a grin that makes your stomach twist.
he exhales a quiet laugh. “you hung up on me.”
“you talk too much,” you say, walking toward him, but your voice isn’t as sharp as you’d like it to be.
“you’re late.”
“only ten minutes.”
“that’s ten minutes of me looking like an idiot holding flowers,” he says, though his tone is playful.
you tilt your head. “so why didn’t you just leave?” his eyes meet yours. “leave? leave my future girlfriend? hell no.” the air between you feels heavy in the best way—like a storm about to break. you can’t tell if it’s the way he’s looking at you, eyes flicking from your lips to your eyes, or the way his voice dips lower every time he speaks. whatever it is, it’s making your pulse skip.
you gesture toward the flowers, trying to deflect. “roses? how original.”
“you don’t like them?” he asks, stepping closer.
“they’re fine.”
he pouts. “i should've asked you beforehand… or asked the florist what flowers to get a girl on the first date… but hey i won't mess up on the second time!”
your eyes widen. second time? you haven't even started your first date and he's already thinking of a second one? you're blushing and you chuckle while shaking your head, "no no! i love roses."
you’re close enough now that you can see the tiny freckle just beneath his jaw, the one you’ve never noticed before. his cologne lingers in the air, warm and subtle, and it makes your head spin. he looks different tonight — still the same chan, still your rival in every way, but there’s something softer in the way he looks at you.
“ready?” he asks quietly. you nod, and the corner of his mouth lifts again. “good. because i don’t think i could’ve waited another minute.” the walk to his car is quiet, but not awkward. he opens the door for you, and when you sit down, you can feel his gaze linger for a second longer than necessary. when he finally starts driving, the tension is almost unbearable.
“so,” you say, staring out the window, “this is a date, huh?”
“that’s what you agreed to.”
“you sure it’s not another one of your competitions?”
he glances at you, eyes glinting. “if it was, i’d already be winning.” you bite back a smile. “you wish.”
“no,” he says softly, “i don’t need to wish for something that’s already happening.”
you turn to him, but he’s focused on the road again, pretending he didn’t just make your entire body freeze up. by the time you reach the restaurant, you’ve convinced yourself you can handle this. it’s just chan. you’ve been bickering for years. this is fine. except it’s not fine, because every time he looks at you, it feels like the room gets smaller, warmer.
he holds the door open again. “after you.” you roll your eyes. “you’re being suspiciously nice.”
“of course? remember this is a date?”
“shut up.”
but when your fingers brush as you take the menu from him, you don’t pull away. neither does he.
dinner is full of easy conversation and stupid jokes, the kind of laughter that makes your cheeks hurt. but beneath it all, there’s this constant, unspoken tensio —the way his knee brushes yours under the table, the way his voice softens when he says your name, the way his eyes linger a second too long every time you look up.
when it’s over, he doesn’t ask if you want to go home. he just looks at you, waiting for you to say it first.
“you’re not going to drop me off?” you ask.
“you don’t want to leave yet,” he says, confident but gentle. you open your mouth to argue, but he’s right. you don’t.
so instead, you end up walking together again, the street quiet except for the sound of your footsteps. he’s beside you, close enough that your arms brush every few steps. “you really waited outside my place for ten minutes?” you say, trying to sound casual.
“i would’ve waited longer.” you laugh. “you’re ridiculous.”
“you like that about me.”
you roll your eyes, but you’re smiling. “maybe.” he turns to look at you, and in the glow of the streetlight, his eyes are soft. “you know, when i asked you out, i thought you’d say no.”
“and miss the chance to make you sweat? never.” he chuckles quietly, then stops walking. you turn to face him.
“you did make me sweat,” he admits. "thought you were gonna blow me off."
the words sink into the air between you, heavy and quiet.
“chan,” you start, but he shakes his head, smiling like he knows something you don’t. “i'd wait.” he says, voice barely above a whisper. you hesitate, then take one small step closer.
“who’s asking you to?”
his smile fades into something softer. his hand finds yours — slow, careful, as if waiting for you to pull away. but you don’t.
and just like that, the space between you disappears.
you don’t know who moves first, only that you’re both standing too close now, hearts pounding in sync, the world blurring into quiet. you can feel the warmth of his breath, the faint smell of roses still clinging to his sleeve, the tiny tremor in his fingers as he holds on tighter.
“you drive me crazy,” you whisper.
he grins, leaning in just a little. “good. now we’re even.”
you laugh, but it comes out softer than you mean it to. and when his forehead brushes yours, everything stops again — the noise, the nerves, the world.
for once, there’s no rivalry, no banter, just you and him, caught somewhere between falling and pretending not to.
and maybe that’s what you’ve both been waiting for.
"Chris!" Y/N hissed in a loud whisper. "Chris, I can't breathe."
Chan's eyes widened. He hastily removed his hoodie that he had draped rather energetically over Y/N's head, and Y/N gasped dramatically as fresh air from the car settled inside her lungs again.
"Sorry baby," Chan hummed apologetically. He reached out and caressed his hand down the woman's hair, his eyes softening as he leaned forward to slowly kiss her forehead. "I just … you know what the fans are like. I love them but they're crazy … especially the ones who come to see us at the airport. I don't want you to go through a hard time because they've figured out you're with me. Can you imagine? ‘Oh my gosh, who's that girl with Bang Chan … how dare she breathe the same oxygen as him. That should be me!’"
Y/N giggled at the silly voice that escaped Chan's mouth and the way his hands fluttered in the air beside his head as he emphasised his words. She curled her fingers into his and squeezed his hand gratefully. "Don't worry about me, baby. You know I can protect myself."
"I know you can," Chan hummed. "But you know I want to protect you so you don't have to protect yourself."
"Okay. But … maybe let's leave the hoodie? I think walking around in the airport with this over my head is gonna attract more attention than without it," Y/N laughed, handing the man's hoodie back to him.
Chan chuckled. He nodded and slipped the grey material over his head, almost knocking Y/N in the face in the process. "Yeah, you're right. But hey, I know … “
Reaching for his leather bag, Chan rifled through it and pulled out two items; he held them out to Y/N with a twinkle in his eye.
“Wear these?” Chan hummed.
Y/N adhered the mask to the lower portion of her face before opening Chan's glasses case; it was home to one of his favourite pairs of sunglasses, and Y/N unfolded the sleek black legs before propping them up against the bridge of her nose as the world around her dimmed.
"How do I look?" Y/N asked. She reached out and cheekily pulled the cap off of Chan's head and placed it over her own hair. She then flipped the hood of her jacket over the cap, folding her arms across her chest in satisfaction as a goofy expression crossed her face. "Am I undetectable?"
"Hmm, I don't know … " Chan mused. "If you're undetectable, how is it that I can still detect your beauty?"
Y/N groaned behind her mask as Chan burst into peals of laughter. She shook her head and was thankful for the coverage the mask provided when she felt her cheeks heat up.
"I can live with that," Chan grinned as he slid his arm around her waist. He pulled her closer to him as much as he could with the seatbelts restricting them both. Kissing her masked cheek, Chan smiled happily at her. "Are you ready?"
Y/N shook her head. "Yes. No. Yes."
"Don't worry," Chan pressed one last kiss to her nose before unbuckling her belt, and then his. "I'll protect you. If they even lay a finger on you, I'm gonna - "
"Woah there, Casanova," Y/N patted Chan's arm, the name making him burst into laughter all over again. "Don't do anything stupid. The whole point is for me to not get any attention, right? If someone does touch me, you're gonna have to ignore it or my cover - " she tilted her head up as she adjusted the cap beneath her hood, " - will be blown."
Chan sighed. He let go of her hand reluctantly, his face contorting in dramatic sadness and he pretended to weep into Y/N's shoulder. "I can't even hold your hand in there."
Y/N giggled. She threw her arms around the man and squeezed him in a bear hug, enjoying the trickle of his scent that escaped past her mask.
"You'll live," Y/N said, nuzzling her nose against Chan's cheek. "Once we're on the plane you can hold my hand as much as you want."
Chan smiled at that. "Perks of first class, aye?"
Nodding, Y/N stared out of the tinted window. She bit her lip. "It's already crazy out there."
"Scared?" Chan asked, tickling her side. "Remember, I'll protect y - "
"I know," Y/N groaned, turning around and squishing his face in her hand. "I. Know. You'll protect me. I get it."
Lowering her mask slightly, Y/N pressed a doting kiss on Chan's lips; Chan squeezed her tightly in his arms as he returned the kiss, and Y/N smiled against his lips when she felt the man's tension melt off of him considerably against the curve of her arms.
“It'll be okay,” Y/N grinned. “Just … relax, okay?”
Chan grinned. He nodded and kissed Y/N's forehead.
“I love you,” Chan whispered.
Y/N tickled his cheek. “I love you.”
The front of her cap suddenly banged against Chan's eyebrow as she attempted to lean a little closer, and Chan burst into hushed wheezes as he rubbed at his skin.
“I stole your hat,” Y/N giggled. She reached out to pull it off of her head but Chan placed his hand over hers before gently tucking the stray pieces of her hair underneath his cap.
“Keep it,” Chan said. “It looks good on you. Just don't headbutt me.”
Rifling her fingers through Chan's slightly flattened curls, Y/N replaced her mask over her nose again before turning to the car door. She stepped out before Chan, and she could immediately feel the clouds of anxiety rolling off of his body as he stood behind her for a moment.
But with the crinkle of her eyes as she lowered her glasses and looked at him over her shoulder, Y/N transferred a silent flicker of reassurance to him and she giggled inwardly when she saw his own eyes transform into crescent moons in response.
Behind his mask, Chan exhaled slowly. It took every fibre of his being to stop himself from reaching out and sliding his hand into Y/N's; it was late, yet every flash that shone at them like a permanent beam of light from the constant photography that had erupted around them made it seem like it was the middle of the day. Chan waited for his band members to emerge from their cars, his eyes anxious as he watched Y/N tail the group of staff. She fit right in with the female staff, the cap she had borrowed from him hiding her hair and the glasses on her nose hiding the top part of her face.
Chan didn't know if it was because he was deeply in love with her or not, but he felt that no matter how much she was covered up, she would still manage to radiate the aura of being the most beautiful person he had ever laid eyes on.
Swallowing thickly, Chan ran his fingers through his hair as he looked down at the ground. He really hoped the photographers wouldn't capture the love hearts he was sure were exploding again and again in the centre of his pupils.
Once they started moving towards the inside of the airport, Chan made sure to keep an eye on Y/N at all times. Everything seemed to be going smoothly until a barricade of fans suddenly crashed into the group once they were waiting in line; Chan's eyes widened as a particularly unruly young girl hurtled herself towards him and in the process, barging Y/N to the side. The fan's phone collided with Y/N's cheek and Chan's breath hitched.
Y/N stumbled; with so many people on top of each other, no one saw when Chan dodged from the fan's grip and curled his fingers into the hem of Y/N's hoodie, pulling her upright and preventing her from landing face first into the security poles.
Y/N was startled when she saw the man's eyes; they were brimming with roaring fire, annoyance and anger sizzling through his body. She knew his emotions were directed towards the bodyguards that were supposed to be doing their job properly. But for some reason, whenever they were needed the most, they seemed to dissipate and vanish into thin air.
Chaos seemed to ensue in front of them all. The fans and the staff had created a barricade as they fought against each other, preventing the rest of the people from passing. Agitated, Chan craned his neck and looked around for some sort of opening. Spotting one near the side, Chan signalled to his members to head towards the small gap; he watched to make sure they safely got through the throngs of people before looking towards Y/N.
He immediately registered the flicker of overwhelmingness in her eyes. Ensuring Y/N's safety was at the forefront of Chan's mind, and deciding he'd deal with any potential repercussions later, Chan placed the palm of his hand on the small of Y/N's back and pushed her forward, guiding her through the crowd and to the safety of the enclosed security measures.
“Okay?” Y/N heard Chan whisper to the back of her head once they had approached a quieter area.
Y/N nodded once. She smiled behind her mask when she felt the tips of Chan's fingers discreetly brush against hers in acknowledgement.
“Did you get hurt?” Chan continued to murmur.
Reaching her fingers up to her face, Y/N mildly winced when the skin of her cheekbone seemed to protest.
“I'll be fine,” Y/N hummed. “Just a bruise.”
Y/N suddenly laughed under her breath when he didn't reply. “Are you clenching your jaw?”
Chan snorted. “How did you know? You're not even looking at me.”
“I know you,” Y/N grinned as she adjusted the mask on her face. “You think you're so cool … Mr Jaw Clencher.”
Chan looked down to hide the immediate crumple of his face as a large grin overtook him. “Just wait until we get onto the plane.”
He then sighed, rubbing his face with his hands in perplexity. “I miss the bodyguards in the US.”
Y/N resisted the urge to burst into laughter. “You mean the ones you're best friends with?”
Chan smiled again. “Yeah. I mean … I get that these bodyguards are doing their best and I respect them for that because it isn't easy … but sometimes … “
“Sometimes you miss the big guys?” Y/N prompted.
“Sometimes I miss the big guys,” Chan sighed.
A moment later, Changbin turned around from in front of them both. Without a word, he rolled up the short sleeve of his t-shirt and flexed the bulge of his biceps before turning around again; Y/N did her best to hide the laughter that threatened to spill out of her just as Chan erupted into a fit of giggles at his friend's contribution to their conversation.
“Bin, you should be a bodyguard,” Chan called out to Changbin.
Hyunjin turned around at that and stared. He removed an ear bud and blinked at both Chan and Changbin.
“Changbin would get dragged,” Hyunjin said simply before returning to his previous state.
Changbin exploded in a fit of outrage.
Chan and Y/N smiled secretly together as they moved forward in the line.
*☆*☆*
“My poor baby … “
Chan's face was one of pure sympathy and hurt as he gently dabbed at the top of Y/N's cheek with a damp face cloth. They were both seated beside each other on the plane, and the first thing Chan had insisted on doing was examining the woman's face with his worried gaze.
The earlier collision had resulted in more than just a bruise; a small but deep cut was nestled into the slowly purpling area, and Chan was humming with soft sounds as he unscrewed a small red tube of ointment.
“And this is why I always carry this around,” Chan grinned as he tenderly dabbed the thick ointment onto Y/N's cheek. “It's good for everything. Dry skin, cuts, bruises, irritation … “
Y/N was beginning to zone out. Sitting this close to Chan, Y/N's eyes grew soft as she stared into his. She could barely feel the pain as his fingers traced over her skin, instead focusing on the way her heart was beating with adoration for the man in front of her.
She might have been injured, but she didn't really care. She'd have gone back and experienced the chaos from earlier another ten times; being with Chan seemed to act as a buffer, his presence protecting her in itself. He really did care for her more than he let on, and Y/N felt herself fall a little deeper for him as he continued to smooth the ointment into her skin.
Chan grew quiet. He smiled shyly. “What … ? Why are you looking at me like that?”
Y/N smiled. She leaned forward and pressed her forehead up against his. “You're the best man in the whole entire world.”
She watched in joy as the man's skin began to transform from the colour of golden sand to the burnt hues of the setting sun. His nose and ears glowed darker than the rest of him, and Y/N giggled quietly at how adorable he suddenly looked.
“I am not,” Chan stammered. “You got hurt because of me. I'm the worst man in the whole entire world.”
Y/N shook her head. “If you weren't there, I can guarantee I'd probably have ended up much worse. I was sure I was about to smash my face on the floor.”
Chan wrinkled his nose. “But you didn't.”
“Yeah, because you always look out for me,” Y/N smiled happily. “And you look out for the kids. You're always looking out for everyone.”
Chan was about to reply when their large seats suddenly shook; bewildered, Chan and Y/N turned around to see Seungmin scowling at the both of them.
“Shut up,” Seungmin drawled. “You're making me sick. Either move seats or shut. Up.”
Face breaking into a smile, Chan reached over and pinched his friend's face. Seungmin's mouth fell open in shock and Chan burst into laughter before sitting back down properly in his seat again.
He slipped his fingers into Y/N's hand before pulling her into his side. He rubbed the side of her arm as he reclined into the back of his seat with a sigh of comfort, and he dropped a soft kiss onto the top of Y/N's head as she leaned her head against the curve of his chest.
“Do you think our undercover mission was successful?” Chan hummed.
Y/N reached for her phone. She opened her social media and scrolled through her friends’ trending hashtag.
She held her phone out in front of Chan's face with a smile.
“Mission success,” Y/N smiled. “There isn't one sceptical post in sight. I guess the bruise was worth it.”
Chuckling at that, Chan took Y/N's phone and slipped it into his pocket. He then squeezed his arms around her in a tighter hug, suddenly very, very happy that he was finally taking her with him.
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Warnings: There are some elements of non-con in this fanfic. Please don’t read if you don’t like those elements. Mentions of knotting and rough sex. There’s also a lot of explicit smut and language throughout.
Summary: The Wolf King’s name seared your heart. You had been chosen as the youngest and most expendable daughter to be his mate. But you were terrified of the legends surrounding his bloody campaigns. How were you going to survive?
Tag List: @armystay89 @captainchrisstan @starseekersworld @melsunshine @kibs-and-bits
The Wolf King’s name whispered through the trees and hummed between the villages like the ancient stories of the gods.
Some of the villagers claimed that he could transform—bones cracking and teeth elongating until there was no man left. They said his claws could cut through trees and that his howl silenced the instincts of the mountain lions who cowered in their dens. In place of human skin, fur sprouted thick and rough, darkening until it matched the color of the shadows.
The myth and lore had been passed down for years, and you found yourself on the receiving end of all those stories. As the Wolf King’s future mate, you had also become something of an enigma around the kingdom. People looked at you with a glint of respect, bowing their heads and moving out of your way whenever you made your rounds.
The attention that you hated. Especially when the marriage had been arranged without your willing compliance. Young girl fantasies of handsome princes and distant lands vanquished in an instant. But even if you couldn’t indulge in happiness anymore, there had been a time when you allowed yourself to dream about your wedding.
Bubbling colors of red and green—like your kingdom’s annual yuletide celebrations—and a long, flowing white gown extending across the floor like an elegant brush of paint. Pure as you had always been. There was beautiful music in your dream, and a gorgeous prince to take you into his arms and glide you across the floor like the clouds moving in the sky.
Fantasies, indeed.
Instead, of merriment and goodwill, you found yourself trembling from head to toe, holding tight to the sleeve of your handmaiden’s gown as she escorted you through the recital hall, down the aisle to where you recognized the Wolf King waiting.
You had only met him twice before. Once, when you had just turned twelve, on the day your families agreed to meet over the prospect of securing peace between your rival kingdoms.
When you were both little children, the Wolf King had no reputation. He was just a boy, and you greeted him with a smile—ignorant of the true purpose of your first meeting. While your parents talked about the future, you showed the Wolf King your favorite flowers, handing him individual stems while your mother bargained your life away:
“A union is our commitment to peace,” your mother had once proclaimed, reaching out to softly pat your curls. “We think they’ll do well together.”
“Yes.” But Chan’s mother didn’t seem convinced. She was an elegant and beautiful woman with long black hair and bright red eyes to match his defining features. “Chan will decide who he wants to marry,” his mother said.
“Y/N will make a good wife when she comes of age,” your mother insisted. “We’ll hire the best teachers to ensure that she is prepared for her duties.”
“That matters little to us,” Chan’s father spoke, and he regarded you like one might grimace at an annoying ant to step on.
You shied away from his intimidating stare, looking instead at Chan as he designed a flower crown for you, placing it on top of your head with a proud smile.
It was the last time he would ever show such kindness.
Over the years proceding your first meeting, Chan became a man, and his reputation for ruthlessness and fury ignited a storm of gossip.
“The Wolf King stands taller than the gods!”
“The Wolf King slaughtered a village because they refused to bow down to him!”
“He’s a monster! Have mercy on us all!”
You became terrified at any mention of the Wolf King, wondering if your parents were still serious about a union. You found out the hard way when your mother invited the Wolf King and his generals to your kingdom. But you didn’t stick around for very long.
The next time you met, you were sixteen, and you ran away to the gardens in a rare show of rebellion against your parents who had expected you to dress pretty and show off for Chan.
But that wasn’t in your nature, and your instincts screamed at you to avoid the Wolf King. And you thought that you were alone in the forest. Surrounded by the quiet of the thick foliage. But then you heard the bushes move, and you noticed a large black head peering at you with piercing red eyes.
You relaxed when you realized that it was just a common wolf—probably one from the mountain packs, and you weren’t frightened. Animals had always held a special place in your heart, and you approached the wolf with palms upturned to show your peaceful intentions. The wolf never moved, and you stroked your fingers through the coarse fur on his head.
You returned home that evening thinking your father would scold you for running off like that. But you were instead warmly greeted by your parents who were both ecstatic. “He agreed to marry you, Y/N!” your mother exclaimed. “Isn’t that wonderful?”
It wasn’t.
Not at all.
And you had never experienced real fear in your entire life. But walking down the aisle in the chapel to where the fearless Wolf King waited for you, there was a bone-chilling tremble aching down your spine.
“So beautiful,” you heard faint whispers join together, urging you closer and closer to the Wolf King who gazed at you with the most intense stare you had ever received.
When you were within earshot, the Wolf King snatched your hand from the poor handmaiden who had been helping you walk down the aisle.
The girl quickly jumped to the side, bowing her head as the Wolf King forced you to stand in front of him, reaching down for your other hand. You reluctantly gave it to him, still looking at everything except for the Wolf King’s eyes, even if the little growl he gave showed that he disapproved.
You could hear your mother’s chastising voice in your head, scolding you for not pleasing the King. But you didn’t care anymore. Wasn’t it enough that you were standing there, giving your life away to a monster?
In the distant background, you could hear the priest delivering his lines, and when it was your turn, you gave your vow of allegiance, even if the words fell hot like acid from your unwilling tongue.
Thankfully, the ceremony did not require you to kiss him, dodging his wayward lips when they fell too close to yours.
There was a rush when the proceedings concluded, the firm ushering of hands leading you out of the chapel. You stumbled in your heels, bringing yourself inadvertently closer to the Wolf King who held tighter to your waist. You did not enjoy the closeness, swallowing down your nerves as you tried not to think about what came next.
The crowd eventually parted, giving you enough space to walk down the steps in the open air, briefly acknowledging the cheering crowd spread through the streets. There was a distinct awe in the noise from the people around you, clambering over one another to get a good like at yourself and the predator who would soon claim you for his own. Wanting to acquaint themselves with your kingdom’s bargaining chip—a small sacrifice to ensure an alliance between your people and the ones who fought under Chan’s domain.
On paper, it seemed like a worthy solution to helping your kingdom protect its borders and fight off invaders. The problem was that you felt the weight of pleasing a man you had no interest in—someone who frightened you to your core. A sick knot tightened in your guts and your stomach clenched tighter as Chan led you to Castle Miroh—the notorious landmark of his territory symbolizing the power of the ruling family.
As the main doors parted, you winced at the sensation of the cold and harsh air inside, and a shiver passed down your spine as you forced yourself to keep up with Chan’s incessant pace, footsteps clacking against marble. It was dark in the corridors, and the only lighting came from the flames ensconced along the walls, casting everything in shadows. Ahead in the distance, you could see the outline of a grand staircase, and your eyes worked tirelessly to mark each step on your darkened path.
It turned out that Chan kept his quarters on the highest floor, latching your fingers together the entire time, even as you forced down the bile permanently hitched at the back of your throat at the thought of all the blood that had stained those hands.
At the top of the staircase, you were pulled to the left, marching down an impressive corridor with a soft, velvet carpet beneath your soles. Eventually, you found yourself in front of a large, wooden door, and Chan ushered you through the frame, a hand to your lower back as your eyes paused on the King-sized bed waiting beneath an unholy painting of a bloody battle scene.
You will present yourself to the Wolf King, you recalled the words of your tutor. He will expect obedience from his mate.
You blinked away tears, knowing what you were expected to do next, and deciding to push through your nerves before you lost the contents of your stomach on the floor. Every fiber of your being screamed at you to run, but you ignored your instincts, loosening the straps of your dress to allow it to pool into a mess on the floor at your feet, and kicking it aside as you eliminated the remaining distance to the bed.
You didn’t want to show him that you were weak. That he had any sort of influence that might condemn you a coward. You could not be seen as pathetic in the eyes of a monster, crawling on hands and knees to the center of the bed, head ducked down between your trembling arms and waiting.
Your breath caught when the bed dipped beneath his weight, and you gritted your teeth, feeling his hands take your hips with a powerful grip, nails digging into the soft skin.
The Wolf King will fuck you, your tutor had said, Then he will bite you to complete the mating ritual.
You had seen the Wolf King’s teeth. Sharp like razors and pointed at the ends. You would be a bloody mess at the end of this, but no one could ever accuse you of shirking your responsibilities. You had done everything expected of you, holding on to this thought of solace as you waited for him to take his fill.
“Don’t,” he abruptly whispered, startling you as he laid down on the mattress at your side, closing his eyes and letting out a grumble, completely unbothered with his own nakedness.
It must’ve happened while you were turned away, but it was still jarring to see so much pale skin on display, marred with jagged scars and scarlet bruises. Eyes trailing over the swell of his chest, over the ridges of his abs, and down to this impressive cock.
You swallowed hard. “Aren’t you going to fuck me?”
“No,” Chan said, chest deflating. “You do not want that.”
His response surprised you, and you wanted nothing more than to hurriedly tuck the sheet around your body to hide you from him. “I thought you were meant to-”
“We are equals,” Chan interrupted with a much firmer tone. “And you are afraid.”
Equals? The word didn’t seem right coming from him, but you weren’t about to question what was seemingly amounting to an act of mercy. Quick as a flash, you had the sheet bundled against your chest, eyes wide as you looked him over. “The mating-”
“We can do the bite,” Chan continued as if he didn’t care that he wasn’t fulfilling the only purpose you had been given. “But in the morning. The celebrations earlier exhausted me. Such frivolous trivialities.”
“Won’t they notice-”
“Who are they?” Chan barked with a hint of a growl that had you flinching. “There is no one who orders the King around.”
His dark pupils met yours in the dark, searching for something. You swallowed hard, unsure what he was looking for, but focusing on the calming sensation of relief flooding your system at his unexpected mercy. “Thank you.”
He gave a curt nod, dipping his head to the space next to him. “Sleep.”
You obeyed, wondering if you could sleep next to him, even if he had shown you some degree of kindness. It still didn’t erase his bloody reputation, and it worried you to no end that you would be sleeping next to a killer. Born to fight his way to power and rule over his kind.
You took a deep breath, holding tight to the sheet, and closing your eyes. Perhaps it was the roller coaster of emotions weighing down on you from the day’s events, but you did manage to find sleep, even if it was troubled. Nightmares of wolves following you through the woods, red irises piercing you from the shelter of the trees, and claws slicing through flesh.
You gasped when your eyes sprung open against an onslaught of bright, morning light, heart palpitating in your chest when you met those same eyes looking down at you from above. Chan was a step ahead of you as if he could predict your movements, grabbing your hands in one of his own to hold them above your head. One of his powerful thighs slung across your lower body, holding you in place with a strength that ignited a fire of burning adrenaline.
“Hold still,” he said, giving you no other warning before teeth sank into the side of your neck, and your body panicked, fighting against him. Like he might take a chunk out of your neck and leave you on the bed to bleed out. Crimson against the cream-colored sheets.
Immediately, a pulsating shock erupted from the site of the wound, forcing a scream from between your lips at the overwhelming pain. “I know,” he said, and it was barely discernible over the sounds of your cries, unashamed to lose all inhibitions at the sensation of a pain you had never experienced before.
The Wolf King moved over top of you, and you flinched when you felt his tongue start to lap at the painful bite mark on your shoulder. “The pain will stop soon,” he said. “I’m sorry you have to suffer.”
You held back a whine, digging your nails into the soft flesh of your palms. You supposed he had helped the sting, but it still felt like a piece of glass was being sliced across your skin. Even if the guilt and remorse in his gaze were almost enough to distract you.
“Relax,” he soothed, releasing your hands which instinctively went to wipe at your eyes, drying the salty wetness that had accumulated.
“I- I can’t...”
“You can because you are mine now,” he declared in a tone that had a different flame sparking in your chest.
You nodded against the pain, focusing on taking deep breaths, and letting darkness take you under once more.
When you woke again, the King was ready for you. He explained that you were needed in the Throne Room to meet some important people. It turned out that the King had three brothers. They were all younger than him. Or so you had been told.
Their names were Felix, Seungmin, and Jeongin. Feared and revered for their triumphs in battle.
Your Wolf King seemed proud to show them off, standing before you in an organized line: from oldest to youngest.
Felix reminded you of your own cousins, with his lithe figure, so much different from the King’s own bulk, and a head of flaming orange-red hair.
Next to him, in the middle, stood Seungmin. Dressed in dark clothes that only made his already dark hair even more onyx-black. Bright green eyes appraising you slowly.
Finally, there was Jeongin. The tallest of the three. And sporting the same dark-colored hair as his middle brother. He seemed to be the most innocent, eyes wide with wonder.
“They are here to support you,” Chan went on after introductions had passed. “Call on them if you need any help.”
Unlikely, but you forced a nod nonetheless.
“You are dismissed,” Chan informed them after you gave your acquiescence, and you watched them retreat in the same formation down the hall.
In their stead approached a shorter man, dressed in full battle attire. Well-muscled to stretch the fabric of his shirt and pants, with serious dark eyes. “My King,” the man said, bowing once. “You are needed on the training fields.”
You flinched when the man’s eyes found your neck, likely noting the swollen mess that Chan had left behind. “I’ll be there shortly, Changbin,” Chan said, and he waited until the man was gone before looking at you. “The Castle is yours, my Queen. Feel free to look around and acquaint yourself with your new home.”
“I will,” you whispered, forcing yourself to stay still when he leaned in to press a chaste kiss to your forehead.
“Tonight, we can eat together,” came his parting words, and you grimaced at the idea of sharing a meal with him.
But the concept of sharing a meal with him was nowhere near as horrible as the idea that this place could ever be considered your home. What a nasty thought! This place was nothing more than a prison forced upon you because your parents were desperate for Chan’s allegiance.
“Why did he agree?” you huffed to yourself, spinning on your heel to start the trek back to your room—as much as you could remember. “Leaving me here as if I know where anything is!”
For months leading up to your shared nuptials, you had pondered the reason why the powerful Wolf King had even agreed to marry you in the first place. Neither of your meetings had been particularly impactful, and your Kingdom had nothing to benefit his own; in fact, your alliance was more of a detriment to Chan and his people—a burden that he willingly took on.
You turned the corner to the last corridor, grateful that you had managed to retrace your steps, faltering when you noticed something on the floor outside of your door. You kneeled to retrieve it, glancing at the writing and noting with a happy hum that it was addressed from the Northern Highlands!
“Grace!” you exclaimed, clutching the envelope to your chest as you quickly rushed inside your room, glancing back to ensure the door was locked before hopping onto the bed to rip the contents open.
Dear Y/N,
Congratulations on your marriage to Bang Chan - it will be a strong alliance for our parents and their Kingdom.
I apologize for my absence - Hyunjin was unable to make the accommodations.
As you know, snowfall comes to the Highlands in the upcoming months. It will soon be impossible for me to journey to you, or for you to make the journey here. I’d love to see you and your new husband before it is difficult to do so.
Please write to me when you can to arrange a visit.
Lovingly,
Grace
You read over the letter twice before releasing a deep sigh. Would your Wolf King even indulge in such a trip? Perhaps it wasn’t even necessary for him to go. You could make the trip on your own.
You held fast to that thought, of getting away from your prison even if only for a few days, as you lounged around in your room for the remainder of the day. There was little to entertain yourself with, re-reading Grace’s letter over and over again, and sitting outside on the little veranda attached to your room to watch the clouds moving in the sky.
It would be another mercy to escape Chan’s presence if you were to head North alone, but you were afraid that you were pushing your luck, wincing when you heard the door to your chambers opening again, returning inside from your observation of the grounds to greet Chan as you were expected to do.
“My queen,” he rumbled, reaching out to hold your shoulders between both hands, a grip that was impossible to mistake. “Were you able to see more of the Castle?”
“Yes,” you lied through clenched teeth, only breathing a little easier when he released you, eyes dropping to the letter in your hands.
“What is that?”
“It is from my sister,” you explained.
“I see.”
“She wasn’t able to attend the wedding,” you went on, saving yourself a bit of time as you scrambled for the best way to drop the news to him. Maybe it would just be best to try a blunt approach, giving him your demands since he insisted on calling you an equal. “I wish to see my sister,” you said, refusing to meet his gaze. “Before it is too dangerous to make the trip to the Northern Highlands.”
Chan grunted at your request, and you weren’t well-versed in his language to know what that meant. “She invited you?”
“I can go alone,” you said. “If it is too much for you.”
“I would love to come with you,” he said, disregarding the determination in your tone. “It will give us more time to spend together on our own.”
“Oh.” Your gaze remained trained on the floor, hopes dashed that you could leave him behind.
“It will be nice to visit there,” he said. “I will make the arrangements. You may write her back to expect us very soon.”
“As you wish,” you sighed, trying to keep the disappointment from your tone, flinching when he grabbed one of your wrists. He didn’t seem perturbed by your reaction, and you watched as he pulled a delicate piece of jewelry from his pocket.
“Well?” he smiled, something that made you shiver. “What do you think?”
“What is it?” you asked in return, resisting the urge to pull back the wrist clasped between his scarred fingers. Even if you did manage to finally meet his gaze.
“It is a gift for you,” Chan said with a smile you were not expecting—blinding and warm. “I made it myself.”
“You made this?”
“As our traditions dictate,” he agreed, keeping a firm hold on your wrist to clasp the little bracelet around your delicate flesh. “It is meant to show our bond to the world.”
You studied it curiously, noting the simple design and the small wolf-shaped carvings engraved in the metal. It was cold against your skin, even as the heat from his body balanced it out.
“Shall we eat?”
He dropped your wrist, and you were able to gather your bearings. “Of course.” You managed a nod, watching as he opened the door wide, allowing a small servant girl to enter the room.
The girl offered you both a respectful bow before she started to set the table, laying out silverware and fine china plates. Behind her, another girl rolled in a cart, wheels squealing on the floor, with prepared food steaming from beneath metal lids.
“Here, sit with me,” Chan said, patting the space on the bed next to him. “Until they are ready.”
You obeyed, sitting down next to him. Your gaze remained trained on the servant girls, moving about in a well-rehearsed manner as if they had done this too many times to count.
He reached for your hand, and you did your best not to flinch. “Look,” he whispered, urging you to follow his gaze. “This line on your hand, do you see the way it moves?”
You shivered as he traced the mark he referred to, following it up and down the length of your palm. “Yes,” you whispered, struck by the unexpected intimacy of the gesture.
Goosebumps followed the trail he left on your wrist, and you held your breath when he brought it to his lips. “The same as mine,” he said, almost reverently. Your eyes widened, breath hitching as he aligned your hands together. “A perfect match.”
You could hardly believe it, eyes searching back and forth, but seeing the same line digging into both of your skin. Like it belonged there.
“There are reasons for everything,” he said, and you felt a small flicker of shame when you read his knowing gaze as if he could sense those dark thoughts that you sheltered about him—wondering why you out of everyone in the world had been chosen to stand at his side. “I wouldn’t question so much,” he continued. “The things that fall into place so perfectly.”
He offered you a wink, surprisingly playful for a man of his reputation. “Let’s eat.”
You nodded, the most you could, and followed him to the table. He was polite as always, allowing you to pick first, waiting until your first bite before claiming his own. You were content, at that moment, to answer the questions he threw your way, increasingly aware of the way the place he had touched warming and the mark on your neck drummed in a gentle pulse.
The rest of the evening passed uneventfully, and there was less trepidation in your soul when you lay with Chan to sleep.
You journeyed to the Highlands the next morning, riding behind Chan on horseback, leaving the Wolves’ imposing Castle behind. There was a lightness about you as distance added more miles to your ride, growing brighter and brighter the further you traveled. Even with light conversation petering between you and Chan, you had never been freer in your entire life, the wind blowing back your hair as you soared across the plains.
Despite his repeated requests for you to take a break, you were determined to make it to your sister’s palace before nightfall. You wanted to see her outside, in the meadows that spread invitingly across the Highlands, and walk together just the two of you as you did as children.
There was excitement spiking hot adrenaline in your veins when the hills opened up in the distance, revealing a gorgeous mountain Castle with imposing towers and the familiar flags of your sister’s powerful family. She belonged to Hyunjin, taking his name and crest, and it made you sad to realize that there was a greater distance between you both. You loosened your grip on Chan’s waist, not realizing your grip on him.
You had grown tired of being around him, constantly blinded by the weight of his shadow. At least out here, with the sun beaming down from above, you could feel great relief from the pressure lightening. Perhaps there should be shame associated with your actions, but as soon as you could identify a familiar shape up ahead, you were already leaping from the horse despite Chan’s protests.
Thankfully, your sister was there to greet you, surrounded by two guards. Immediately, you jumped from your steed, falling into her arms and inhaling the familiar scent of her perfume. “Grace,” you squealed, keeping her held tight to you as if it would be the last time you could ever do so.
“Y/N,” she sing-songed back, and you smiled at her playful attitude, only growing a little despondent when you detected Chan’s approach from behind.
“Hello,” she greeted Chan with a polite bow. “It is an honor to welcome you to the Northern Highlands.”
“Your palace is beautiful,” Chan complimented, and you shivered when he drew fingers down the length of your spine—a show of affection that you would never get used to experiencing.
“Thank you,” she said, turning around to gaze back at it as if she were seeing it for the first time. “It has centuries of history.”
“I have heard the tales,” Chan remarked. “From when I was a boy.”
You tried not to snort, not wanting to relive any memories of Chan from his boyhood. Grace’s careful eyes, however, seemed to detect something, and she looked at you with a curious gaze. “Well, I can show you to your quarters.”
“No need, I’m sure one of your guards will know the way. I think Y/N has been waiting for some time with you. I’ll leave you both alone,” he said, even without your prompting, and your sister gave you a familiar smile.
“As you wish,” she said with a little curtsy, beckoning a guard forward with stern orders to help the Wolf King settle in while you and Grace took a stroll of the grounds.
You held your breath, not wanting your impatience to show as the arrangements were made. Only once Chan had started in the direction of the Castle, guards following him closely, did you exhale. Reaching for Grace’s hand, and tugging her forward.
“No need to drag me!” Grace chuckled at your actions, and she linked your arms together, steering you toward the familiar meadows.
You both settled into easy conversation as it always seemed to happen, topics flowing from one to another. There was a lot to catch up on, things left unsaid from your sad exchange of letters. Rumors swirling around the highlands, and stories from your own homeland that you consumed greedily, excited for any mention of your little Kingdom.
Even if you didn’t really belong to it anymore.
You wanted to walk forever, to keep going beyond the highlands. Escaping to a distant land with just you and Grace. A place where you could both live in peace and go about your days just chatting and reading together by the fireplace as you did when you were children.
She laughed at your complaints, forcing you to return to the Castle when the sun had started to set. Thankfully, you didn’t go all the way inside just yet, and the two of you sat down at one of the picnic tables in the gardens. As you settled next to Grace, bowing politely to the maids who brought you both a cup of tea, you frowned as you recognized Chan between the hedges, strolling along with Hyunjin, Grace’s King, down the trodden paths between the mazes.
You did your best to ignore him, focusing instead on the moment you had with your sister. The setting sun was warm as you reclined your head, eyes closed as you accepted the gracious touch—burning just as hot as your sister’s intense stare.
“Do you have something to say?” you huffed. “I can feel you looking at me.”
Her smile was clear in her tone. “You just seem...different.”
“How so?”
“Like you’ve been tamed.”
Your eyes flew open at the comment, glaring at her. “Stuck in an arranged marriage, you mean?”
“Mine was arranged as well, but you can rest assured that I don’t take the same comfort from my particular suitor.”
“I hardly take comfort from the Wolf King,” you argued, but Grace simply shrugged.
“You’ve never seen things as I do.”
“What’s so bad about Hyunjin anyway?” you asked instead, to direct the conversation away from Chan,
Her smile curdled. “He keeps busy with his whores,” she said, shocking you with such an accusation.
“Grace-”
“Don’t.” Your sister sighed. “There’s nothing you can do.”
She attempted to restore her previous smile, looking back over your shoulder with a sigh. “I like your Wolf King,” she eventually said. “He cares about you a lot. I haven’t seen him take his eyes away from you once.”
Grace must be imagining things. “He’s tolerable at best,” you decided, earning yourself a sigh from your sister.
“My how your perspective has changed,” she remarked, finally turning her attention to the lukewarm tea in front of her. “You were kicking and screaming when you first learned of the marriage.”
“It is something that was forced on me!”
“But you’re not the only one, Y/N,” Grace said with a tone filled with sadness.
Suddenly, you felt chastened and guilty for even protesting her. “For us both, it has created nothing but discomfort.”
“I think there is potential in your match,” Grace argued. “You resist because you are stubborn in nature, but I think there could be good things for you if you just tried to make it work. Wouldn’t it be better, sister, to live with him as lovers than as cold strangers?”
“He is too wild for marriage,” you weakly protested. But your argument held no merit, and you hated the logic in her words, turning away to glare into the distance.
Night passed before your eyes, like the dimmest flicker, and you had never been more unhappy to greet the rising sun.
It seemed that all good things inevitably came to an end, and you were holding back tears when you parted from Grace the next morning, holding the embrace for far too long. Even as you allowed Chan to help you back onto the horse, positioned directly behind him on the saddle, you kept your gaze trained behind you, watching Grace grow smaller and smaller.
Until she was gone.
Your heart was heavy when you returned to Chan’s castle that same afternoon, but your foul mood didn’t last for long. Distracted as you were, surprised by the bustling activities throughout the grounds, everyone scrambling for something you couldn’t identify. “Our moon festival,” Chan explained. “We will be shifting tonight.”
Oh, right. You had forgotten about that part, too distraught reminiscing on your brief moment of freedom with Grace. “I almost forgot.”
“There will be a feast tonight,” he explained. “We will both join as King and Queen.”
You scowled at the idea. “As you wish.”
Chan frowned at the comment. “You must be tired from the journey,” he continued, choosing not to react to your passive comment. “Feel free to rest in our quarters. I will come get you later.”
You agreed with a half-hearted grunt of acknowledgment. Sleep did sound like a much-needed relief from the exhaustion threatening each unsteady step you took up the stairs. It was what you blamed your disorientation on, barely noticing when Chan leaned in to give you a chaste kiss on your cheek.
That same spot burned under the barely-there attention. But you chose to ignore it, instead focusing on how your feet were throbbing when you landed on top of your bed with a huff, allowing tears to escape as you gave yourself a moment to purge the nasty emotions that had built after leaving the Highlands. Unable to do so as you rode behind Chan.
There were too many different emotions piled on throughout the day, mixing with a heady combination of your exhaustion from traveling. Countless thoughts also swirled through your head, and it was inevitable that you would fall under, losing yourself to the easy promise of sleep. An easier task than grappling with your conflicted feelings.
Darkness greeted you like an old friend, and your dreams were wild. One moment you were back with Grace, strolling through the meadows. The next, you found yourself in an empty forest, shadows chasing each breath evaporating on cold air, ensnared by a pair of red eyes in the thick foliage.
You stumbled on the undergrowth, falling backward ungracefully. You only had the wherewithal to put a hand over your face, trying to block everything out, as those eyes descended on you. Fear caught in your throat, and it was the lasting image that haunted you as you jerked upright in bed, barely withholding a scream when those same eyes met you in the real world.
“Y/N.”
Chan’s voice was deep, guttural in its intensity, and filled with concern. You flinched when fingers came out to gently remove sweaty bangs from your eyes, heart thunderous inside your chest. His hand paused in its motions, and for a fleeting second, you thought you might drown in his stare.
“Sorry,” you whispered. “Bad dreams.”
“I see.”
There was a question in his tone, but you didn’t know how to provide an answer, choosing instead to gently push his hand away. “It’s nothing to worry about.”
He nodded, lower lip caught between his teeth. “If you’re certain...”
You studied him for a moment, wishing that you could confide in him. But there was still a great distance between you, perhaps put there by your own accord, but heavy in its existence. “I shall get ready.”
Chan allowed you the space, agreeing to meet you in the hallway as you rose to get dressed, finding the dress that had been laid out for you by the maids. You slipped the fabric over your body, shivering as the silkiness slid across your skin like a lover’s caress.
True to his word, Chan was waiting patiently on the other side of the door, and you hesitated before taking the outstretched hand offered to you. Unprepared for when it pulled you in closer, under the scrutiny of his affectionate gaze. “Beautiful,” he declared, nostrils flaring as if taking in the scent of the perfume you sprayed.
“Thank you,” you offered in return, choosing to keep silent as he led the way, helping you down the stairs in your heels.
For once, you willingly stayed close to Chan, especially as you approached the Great Hall where the festivities would take place. Chan led you into the dining room, perhaps a bit too hastily, uneasy with the weight of his people’s stares boring down upon your figure. Dressed simply in that white gown—pure, as you had always remained—and looking entirely out of place amongst battle-hardened soldiers.
You caught Changbin’s stare from across the room as you sat at the head of the table next to the King. There was lust in his gaze. And it deeply unsettled you, to the point that even Chan caught your shiver.
He followed your gaze to Changbin who looked away at once. “Tradition says that the King can share his mate,” Chan whispered. “But I will not share you with him. So he can only look.”
You weren’t sure what to say to that. So you didn’t say anything in return. “I didn’t know.”
There was a brief moment of silence, and then Chan stood, addressing the room. “Let’s feast together, comrades! We run together at the moon’s highest cycle!”
A chorus of cheers and howls greeted his words, and everyone started to fill their plates, easy conversation flowing between the wolves like the smell of the delicious-looking platters laid out before you. Still, your stomach revolted, swimming in circles as you picked at the helping Chan had served you. You wrinkled your nose when his grease-stained fingers brought a piece of chicken to your lips, and you forced yourself to take it from him.
Chan sighed as you chewed, forcing the morsel down your throat as it stung. “I won’t be with you tonight, of course. We will likely stay out in the moonlight until dawn. But I will return in the morning.”
“Okay.” You shrugged, seemingly indifferent. Some time to yourself seemed nice. And you weren’t keen on being outside when they were no longer human.
“You don’t have to be miserable here, my Queen,” Chan suddenly said, tone taking on a hardened edge. Perhaps the first time he had ever sounded stern with you. “Wolves mate for life, and they choose their partners seriously”
You contemplated his words, chosen ever so carefully. “I - I will try,” you managed, recalling Grace’s advice from the previous day.
To live as lovers rather than strangers.
He hummed at your agreement, eyes glued to your form as he appraised you with something akin to curiosity. “Don’t roam so far from the castle tonight. It isn’t dangerous, but it is your first time. Of course, there’s usually nothing to fear in the gardens.”
There was a layered hint in his words, but you chose not to think about it too much, simply nodding your head as you resumed your task of picking at your food. There was nothing wrong with the offering in front of you, but your newfound uneasiness mixed with your emotional charge from earlier—it had not yet completely dispelled itself from your system—left an unpleasant ache in your chest.
As if something was missing…
Later that night, long after the wolves left the castle, you realized you couldn’t sleep even if you tried, listening to the chorus of howls from outside the castle walls. They rang through the night, loud and clear, and harmonized with one another as if perfectly in sync. Perhaps they were since Chan and his wolves shared a tight bond, and you wondered what it must be like to be so perfectly in tune with one another.
It was these thoughts that plagued you, and even as midnight came and went, you grew more restless. You resolved to walk through the castle, to quell your thoughts and ease your mind. Even as your footsteps echoed through the halls, you found yourself becoming more awake instead of the opposite effect.
Fresh air would be nice, you thought until you remembered the wolves outside. But then again, Chan did promise you that the gardens would be safe. You could trust him, right? Or was that the problem? Your lack of trust in someone meant to be your partner.
You resolved yourself in that moment to try. And if that meant venturing out into the gardens, then no one could accuse you of being silent and passive. This was your attempt at trying, and if it ended badly, then you would have all the more leverage to ignore him.
However, despite your attempts to steel your resolve, you found your heart beating impossibly fast when you greeted the moonlight outside. Each lungful of air that you forced down your lungs felt like sharp knives attacking your flesh. Gaze swimming in front of you, footsteps unsteady as you entered the hedge maze surrounding the gardens.
You inhaled deeply, trying to find comfort in the familiar smell of the foliage. There was a strange air of peace surrounding you, and that was all the solace you needed to keep going, admiring the way the colors of the blooming flowers bled in a different light. It was easy to grow distracted by the sight, as beautiful as it was, and perhaps you could blame your wandering eye for failing to adequately identify the rustling of something large in the undergrowth of the forest.
You hummed to yourself, leaning down to run your fingers over the soft petals of a rose. Its usual red was subdued somehow, under the moon’s glow, and you smiled at the effect, completely ignorant of a different red seeping through the hedges near your right.
It wasn’t until a gentle whimper sounded that you jerked to a stop, hand fluttering to cover your chest as you whipped around to locate the source of the sound. And what stood before you, as powerful as the looming mountains above the castle, nearly had you falling to your knees.
Except, you realized upon a second cursory glance, that there was something uncannily familiar about the beast in front of you, and it only took you another moment to make the connection. A gasp fell from your lips when you realized that it was the wolf from your childhood—the one you had found that day Chan visited your home for the second time. The one you played with in the gardens. The one you spent time with just talking and believing it was nothing more than a common wolf.
You stumbled then, recognizing the now familiar crimson eyes looking back at you—the same ones that belonged to your husband. The wolf, your Wolf King, butted his giant head against your outstretched hand, giving an affectionate lick to your fingertips.
“I understand,” you whispered, unable to decipher the emotion in your voice, but one thing that you knew for certain—there was a clear absence of fear. Because you had never feared this wolf, always approaching it with happiness, completely ignorant of its true state.
The wolf gave you a meaningful look, and you were struck by the humanness of the gesture. Understanding dawned on you—Chan had always known. He had always known it was you—the one his wolf had chosen. The girl who had never shown fear to a beast that others considered a monster.
You had known Chan for your entire life without even realizing it, and your eyes welled with tears, watching him toss back his head and release a spine-curdling howl. One that was joined by a chorus of beautiful melodic cries, merging and joining together, and reaching down to your very bones.
You dropped to your knees then—a mere speck before the Wolf. You cried without fear, and this time, the tension between you and your King vanished like the stars in the night sky when dawn cracked across the horizon.
Three Months Later
On most mornings, Chan was gone before you woke up, and that left you with a disconcerting feeling of disappointment. You supposed there was much to do for the King of the Castle, but lately, it made you ache for something you couldn’t quite discern.
For the past several months, you found yourself opening up to the Wolf King in ways you would’ve never imagined. The truth of who he was, the Wolf from your childhood, along with Grace’s well-intentioned advice, had managed to crack through the stoic guard you had raised from the moment you bound yourself to him.
He taught you about the bond—how, even if you weren’t a Wolf and couldn’t experience the same emotions, he could feel each flicker of happiness or stroke of sadness as it moved through you.
You had not known of this connection before—because of your stubborn nature—and you would always regret resisting it. But things were better, and you could see the beauty in the bond and how truly spectacular it was to feel and understand another person so intimately. It made you wonder—for longer and longer periods of time—just how deep you could make that bond.
Curiosity weighed heavy on you, and your eyes cracked open at a gentle knocking on the door—an opportunity presenting itself when you recognized a familiar servant girl entering your room. “Good morning, Y/N,” she said, and you nodded in return.
At first, you had kept yourself closed off to the other maids, but this one in particular, Ivy, had been insistent. It was hard to deny her, especially when she became your best teacher, indulging you in learning everything related to the wolves and their way of life.
She was also quite willing and open to help you with anything, even if it involved the more intimate parts of your relationship with the Wolf King. You brought it up again that morning, growing more and more confident, especially since Ivy was completely shameless when it came to that sort of thing.
“I thought about your words from the other night,” you opened the conversation, watching as she put your breakfast down onto the table.
“You’ll have to remind me.” There was a teasing note in her tone, and you glowered at the playful look she shot in your direction.
“We spoke about the King,” you said. “You told me things…what I can do to please him.”
“I remember.” She took a step closer, and you were wary of the look in her eyes. “Does he not fuck you well?” Ivy asked, and her tone was absent of the same filter that would stop your tongue.
Still, you were embarrassed, looking down at your feet, wondering how to disguise the truth. “It doesn’t feel good when it seems like he just uses me to get himself off.”
That much was true as you had heard Chan masturbating next to you on countless nights, and your name often fell free from his lips.
“I see.” Ivy nodded. “He doesn’t know better. He was taught that a good alpha fucks his mate and makes sure that she is pregnant for him.”
You winced at her blunt explanation. “Is that all...wolves need?”
“Not necessarily,” Ivy said with a bright smile. “I can teach you...if you want.”
“Teach me?” you asked, gasping when Ivy placed a hand on your chest, forcing you to fall back on the bed.
She was all smiles when she crawled into your lap, grabbing your hands and securing them to her waist. You gasped when she started rocking her hips into your own, feeling the pleasant ache resonate up and down your spine. “The most important lesson of them all,” Ivy said with a twinkle of mischief in her eye. “The art of seduction.”
“I - Ivy...”
“Tell me, Y/N,” Ivy interrupted your ramblings, leaning down so that the tips of your noses brushed together. “Would you like that? Seducing your wolf? Driving him to the point where he can’t resist taking you?”
You moaned around your response. “Yes! Please show me.”
Her hips rocked harder into yours, and you could see white forming at the edges of your vision. “Leave it to me.”
And you did, surrendering to her touches, and the wicked way she showed you all the ways to drive a King mad.
The following night, you bravely waited for your Wolf King to return from patrol, wearing nothing but a sheer robe that left little to the imagination. Sitting on the edge of your shared bed, you caught each breath as it rattled between your lungs. Nervousness eating away at your resolve and leaving the poor skin around your cuticles abused by your touch.
Ivy’s advice rang clear in your mind as if she were there with you, holding your hands between her own as she taught you how to please the King. You blushed at the memory, hands covering the bare skin beneath your robe, caressing the delicate flesh as she had done the night before. Demonstrating to you the best ways to please a man, and to make him beg for you.
That kind of power held its curious appeal, and you thought about it constantly. Wondering what it would be like to make Chan lose his mind to the sin of your smell and touch. You could hardly wait, bouncing your leg and jostling the flimsy material of your coverings.
Thankfully, your Wolf King didn’t make you wait for very long, punctual as always in these recent times of peace in joining you during the evenings. The easy smile he always offered you vanished as soon as he closed the door behind him, eyes locked on your figure clad in so very little.
“Be assertive.” You recalled Ivy’s words, and you stood on shaky legs to take a few tentative steps towards him. The implication was not lost in translation. You could barely get out a greeting before Chan was on you in seconds, gently pushing you back against the wall. He pressed his forehead against yours and you closed your eyes. “You look beautiful,” he whispered, initiating the first indulgent kiss that lit a fire that you felt down to the tips of your toes.
“Then have me,” you said against the purse of his mouth, tongue tracing that full bottom lip. His gaze widened perceptibly, holding you at arm's length.
“What do you mean?”
“Take me the way you want,” you replied. “I’m ready. You love me, don’t you?”
The intensity in that gaze you had started to yearn for burned even brighter. “You know that I love you Y/N, and I understand why it would be hard for you to believe. I’m more than willing to take this chance to show you.”
He pulled away despite the tight grip you kept on his powerful bicep. Even so, you kept your eyes open as wide as possible to enjoy the scene playing out in front of you when he kissed you again. You curled your fingers into his thick black hair, remembering Ivy’s advice, and pulled his mouth against yours, crushing your lips to his. Chan’s chest rumbled as he kissed you fiercely in return, grabbing onto your arms as his tongue plundered the hot cavern of your mouth.
Your lungs screamed in protest, and you pulled away suddenly, shivering at his resounding whimper. You opened your eyes, keeping your hands in his hair to hold it back from his crimson orbs. You found the lust there, making his eyes appear darker. “It’s so hard for me to do this,” you said softly. “I- I want to please you…”
“You don’t have to do anything,” Chan replied. He pressed his hips into yours and you felt something hard against your stomach. “Y/N,” Chan murmured, leaning into your neck to inhale deeply. “I want you more than anything else.”
You shivered as you felt his other hand come to the sleeve of your gown, slowly sliding it down your shoulder. His fingertips slid across your skin, weakening your resolve. His lips followed his touch, peppering soft kisses along the exposed skin. He tugged on the fabric more and you felt the fabric at your right breast start to fall, slowly exposing the flesh to him. His blazing eyes looked down at what he had uncovered, as his hand moved up to hold your breast in his palm. You moaned when his thumb started to rub against your nipple, growing alarmed at the sudden ache between your legs. Like before, his lips soon replaced his fingers and you cried out when he gently nipped the sensitive skin.
He suddenly tugged the fabric back up, releasing your wrists so that he could have both hands when he grabbed the sides of your robe and tugged it aside to reveal your bare skin to him. Your hands fell to your sides as your chest heaved up and down to match each of your panting breaths. Clad in the lingerie Ivy had helped you pick out the previous night.
Chan’s eyes were glued to your bare torso. With a moan of his own, he pressed a soft kiss to your lips before he trailed his mouth down, over the soft skin of your throat, down your chest, and between the valley of your breasts, over your smooth stomach down to the top of your lace panties. Looking up at you with hungry, lust-filled eyes, Chan started to tug the fabric down your legs.
Clenching your fists against the wall, you couldn’t begin to describe what you felt when he pressed a kiss against the front of your panties, holding your thighs in his strong hands. Standing back up to his full height, he pulled his shirt off next, tossing it onto the floor. You breathed out deeply as your eyes greedily took in the sight of his muscled torso. Timidly, you reached out a hand, aware of his eyes watching your movements as you hovered your palm over his firm abdomen. “Touch him with your fingertips,” Ivy’s words whispered against your ear. He groaned, bracing his arms on either side of you, moving his head against the wall next to your ear. You heard Chan’s husky voice whisper: “Baby, please touch me.”
Your eyes fluttered at his request, and you placed both palms on his hard stomach, moving them up and feeling the muscles tense beneath your touch. Your hands danced across his pectorals, rising along with the muscles. You moved your palms over his shoulders and then back down, pausing when you hit the top of his pants. Before you could muster up the courage to move any lower, Chan’s lips were back on yours, kissing you senseless. You wrapped your arms around his neck, working your mouth against his, feeling your lips become swollen from his kisses. As your tongues touched, you felt Chan’s hands return to your thighs, lifting them so that you had no choice but to wrap your legs around his trim waist. Holding you against him, he carried you into over to the bed to deposit you on top. You missed his warmth as soon as he was gone and opened your eyes to meet his black gaze.
This was your chance. You remembered Ivy’s words and scrambled to get in position. Present. The command burned its way through your whole being as if you had no control over it. Instead, you turned on your hands and knees, arching your back and keeping your ass held high in the air.
You had never done this before, and you felt so exposed, but at the same time so good, so right, and you restrained yourself from trying to cover up against the shameless crimson stare watching you.
Suddenly, all went quiet, prompting you to glance over your shoulder. The Wolf King was staring at your ass, his mouth slightly agape. “Good girl,” was all you heard before Chan dove down abruptly to taste your dripping cunt, dragging his tongue all the way up to the source of the wetness leaking from you with a single, hot swipe, before latching on and sucking eagerly at the sensitive skin around your opening.
You keened at the sensation and shivered at his satisfied grunts and moans as he took his fill of your taste. It made you want to please him. To do whatever it took to make him completely lose his mind.
“Chan!” You moaned out, reaching beneath him to flick at your neglected clit. “More!”
Your demand did not go unanswered. With a grunt, Chan yanked your ass up higher for a better angle, digging his hands into the plush flesh of your hips. His touch was rough, and strong, undoubtedly leaving marks behind, but you absolutely loved it. And when the wiggling muscle of his tongue finally pushed inside, you cried out in absolute bliss and pleasure. Time itself seemed to slow down as that tongue relentlessly moved inside you, searching for that spot that could make you see stars and, once found, pressing down hard. Again and again, Chan dipped inside with his tongue, and each time you moaned for him. It didn’t take you long until your body tensed and shuddered, squeezing around the intrusion as you rode out your orgasm.
With a satisfied groan, Chan released your hips, and you collapsed on your stomach, still aching for him.
You attempted to look back at Chan, groaning when you realized he was pushing down his pants and underwear, freeing his stiffening cock before crawling back over you. You were met with a flurry of kisses, on your lips, your cheeks, and your neck, before his tongue trailed lazily over your chest and down to the delicate curls damp from your release.
You squirmed under him as he held himself up on his arms, dragging his eyes unbearably slow from your face and down to your toes. He moved one finger down over your stomach, and you watched it enter the forest of blonde curls around your center. Panting, and nearing combustion, you found yourself instinctively thrusting your hips up, begging him for more than just touches. Growling, he practically shoved your hips back to the bed, reaching down and jerking his thick cock with rough strokes. He abruptly flipped you over onto your back, craning his neck to look down into your eyes. “Let me make love to you, Y/N.”
His words sent a flurry of heat straight to your core. You had never had sex before, but you wanted it desperately. You told him as much and could see him visibly shaking. “I’ll go slow,” he promised, kissing your lips tenderly, before reaching down to line himself up at your entrance. You closed your eyes and winced as he pushed into you. Pliant and soft from his earlier ministrations, the bulbous head found little resistance as it breached your cunt.
You could feel his face bury itself into your shoulder, his knuckles turning white as they gripped the bedding, as if it was taking everything he had to go this slow. Once he was buried inside of you completely, you groaned, adjusting to the sudden intrusion. You could feel him still above you, and his teeth teased the skin at your shoulder. “Son of a bitch,” he growled. “It’s taking every ounce of control I have not to flip you over and fuck you senseless.”
His words, as crude as they were, only served to heighten your arousal. “Move,” you said, grabbing his black hair and pulling his face to yours. You kissed him quickly. “I’m fine.”
He needed no further encouragement, as he slowly pulled out before pushing back in. You could see the sweat breaking out across his forehead from the exertion, causing strands of his hair to stick to his forehead. His right hand moved behind you to grip the headboard as his hips slowly rocked against your own. As good as it felt, you could see he was about to lose it. “Faster,” you told him, and he complied, speeding up his thrusts and allowing some of the tension to escape his body. It was a little painful, especially when he let out a low growl and really started grinding his hips.
You could feel it building inside, the pleasure of his rough movements far outweighing the discomfort. You let out another moan as he moved in and out, feeling the smooth friction all the way to the tips of your toes. The Wolf King chose this moment to draw his hips back, dragging his length out to the tip, before slamming it back inside with a powerful thrust, rocking your body to the point that you felt your vision turn white for a moment. Without giving you time to recover, Chan repeated the motion over and over again, speeding up and adjusting the angle to relentlessly hit deep inside, hips bumping your clit with every smooth grind.
He grunted from his efforts, one hand on the headboard while the other came to grab your breast, his lips sucking at your neck. For your part, you arched your back against him, allowing your hips to come up a little to meet his movements as he hit even deeper inside of you, just barely kissing your cervix. Your fingernails scraped down the smooth skin of his back at this new angle. He moaned when your nails dug into his flesh, bringing his lips up to yours and you kissed him feverishly, tasting him like your life depended on it. One of your hands curled into his smooth black hair while the other gripped his bicep tightly, sighing happily as you felt the muscles move.
You wrapped your legs around his waist, trying to not feel overwhelmed by all of the things he was making you feel. Buried deep inside of you, you could feel him hit all the right spots, sending waves of pleasure to your tight center. Meanwhile, his lips were working magic against yours, leaving you breathless.
You could feel an intimate warmth building inside of you the longer he snapped his hips against yours. Groaning, you let out a cry as you felt something inside of you break open, releasing wave after wave of heat through your core, leaving your body drowning in pleasure.
There was a haze of lightheadedness clogging your senses, and you almost didn’t even realize the swell pushing against your ass, until it breached your core. “Chan!” you hissed at the combination of pain and overwhelming pressure, retreating and then swelling again as he ground that hot mass against you.
“My knot,” he groaned, and you could feel the heat from his chest against your breasts as he pressed even closer.
You vaguely recalled Ivy warning you about this, telling you that it would be hard to prepare for the massive instrution. You felt a spike of fear as it stretched you even further, and you worried that your virgin body would suffer. All you could do was grit your teeth and bury your head into the blankets beneath you, feeling the swell of his knot pressed against the cleft of your ass. You fisted the sheets between your hands. He would split you in half, and then you would be nothing.
“Y/N!” he growled, slowing his hips to a timid roll as his knot locked between you both, and your eyes rolled into the back of your head as you felt his release flood your insides, filling you to the point that your lower stomach had started to swell from his cum.
He groaned as you both came down from your highs, and you gently petted your finger through his unruly curls. He experimentally rolled his hips to test how firmly the knot was locking him inside and it wouldn’t budge. Your cunt squeezed the knot, eliciting another grunt from Chan, another twitch, and another spurt of hot cum inside of you.
The pop didn’t swell until Chan was fully seated, his thick cock barely able to seat itself fully between your pulsating walls. It was a painful stretch, of course, but you were hardly focused on it.
Chan continued to hump against you, long after his release and teetering on the cusp of oversensitivity, but those seductive hips had lost their rhythm. It was only moments later, as Chan pulled away from your lips and buried his face into your chest, that he growled when something warm filled your center. You let your hand wander down his spine, stroking along the individuals knots. You could feel him breathing hard above you, and you tried to soothe him back to normal.
You were locked together for a long time, and you were almost asleep when Chan was finally able to pull out, collapsing onto the mattress next to you, looking up at the ceiling. You watched as his chest rose and fell quickly until you could barely see it move at all, signifying his return from his high. Your own breaths came out much shorter, and you were aware of the sweat that coated your skin.
You watched as Chan ran his hand through his dark hair, moving it out of his face. Looking over at you, he turned on his side and used one hand to bring you closer to him, wrapping an arm around your waist. You hummed in delight as your chests pressed together, moving in sync with each other. Chan’s eyes scanned over your face as he leaned in and kissed your forehead. “I love you Y/N,” he said. voice rumbling. “I’ll do whatever it takes to prove it to you.”
You were barely coherent, collapsed against the sheets with a line of drool pooling out from your mouth. Closing your eyes, you let your head fall against his chest, savoring his warmth. “I trust you,” you said softly, and you could feel him sigh in relief. Simply holding you against him, surrounded by his warmth, you suddenly felt very much like you belonged.
“You and I have always been destined,” Chan whispered, and for the first time since you had taken your place as his Wolf Queen, you weren’t afraid.
pairing || bang chan x reader
summary || chan finds you again, but this time, doesn't let go.
genre/s || love trope. fluff. romance.
trope || childhood best friends
masterlist || stray kids as love tropes
mina’s notes || the first chapter of stray kids as love tropes! please enjoy ♡
Seeing trainees in the halls of the company building always pulled at Chan’s heartstrings. The memories, both good and bad, flash in his mind. It served as a time that seemed to have hardened him in some respects but in other cases made me incredibly soft when it came to people who supported him during that time, mostly his kids. Yet, he couldn’t help but remember someone whose smile warmed his breaking soul during that time. Still to this day, you crossed his mind, often leaving him wondering if you changed your number or what you were doing these days. It was the late nights when Minho makes sure that everyone is fed that Chan’s mind drifts back to you the most.
˚⁎⁺˳
Chan, your soft voice filled the small space in the studio JYP had given him. Chan hummed in response, pulling his eyes off his computer scene to see you standing at the door, an exhausted look on your face, yet food in your hands. You need to take a break to eat, you smile, the light not meeting your eyes. He knew that you stayed up extremely late trying to nail the choreography for a monthly evaluation. Yet, he also knew that this one didn’t go great for you, while you managed to get the dance, the rap you were asked to do took a hit. This was the part he hated the most. Getting close with people who had the possibility to leave.
Instead of saying anything, he returned the smile of someone who had been his friend since you were both young, motioning for you to come into the space, moving papers on the desk for you to put stuff down. Silence filled the room, with no air of awkwardness, as you both ate the food, Chan looking at his computer every few bites to adjust something. The thing was, he knew that there was always a chance that you would get eliminated as a trainee but there was also something in his chest that was telling him to not put up the walls around his heart for you.
While Chan was nearing debut, having barely dealt with the blow of losing both Minho and Felix, he couldn’t even fathom the thought of losing you too. You were sunshine in the dark clouds that filled his head. A small hope that maybe things will work out. It wasn’t until a week later, when your tradition of bringing him food late at night, didn’t happen that he got nervous. Were you just in the practice room? Taking vocal lessons with Seungmin? Pulling himself out of his studio, he made his way around the building, poking his head into various rooms, having no luck in finding you. It wasn’t until Chan overheard Sana say I still can’t believe they got eliminated to Momo that he just knew without asking, that it was you.
As he made his way back to his studio, he made a small vow to himself to not get close to any of the other trainees, even if he made it through debut, because he couldn’t stand the way his heart was breaking for a third time. Once the door clicked shut, he let himself fall to the floor, burying his face into his knees, and letting the tears fall. A hand landed on his back, moving up and down before a sob rocked his body. He would never forgive himself for not making sure to protect you more.
˚⁎⁺˳
Schedules leading up to MAMA were going to be the death of Chan. He could tell it was also going to be for his members as well. It felt like little things were going to keep going wrong in their rehearsals and the stress was starting to get to them. They just needed one day of things to go right. Just one. Chan knew that getting to rehearse in their stage outfits would help and was relieved when he walked into the practice studio that day to see half the members dressed. Three days left, he reminded himself. Three days then a day of rest for everyone. They could do it. He needed to do it for them.
Struggling to not let his exhaustion show on stage for their ending, he could see Jeongin struggling just the same. Three… two… one…, Chan counted before the lights cut and he reached for his youngest member. Pride swelled in his chest that they were able to pull the performance off and nothing went wrong. Now, all he wanted was to get home, change into his favorite sweats, crawl under the blankets, and not emerge for as long as he possibly could. As he collected his kids and ushered them backstage, he thought his mind was playing tricks on him when he saw someone who looked strangely like you pass in front of him. There was no way. Right? You’d surely contact him if you knew you both were going to be at MAMA. Yet, he cursed himself because he didn’t even know there was a chance you’d be here.
A million questions seemed to be running through his head because Changbin was now dragging him through the halls to their room backstage so they could get a quick rest before going back to sit with the other idols. Would you not tell him you debuted? It’s not that your friendship ended on bad terms, but Chan was always too nervous to reach out to you after the elimination. Did you blame him for it? Did you hold a grudge against him for making it? Lost in his own world of questions and thoughts of you, he was dragged back into reality when Seungmin asked Minho, Hyung, isn’t that y/n? Chan's eyes were then glued to the monitor as he watched your group perform an amazing piece.
Even after your group was off stage, he couldn’t help but be stuck on the way you performed. All the nerves you used to have in the practice room were gone. Now you were confident in the same way he knew Hyunjin to be confident on stage. What felt like pride again was swelling his chest knowing that you were able to reach your dream. His best friend since childhood making a name on stage. You stepped into your calling and didn’t let the terrible moment in your past slow you down, or so he hoped. Chan hyung, we are going to grab dinner before going back to the dorms. You coming? Han questioned before heading back out to the stage.
The rest of the night went on and all of Chan’s thoughts were consumed by you. How had you been? Were you happy? Did you pick up on composing? The memory of the late nights in the studio, your head resting on his shoulder while he explained what he was doing consumed his vision for a fleeting moment. Had you finished that song you and Han were working on? Did you miss him like he missed you? So caught up in his own mind, he just let the motions of the night carry him through. It wasn’t until he was sitting at the restaurant with Han calling your name that Chan snapped back to reality. His members invited your group out for dinner. He couldn’t help the smile that tugged at the corners of his lips when you took the empty seat next to his.
Conversations flowed among the many people gathered around, alcohol bottles littering the table in celebration of the awards won and performances completed. Chan listened intently as you explained to Han and Seungmin what happened after you got eliminated from JYP and how you managed to find the current group you were in. The breath he didn’t even know he was holding escaped although a little shaky. The tension seemed to dissipate when you said you didn’t hold any resentment for the past and couldn’t be happier because it let you to where you are now.
It was when you turned to him after everyone started talking again that his skin seemed to feel like it was on fire when you looked at him. I’m so happy to see Minho and Felix back with you, you whispered so only he could hear. You deserved to have this group, a smile pulling at your lips. Maybe it was the way the familiar feeling of your presence calmed him down while also giving him newfound energy. I’m sorry I didn’t reach out to you, after… well after everything, you continued, I just didn’t know how to tell my best friend that I wasn’t good enough. The smile turning sad as your eyes dropped.
Chan’s hand twitched to reach out to you and tilt your chin up. It didn’t sit well with him that you could ever think you weren’t good enough. For who? For him? Because he knew that you were more than enough to be called his best friend and he would be damned to hear you say otherwise. But we made it, your face tilted up to look at him again. Something about the ‘we’ in your sentence broke something in his chest. That’s all he ever wanted. For you both to make it and settle into your dreams. Maybe it was the way he now viewed you, not the little one who would follow him around, but the confident person that you had grown up to become. In his mind, he reached out to caress your cheek, but in reality, he settled for You’ll always be enough for me.
Both of you were pulling back into the chaos of the conversation between the two groups as the debate on best dramas was in full swing. As Chan saw you smile wide at the mention of a show, it dawned on him what the feeling in his chest had been since he saw you in passing backstage. This time away from you, but always thinking of you, gave him the space to understand that he didn’t want anyone else to fill the space next to him where you used to be. No. What he wanted was for you to be back in the space. Maybe a little closer this time. The crushing weight of the realization that he was in love with you hit him before he even blinked.
Adjusting his position, he moved his leg so that it would be pressed against yours as he moved his chair slightly closer to you as well. His eyes noticed that your hands sat in your lap and before he could even think if it was a good idea, his hand was extending to lacing his fingers with yours. Daring a glance at your face, he could see the pink that dusted your cheeks and the way your smile slowly grew, eyes focused on your intertwined hands. When you didn’t pull away, joining in another conversation with Hyunjin instead, he knew that maybe you shared the same feelings as him. All he knew was at the end of tonight, he would make sure he had your number and would never let you go from his side again.
All the time for catching up could be spent tomorrow in the comfort of either of your places, filling each other in on everything that was missed, including the feelings that were already taking over.
from mina with love ♡ ˚⁎⁺˳ ── thank you for reading! ♡
tag list || @orchid-mantis-petals; @i-dontevenknowman; @deadcrow-donteat
Part 1, Part 2, Part 3, Part 4, Part 5,
Part 6, Part 7, Part 8, Part 9, Part 10,
Part 11, Part 12, Part 13, Part 14, Part 15,
Part 16, Part 17, Part 18, Part 19, Part 20,
Part 21, Part 22 (Final)
Summary, Characters: Maknae Line, Characters: Hyung Line
Prologue, Exordium (Chan’s POV),
Part 1, Part 2, Part 3, Part 4, Part 5,
Part 6, Part 7, Part 8, Part 9, Part 10,
Part 11, Part 12, Part 13, Part 14, Part 15 (Final),
Bonus: First Christmas (Chan), Bonus: Halcyon (Minho)
Hi, love your writing mann ❤️ Can you please please please please pleaaaseee make a Skz one in which reader is Chan's Girlfriend and All of the Skz boys are her comfort places. Where her father is abusive (beating and verbally abusive) to the reader and one day chan and yn go to yn's house to meet her family but it ends up with her father saying something bad and manhandling her which leaves bruises on her wrists. Chan gets her home and comforts her and when they get home all the boys comfort her and add something fluffy end to the story. I'm actually a writer so yeah thanks and i hope you'll make this one. It means a lot to me.
i'm so so sorry that this is being posted so late!! it ended up being a little longer than i thought it would, but i hope that you enjoy it 😊
Home
summary: there's no place you'd rather be
pairing: Chan x fem!reader
word count: 2.2k
genre: angst, hurt/comfort, short but fluffy ending
warnings: toxic and abusive father, implied past abuse, manhandling, just some terrible things that a father figure shouldn't do, bruising, aggressiveness, please let me know if i missed anything
masterlist
Pulling up to your childhood home, Chan sets the car in park, and turns off the ignition. The two of you sit in silence for a moment. Is Chan even ready to meet your parents? You glance towards the house before turning to Chan.
“I should probably mention that my father isn’t always in the best mood,” you note, wincing at the many memories of him.
“That’s alright.” He smiles softly at you. “If anything, maybe I can tell him one of my dad jokes. Works on the kids all the time!”
You chuckle a little bit at his enthusiasm, knowing that the only reason why it works so well on the boys is because of how proud he looks when he says some of the dumbest jokes.
“Yeah, maybe.”
It had been a while since you last were here. Too many memories have kept you from returning to what you used to call home. You’ve been lucky to meet with your mom here and there, grabbing a bite to eat at your favorite restaurants and cafes when you both had the time to spare, but never meeting at your house. Your father, on the other hand, didn’t care to meet up with you. Not that you minded. He was the reason why you moved out and found Chan and the boys.
You knock on the door carefully, three times as you’ve been taught, and fiddle with your thumbs as you both wait. Chan slides a hand into yours when he notices, squeezing it slightly to get rid of your nerves. The door swings open a moment later, your mother’s smiling face greeting you. She steps to the side and waves you in.
“Y/N! Come on in! And you must be Chan. She’s told us so much about you.”
Chan turns to you.
“Only good things I hope,” he chuckles with a wink directed to you as you roll your eyes.
Your mother laughs at the interaction.
“Of course, of course. Well, dinner’s almost ready, if you kids want to come find a place at the table.”
You nod and bend down to slip off your shoes, then guide Chan to the dining room. Your father sits at the head of the table. His gaze is set in front of him, focused on whatever was on the other side of the table. He doesn’t bother to glance at you nor Chan when you walk into the room.
Chan stops beside him as you head for your chair. He bows, offering his hand as a greeting.
“Hello, sir.”
He only grunts in response. Chan’s hand slowly falls to his side, and you pull on his arm to sit him on the other side of you. This is gonna go so great, you think. If he’s already not wanting to greet him with more than a noise, you’re not sure what to expect out of this dinner. Thankfully, your mother brings in the main dish, breaking the tension ever so slightly.
“Alright, here we are.”
It’s quiet between the four of you as you eat. As normal as it was growing up, having been out of the house for a couple years makes it feel much more tense in the air. You’re not entirely sure what your father thinks of you after you moved out the moment you could. But now that you’re sitting here in his presence once again, you can tell he still would treat you the same way as he used to.
Your mother is the first to break the silence. Her utensils clatter against the plate underneath, earning a warning look from your father, before she clears her throat to gain everyone’s attention.
“So Chan, dear, tell us about yourself.” She turns to look at him. “Working? Going to school?”
This is the one question that you didn’t think to explain to Chan before you were in the house. You quickly slide your phone out of your pocket, pulling up your notes and typing something as Chan hesitates to answer. You elbow his side slightly and raise the phone high enough under the table for him to read.
I didn’t tell them about Stray Kids.
He nods his head slightly.
“No phones,” your father grunts out.
Gingerly sliding your phone back in your pocket, you send him an apologetic look.
“Sorry.”
Chan clears his throat as he sits up.
“Ah, I work in the music industry,” he finally answers.
Your mother perks up at that. It was her dream growing up to make her own music. But after meeting your father, her dreams became just that—dreams. So hearing that your boyfriend is in the field must have given her a spark of joy.
“Like as a musician?”
“Yeah.” Chan smiles and nods happily. “I’m in a band with seven other guys. We’re like one big family, including Y/N.” He reaches down to grab your hand under the table.
“Tsk, a band?”
All eyes land on your father. A frown has made its way to his face. He sizes Chan up and down with a snarl. You can feel the way Chan tenses slightly at the sudden judgment.
“Yes, sir,” he responds carefully.
“Excuse him, sorry,” your mother chides. She sends the both of you a soft smile. “Something didn’t go his way at work.”
Chan doesn’t relax much with her words, but he nods once before his gaze drops back down to his plate.
“It’s alright. I understand.”
And just like that, it’s quiet again.
When the squeaking of your father’s chair against the wooden floor breaks the silence once again, you breathe out a sigh of relief. You made it through dinner. And most of it uneventful. You and your mother follow suit, beginning to pick up the empty dishes just as you’ve been taught.
“Thank you so much for dinner. It was delicious,” Chan speaks out, standing up as well.
“You’re very welcome! You’re the only boy that Y/N has brought over, so I just had to make it special.”
Chan chuckles lightly, appreciative of the sentiment, and starts to pick up his own dishes as well.
“Oh no, sweetheart,” your mother starts. “You don’t have to do that.”
Chan shakes his head with a smile.
“I insis-”
“Y/N, do not let him help you.” Your father bellows out.
Your mother turns to him, setting the things she has in her hands back down on the table. Though he doesn’t pay her any attention.
“He’s-”
“You will do as I say.” His focus is fixed on you.
Swallowing the lump in your throat, you turn to Chan. You hold the dishes in your hands under his to have him set his on top of yours.
“Let me take those,” you mutter.
“No, no. I got them.”
Your father steps closer to you. His voice shakes the room as he speaks again.
“Y/N.”
“Please, Chan,” you plead.
Chan carefully glances between you and your parents, biting his lip. He nods slightly and places his dishes on yours.
“Alright.”
With a tight smile, your father gestures for Chan to follow him into the living room. Before you can say another word, your mother calls out to you softly. You glance towards her. She smiles sympathetically then makes her way into the kitchen with empty dishes in her hands.
This was the one thing that always bothered you growing up. Once dinner was done, your father left you and your mother to your own devices, cleaning up whatever was left on the table as he went and watched something or went out to drink the night away. You know it bothered your mother just as much as it does you, but after years of watching their dynamic, you didn’t have the confidence to stand up for her, let alone yourself.
As you scrub the last plate in the stack of dishes, a loud thud sounds from the living room. The plate in your hand clatters against the kitchen sink. Your mother looks over to you, then to the doorway.
“You dare disrespect my parenting like that?”
His commanding voice echoes through the house. It makes your knees go weak with the thoughts of what he could have done to Chan. Disregarding your mother’s pleas to stay in the kitchen, you run to the living room. Your father towers over Chan as he practically spits in his face. You scan Chan for any hint of distress or injury. Luckily, you can’t find anything.
“Don’t twist my words,” Chan chides. “I just believe that as a father figure, maybe you could be a little nicer to your own daughter.”
Noticing your presence, your father sets his gaze on you. The anger in his face tells you all you needed to know. You need to leave.
“You’re gonna let your little boyfriend talk to me like that?”
You open your mouth to speak. But before you can say anything, your father is up in your own face.
“I-”
“Get out,” he spits.
You throw your hands up to stop him from getting any closer.
“Wait-”
“I said get out!”
He clamps his hand onto your arm, digging his fingers as much as he can into your skin. Your knees buckle with the pain. He doesn’t let go even when you collapse to the ground.
“Ow! That hurts!” you cry out. Though, it does nothing as your father pulls you back up on your feet and drags you to the front door. You glance over to where your mother is watching from the kitchen entryway, a hand clasped over her mouth and tears threatening to spill from her eyes. More than the physical pain you feel, your heart hurts at the sight, knowing that this is what she has to deal with every day for the rest of her life. Chan, follows quickly behind your father with a worried look on his face.
When you reach the door, your father throws it open and shoves you outside. Chan slides past him with both you and his shoes in hand. With one final glance at Chan, your father sneers at the two of you before slamming the door shut.
“You are not welcome anymore.”
A beat passes. You take in a shaky breath. Chan crouches down, helping you put your shoes on. He slips his own on after, turning you gently towards the car, and sets his hand on your lower back to guide you to the car.
Once in the safety of the passenger seat, you let out a shaky sigh, letting the stress of the situation leave you. Chan takes a hold of your hand.
“Are you alright?”
You don’t dare look at Chan. Instead, your eyes drift to the red marks on your arm, ones bound to become bruises within a couple hours. In the back of your mind, you knew that your father would have taken things out of proportion. Though, you didn’t expect it to go this far.
“I’m sorry you had to see that,” you mutter.
Chan squeezes your hand in response. He, too, glances at your arm. Carefully, he reaches out to brush his fingertips over the skin. Luckily, it doesn’t hurt enough that you have to yank your arm away from him. He sighs.
“We should call the police.”
Wide eyes meet his gaze in fear.
“No! No, he knows his way out of that. Plus it’ll just get worse for my mom.”
Chan stares at you with what you hope is not pity. You’ve received too much of that growing up. He settles back against his seat, turns on the ignition, and clears his throat.
“Okay. Let’s go home.”
When you walk in the door, with your hand in Chan’s, all seven heads gathered in his dorm turn to look at you with wide smiles. Jisung stands up from his spot on the couch and bounds over to the two of you.
“Y/N! Channie! How did it go?” He raises his eyebrows and sends you both an odd smirk. “Got the parent's approval?”
Chan clears his throat, shaking his head slightly.
Felix’s head appears over Jisung’s shoulder with a grin. It drops the moment his eyes drops to your arm. Making his way around Jisung, Felix gently holds your arm in his hands.
“Oh! Are you okay?”
You glance at Chan before looking at Felix.
“Yeah, just tripped up the stairs at my house.”
Felix stares at you with a knowing look, though he doesn’t say anything about it knowing that you’ll tell them when you feel ready. He offers you a small smile.
“Let’s get an ice pack on that, shall we?”
You nod, watching as he walks towards the kitchen to grab an ice pack out of the freezer, and a towel from one of the drawers to wrap it in. You thank Felix as he hands it to you. Chan pulls you into the living room to join the rest of the boys. Jeongin calls out to you, holding out one of the gaming controllers. Hyunjin pats the space beside him with a warm smile. Chan settles down against the arm rest before carefully pulling you to sit snuggled up beside him.
“We were just about to play somethin. Wanna choose?” Jeongin asks.
You send him a smile and take the controller out of his hand.
“Sure.”
As you watch the boys play against each other throughout the night, you sigh in content. A soft smile takes over your face as you settle in closer to Chan.
This. This is home. And there is no other place you would rather be.
