#dino angst

[woncheolisms]

then and now. (lee chan x reader)

theme: first kiss

with: childhood best friend

word count: 2.4k

warnings: fem!reader, swearing, angst, fluff, nothing crazy.

৻ꪆ first installation of the CANDY FLOSS collection

Your earliest memory of Chan is from when you were five years old.

It’s very vague and fleeting. Almost like looking through fogged up glass. It was the day his family moved in next door. Your mother took to his almost immediately, since they were the same age, and it only helped that you and Chan were the same age too, which meant lots of play dates. He was a bit hesitant, a little shy, but you shared your train set with him, which he took a great liking to, and the rest was history.

You cannot remember any day from your childhood that didn’t have Chan around you somewhere. Whether it was spending time directly with him, or him just hanging around in your orbit, in the background of your birthday parties with family, your elementary school graduation, the first time you competed in a football little league, or doing homework together, a drab and painful activity made bearable only by the fact that Chan was suffering with you.

You grew. And he grew as well. From kids to preteens.

He spent a lot of time in his father’s dance studio, which he dragged you to as well to keep him company. You were notoriously bad at dancing, but you loved watching him. It was clear he was a natural, and as time passed, he honed his art more and more, with you cheering him on every step of the way. It was no wonder Pledis chose him, no wonder he was so eager to go. He always said he would be some kind of performer when he grew up, and this was ideal for him, the path that could take him where he wanted to be.

He came to see you the night before he left, and you two went for a walk around the block. This is another memory that sticks with you to this very day. But not behind fogged glass. This one is clear as day.

You were in tears, had been since the day you found out he was leaving. You knew his schedule would be brutal, and he wouldn’t exactly have time to come down and see you, and you couldn’t go see him very often either. Which meant tears and snot, lots of it, as you sobbed about your best friend leaving. Anyone else would feel awkward about your wailing, but Chan was only amused and a little sad. He was used to it, since you had always been a bit of a crybaby. You had stopped under a streetlight when the crying became so much that you could no longer breathe, sinuses clogging up. You blinked furiously to clear your vision, only to see his deadpan face. It made you scowl.

“Y’know, you could look a little less excited about leaving.” You spat out.

He laughed then, all that young boyish charm of his that you just know got him selected to be where he is headed. His eyes were bright, and he reached up, tugging his sleeve over his hand so he could wipe your face with it. You sniffled hard, taking deep breaths to calm down. Chan patted your face some more.

“I’ll miss you.” You mumble.

“I’ll miss you, too. So much.” He whispered back.

There is where the memory gets just a little vague, in the sense that you can’t remember who leaned into whom. All you remember is that Chan was kissing you, in all your teary, snotty glory, his hand unsure but firm on the back of your head. His lips were so soft, and he tasted like the raspberry ice lolly you had shared just half an hour ago. You don’t remember who initiated it, but you remember how his shirt felt when you curled your fingers into it, soft cotton, not tugging him, not pushing him away, but keeping him there. It was messy, a little directionless, and very hesitant. But it was your first kiss. You know it was his too. It didn’t become anything other than lips sliding chastely over each other’s, but it meant the world to you.

You never saw Chan again.

Your parents moved before you started high school, since the only thing holding them there was you and your school for all these years. With Chan gone, there was no strong reason you could give them to stay. How could you tell your mom that you wanted to stay right there and wait for him? It made no sense, because you didn’t know when he would come back. You know he called his parents, and you know he asked about you. But you never spoke to him. Not directly.

You left your email with his parents before you moved, but you knew almost instinctively that you wouldn’t hear from him. And you were right.

You watched him debut. You watched him work hard to get where he is. Through music shows, and variety shows, endless vlogs and videos and appearances. You saw him everywhere. Somehow, Chan had always moved in your orbit your entire childhood. But once he left, you never moved in his.

You remember when his parents were headed down to Seoul a few years later, just as you were finishing up high school. Her mom called yours and they both arranged to bring you along. Your mom had told you excitedly, gushing about how wonderful it would be for you to see him again. But you were struck with fear only, the unbelievable hesitation that came with being so out of contact with him for so long, your last ever memory of him that kiss underneath the streetlight.

You had refused. Your parents were shocked.

You know that Chan knows this. He wanted you to come see him with his parents. And you hadn’t. By choice, not by circumstance. To this day, you wonder how that made him feel. You wonder if that hurt him, if he took that as the final nail in the coffin of a frosty friendship gone stale years ago. Or if he didn’t care, already over whatever it is you two built together.

Somehow, the latter is more painful to think about.

It’s only natural to gravitate to Seoul once you graduate. You start at an entry level position in an event management company, a very lowkey operation with a handful of employees. You’re content with it, since it’s a stepping stone, and slowly, you integrate into the city in a way that starts to feel like home. All your roommates are friendly and responsible, so you are happy living in a shared space with them. You genuinely feel like you have a direction here, a space to fill in this big city that would make anyone else feel minuscule. But not you.

It’s a shock that even in this huge city, Chan is able to find you.

There’s a knock on your bedroom door before Minhee, your roommate, pokes her head in. You look up from your laptop, giving her a quizzical look, a spoon of ice cream still in your mouth. She looks breathless almost, and a little struck. It gives you a pause. Something has happened.

“There’s someone on the door for you.” She says, sounding dazed. You tilt your head, confused and curious.

“He’s waiting on the couch.” She’s gone as soon as she says it, the door shutting behind her with a click. You blink, caught a little off guard by her behavior. Minhee is a very laid back person, the exact opposite of you, and you can’t imagine what could’ve rattled her this much.

Apparently having an idol show up on your door asking if he can come in can really rattle the best of people. Even someone as deadpan as Minhee. And when you go to see for yourself, your own blood freezes still.

He stands up when he spots you. He’s wearing a simple grey T-shirt and cargo pants, and his brown hair is a few shades lighter than it was as a kid, but longer and shinier. He has really grown into his face, high cheekbones and a sturdy jaw. When he swallows, you can tell, the Adam’s apple on his neck bobbing.

He’s ten times more handsome in person. Your knees feel weak.

He gives you a little smile that makes his eyes crinkle and your heart lurches at the sight.

“Hi.”

Nothing else. Just a simple hi. Nothing about the fact that he left only to never talk to you again, or any complaint about how you refused to come down and see him. There’s nothing. There’s only a simple greeting.

You don’t know what to say.

Chan fidgets where he stands, clearly a little uncomfortable in your dead silence. It shakes you from your spiraling mind, and you shuffle closer to the couch all the while feeling how painfully your heart kicks at your ribs. Your entire face feels hot. You’re breathless.

“I’m sorry for coming unannounced.” He mumbles. “I didn’t have your number and you never responded to my emails.”

You blink. “Emails?”

He nods. “The address you left with my mom.”

You give him a blank look, and then remember the email address you made as a child and left with Chan’s mother just before you moved, a way for him to contact you.

“Oh.” You choke out. “That.”

You stopped using that email ages ago. But of course, he doesn’t know that.

Chan comes with you to the kitchen while you start making tea, even though he insists he’s okay without. You don’t think you can sit in the uncomfortable silence in the living room, so you make the tea anyway. He hovers somewhere behind you, you can practically feel his eyes burn holes in your back. It sets your nerves on edge.

“Your mom told me you moved down here a few months ago.” He finally says. You nod, not looking away from the water slowly rising to a boil.

“Around early spring.”

“You didn’t tell me.” There’s no accusation in his tone. “I could’ve showed you around. I know all the good places. You still like ridiculously expensive sugary lattes? You can get those here easy.”

You can’t help your smile, even if you try to tamp it down. You turn to give him a look, and his face breaks into one too. Something sizzles in your chest. You quickly turn away again.

“I’m into iced americanos now.”

You hear Chan make an amused noise. “Seungkwan is obsessed with those. You two would make great friends, actually-”

There’s a little pause. “Seungkwan is a member of my group.”

You smile again. “I know, Chan.”

The tea is steaming hot when you finally place the cups on the kitchen island behind you where Chan stands. He thanks you quietly. A small silence descends on you, less awkward, but just as stifling.

“How come you never reached out?” You finally say.

Chan doesn’t miss a beat. “How come you didn’t come down when I asked?”

“Because you never reached out.” You deadpan. He looks a little sheepish.

“Trainee days were tough.” He mumbles. “I always told myself I would come see you in person when they were over and we finally debuted. And I would apologise for being so flaky. But you were gone, and you only left an email. And when I sent a message, you never replied.”

You sigh, nodding slowly. “I stopped using that email when you never reached out after leaving. I was….. hurt.”

“I’m sorry.”

The corner of your lip ticks up in a smile, noting the genuine remorse in his voice. You stare at your tea, aware of Chan’s eyes still trained on you. His stare is heavy but comforting. You had longed to be in his vicinity for so long, and he’s finally here. It makes your heart squeeze painfully, and you don’t know what to do with the feeling.

“I missed you.” He says, quietly. “I thought about you every day. About….. our last day together.”

The kiss. Unfortunately, you thought of that a little too often as well. You can feel your face flame. You just nod.

“When I came back to Iksan after debut, I promised myself I would-” He hesitates. You watch him. He lets out a small laugh, like he’s embarrassed.

“That I would kiss you again.”

Your heartbeat skips. Your hands feel clammy. You think of Chan under that streetlight, how soft his mouth was over yours, though a little clumsy but not out of place. Your first kiss was nowhere near perfect, but you wouldn’t change a single thing about it.

“We’re not in Iksan,” your voice is a little shaky, “but maybe you still can.”

There’s an intensity in Chan’s eyes, and they go minutely wide at your suggestion. You want to take it back, feeling a little regretful for spewing that out, but then you see his chest rise in a deep but shaky breath. Something between your unbroken eye contact sizzles.

Again, you don’t remember who leans into who, just like that first kiss. Maybe you meet him halfway, maybe he closes the distance. But his hand is on the side of your face, and his lips are slotting carefully into yours, and nothing else seems to matter anymore.

It’s slow, careful, like he’s trying to tweak everything he could change in that first kiss. Instead of running his lips awkwardly over yours, he fits them together like they are puzzle pieces. Instead of your noses bumping together every few seconds, he tilts your head with the hand that he cradles it with, moving you to a rhythm that makes you weak in the knees. He smells divine, like expensive cologne and fruity shampoo. His tongue plays on your lips just a little, and you sigh, parting them willingly. You feel a little dizzy, and you never want this to end.

“You still taste like raspberries.” He mumbles into your mouth, tongue dancing with yours in short, slow movements.

“I was eating raspberry ice cream before you came.” You shoot back.

You can feel the moment his lips stretch into a smile, effectively breaking the kiss, but he doesn’t pull away. He laughs into you, and it’s so contagious that you can’t help but return it. Soon, you’re both just giggling, his nose nudging the side of yours and foreheads pressed together. This close, his eyes are warm and brown, so bright, that you almost want to cry. Your heart soars.

You want to kiss him again, but he keeps laughing into your mouth. But you wouldn’t change it. Both kisses were perfect. Even if they were years apart.

🏷️: @picheolin-17 , @lovelylonelinesssvt , @scarlettveemin , @shad0wcast , @iluvhosh , @littlebluhellfire , @jimzk , @lucis-noctiana , @hannieweee , @xh01bri , @ilseamamuchoamingyu , @bleudandelion , @huihye , @markoplolo , @moondustmemories , @kaitieskidmore97 , @hocidust , @missaoki , @cheolwoo , @isaltedcarameows , @huiimoon , @tranquillitysoul , @weasleytwins-41 , @igetcarriedawaywithyou , @ateez-atiny380 , @piratekingateez2001 , @kpetts , @k4trinabluu , @sunnysidesins , @embrace-themagic , @escoupsue , @hxsxxk-180294 , @wxnderingthoughts , @meanieislife , @jiminie-08 , @w0nw0es , @lostinfakescenarios , @secret1234505 , @redemptions , @haoxiaoba , @junnhuisworld , @gojominn , @peachy-writings, @dreamingofpcy , @woozidreams , @booscafe , @tiffanylstrobel , @sannidokki , @dkstar

[haologram]

yours, always ❆ l.c [m]

𝜗ৎ part 7/17 of happy haolidays with haologram!

— synopsis: life after undergrad is difficult, and life back home is harder than ever when you're finding trouble filling your time. with the weight of great expectations on your shoulders, miscommunication leads you to places you wouldn't go even if it were essential for survival. – genre: est. relationship ; angst, fluff, smut. — pairing: boyfriend!lee chan x prospective grad student!fem!reader – word count: 14.6k — rating: 18+. minors do not interact. – warnings: swearing, they argue a lot, mentions of food/alcohol, smoking (weed), mingyu and soonyoung make their reappearance, mentions of bribery, mentions of the weird time between the end of college and figuring your life out, concerns of infidelity (baseless). smut warnings: unprotected sex. duh. lowkey exhibitionist as fuck, alludement to edging, car sex, oral/fingering (f.rec), dirty talk (so. much.), missionary, masturbation (f), creampie. — what to listen to: i'm so into you - swv ; all night long - mary jane girls ; heaven - taemin. – author’s note: [special thanks to @/saradika here on tumblr for these lovely snowflake dividers!] welcome back to haologram! this is a special segment i’ve created to give a quick thank you to all of my friends this holiday season, and this one is for my angel baby, @sn4psh00t! josie, i'm so grateful to have you in my life and i can certainly attest that the majority of caratblr writers are so excited every time we see you pop up. you are an incredibly rare find on these wormholes of the web, and i'm so honored to have you around and consider a friend. i hope we get closer in the new year, and we can see each other thrive in the things we love. i'm always rooting for you, my josie posie! this being said, this is 10000% a spinoff of 'between you and me', and i spent the day writing this and rereading my own fic between my fingers hehe but i hope you love it as much as i love you!! happy haolidays, josie! i love you!

IT'S BEEN A YEAR SINCE YOU AND CHAN DECIDED TO TAKE YOUR RELATIONSHIP SERIOUSLY.

Well, almost a year.

You'd returned to campus hand-in-hand, and said nothing. People knew without a word, and they understood that Chan was no longer available to fool around. To canoodle, to warm someone's bed for a couple hours before heading back out to scour for another.

You decided not to let insecurity rear its ugly head. Chan chose you, and you chose him.

Doesn't mean that the stories about how good he was in bed stopped circulating.

The matching promise rings on your fingers certainly ensured they died down significantly, and Chan being nowhere to be found on April Fool's weekend (when his frat usually threw a major rager) — only solidified to all the people who didn't know your history with him that he was definitely not getting back on the market any time soon.

You spent said April Fool's weekend holed up in your childhood home, with Chan nestled into your side and pouting at your every attempt to get out of bed. You'd initially gone back home to celebrate Rosie's birthday — only to arrive home and see both your parents and your little sister sneezing their heads off. Your mother claimed allergies, your father was sure it was death knocking at his door — but your little sister sprawled on the living room carpet with crumpled tissues in her hand and asked for her birthday scoop of chocolate almond ice cream, only to be told by her pediatrician hours later that she had the flu and had to rest up.

Safe to say, she threw an absolute fit and you made her stay at home while you dragged Chan out to the ice cream parlor to pick the ice cream up anyway.

Graduation came and went — the two of you (surprising due to the circumstances) graduated summa cum laude, and your families threw a conjoined party. You went back to campus afterwards to pack up your apartment, snickering to yourself at the barren walls of Chan's bedroom and the crowded walls of yours. He'd promptly slithered his way into your space when you both got back in January, his trinkets and posters migrating little by little until your bedroom was an amalgamation of you and him.

Made you laugh a bit when his Iron Man figurines stood proud next to your Catwoman — the only time Marvel and DC can coexist silently.

Upon your return to town, you and Chan had been pulled in all different directions. Job interviews across the city, only for Chan to end up working at your father's store and for you to take on a temporary managerial position at your mother's restaurant. You looked for apartments together, finding jackshit in the surrounding area and Mrs. Lee kept hinting at the fact that their house was open to house you both — seeing as they were only there during the holiday season, and their apartment in the city was their norm. Chan stayed there, but you found solace in your bedroom…

So that meant you and Chan were living separately for the time being, sleeping together in his room (or yours) only on the weekends.

You met every morning at your dining table, barely changed out of your pajamas and pressing a tired kiss to the other's lips before slumping in your chairs and sharing a cup of coffee before your mother forced breakfast under your noses and made you eat to get your day started. You'd wrinkle your nose at the scent of scrambled eggs, and Chan would steal your extra piece of toast — but you ate silently, quickly, and thanked your lucky stars that your mother's restaurant was only down the road from your father's store.

You carpooled with Chan to save money, your car sat pretty in the driveway as he drove you both around town, to and from work…on dates.

Dates that were few and far between, usually on a Friday and usually ending with you on his lap in his bedroom, his hands up your shirt and yours tugging at his hair. Sometimes the two of you were too tired to do anything, barely making it past the threshold of your bedroom before falling asleep on the mattress next to each other.

Your parents and his agreed that you were just feeling the effects of life after college. You weren't nearly as busy as you used to be, and the lack of stress in your lives seemingly took a toll on you — your mother tried to make everything much more stimulating, as if the clinging of birthday bell every so often and the beeping of POS systems didn't already haunt you in your sleep. Chan was only faring slightly better — his days consumed with the embarrassment of mothers flirting with him and your father's stern eyes. Despite liking him, your father made it no secret that Chan was only there as a favor to you, and he was the only employee that got weekends fully off.

Your lives felt slightly mundane for the summer months, but you silently bowed your head and took everything with appreciation. Mrs. Lee got you and Chan both down to the dance center every few weeks, giving you a chance to get all your frustration out by teaching a class or two. Chan was much better at it than you were, taking the time and energy to perfectly learn a complex choreography and actually teach it — whereas you would spend your four hours in the city showing off all your acrobatic skills you'd learned from years of cheerleading to little kids who ooh'd and ahh'd.

Time went on, decisions were made, money was saved — and it's December again.

Your parents are still excited to have you home, and you actually get a chance to help with the decorating this year — eagerly dusting off twinkle lights and Christmas figurines, and Rosie gets to see you decorate the tree all by yourself. It'd been your favorite thing to do before you left for college, and Rosie had only see your parents do it since then — and she wasn't all that excited to see you anymore, moreso content with your constant prescence and cheering eagerly when you'd take your mother's car and pick her up from school at the end of your shift.

You and Chan are once more squished together in your bedroom when his cousins make the drive into town — this time, actually having time to spend with the two of you and staying until the end of January.

There's a bit of bickering between you and Chan.

He's taking up too much of the bed. He's taking too long in the shower. He's hogging the blanket, he's stealing your socks, he's in your way when you're trying to brush your teeth and wash your face.

He argues that you're practically on top of him in the mornings, that you could easily join him in the shower. He argues that you complain about being hot at night while he runs cold, that your socks were originally his, that you are in his way when he is trying to shave and blow-dry his hair.

Neither of you apologize, only grumbling before one of you pulls the other into a kiss. It's usually him, and he's usually got you pinned against the door telling you to apologize. You never do, only letting him kiss you until your lips are swollen and your mother bangs on your bedroom door asking if everything is okay.

And neither of you know that your parents share worried looks when you're not around, hearing the arguing through your bedroom door. Hearing it through the bathroom door, hearing it up until Chan kisses you stupid with his hands wandering more than they should for a winter morning.

With all the bickering comes less time for intimacy. Not just sex, of course not (even if you haven't had the time to properly mess around since December even started) — but you don't get to have conversations because you're both still angry. You don't talk over breakfast, picking at your food before one of you inevitably gets up and eats alone in the kitchen. You don't get a chance to stand in the same room to get dressed, because you'll be damned if Chan weasles his way out of apologizing by kneeling in front of you and pulling your shorts down. You don't touch, you don't hold hands, nothing — until you're both out the door for the day and he opens the car door for you and helps you in.

The car ride is silent. No music, no talking — just tight jaws until he pulls into the parking lot of your mother's restaurant and leans over the center console. He doesn't apologize, just presses a kiss to your cheek before you (despite the annoyance in your belly) turn your head and kiss him properly. You tell him to have a good day between kisses, he reminds you to eat lunch, his hand squeezing your hip before telling you to run inside. It takes you a moment to stop kissing him, so much so that he has to (rather reluctantly) pull away and give you a pointed look.

You think about him for the rest of the day then. You text him asking if he's eaten lunch. He'll text back a picture of him picking Rosie up from school when you couldn't. He'll ask you if you want something from the gas station, and you'll see Rosie barreling into the restaurant with a bag of M&Ms and he follows behind with her backpack in hand. He greets your mother, he gives you a kiss and catches you both up on what her teachers said — that she has homework, that she was on the green smiley face all week and got a treat to take home, to make sure she stays warm because she's in the winter play and can't be replaced…the like.

Something about it makes your chest warm.

Another thing to note is that you're both waiting on acceptance (or rejection) letters from a couple grad schools in your area, your undergrad campus included — and you're anxious, even if you're only really hoping to get into your undergrad university. You're visibly nervous as you pace back and forth in the office of your mother's restaurant — she had once more roped you into taste-testing her holiday menu. Chan is equally as on-edge, if not more, and you want to attribute all the bickering to said unease about the near future.

But it feels like an excuse.

It feels like an excuse when you argue with him, when he scoffs at you, when he kisses you out of frustration instead of the same sweet sentiment you know you both hold for each other.

When he hasn't called you baby in a while.

And you know, you know you said that the insecurities that make your chest tight weren't going to make a comeback but you can't help but let them fester a bit when you see how easily Chan fits into your life. It scares you, to know that he's been by your side your entire life and yet, he's still choosing you. Despite the flaws and faults, the fighting, fucking and everything in between. You're worried about it, day in and day out — and you want to convince yourself that the 'gut feeling' you have about your relationship is just a jumbled mess of jitters.

You assume that not sharing a bed with him every night is also adding to that. Not getting to hold him close, not being able to breathe him in right after his shower when he smells like eucalyptus and your lavender body wash that you've bitched him out about using but he just smiles in your face. Not getting to kiss him goodnight, even when he ends up with his hand down your pajama shorts and your shirt is somewhere across the room…it's all piling up.

It's all bothering you.

"Honey, you're going to pace a hole in my floor." Your mother says gently, her fingers expertly clicking around a calculator as she holds up some tax form. You sigh, running a hand through your hair as you force yourself to sit in the rolling chair next to her, your hands fiddling with the buttons of your cardigan as you check the clock. Chan would be off in ten minutes, and then he could race home and check the mail. You weren't off for another hour and a half, and your stomach was starting to hurt.

"You'll get in, don't worry." She gives you a reassuring smile, reaching out to squeeze your knee as you slump against the desk. You know you probably seem childish, you probably seem like you're stressing yourself out about nothing — but your mother understands this feeling all too well. She was also in your shoes once, working in the back of a restaurant after college and waiting on those damn letters.

The difference is, she had no one supporting her the way she can support you. She was freshly married, working a stressful job and struggling to make ends meet. Your father was working two jobs, long hours spent away from the apartment that would become your very first home — because you came along during the part of their lives that was barely starting to settle. Your parents took many risks opening their businesses but taking care of you had to have been their biggest struggle.

And they did it anyway. With all the love they had, all the money they could scrape up, all of it — and eventually, both businesses took off and they never looked back. Sure, it was confusing when a music store and a restaurant within two blocks of each other were named after the same person — but local newspapers and even your town's radio station had interviewed your parents enough over the years that everyone knew the backstory. Newcomers could read about it from newspaper clippings on your mother's restaurant entrance or hear about it from your father's excited conversation — eventually, hearing it from you and Chan whenever people asked who 'Y/N' was.

However, you said 'me.'

Chan said, 'my boss' daughter,' 'my best friend', 'my girlfriend.'

'Mine,' if it was someone around your age.

It made you a bit giddy, biting back your smile like a schoolgirl with a crush.

"What if I don't?" You murmured, letting a frustrated groan fall from your lips as you leaned forward in your chair, covering your face with your hands. She snickers, her hand smoothing over your hair before patting your back, "go home."

"I can't, Chan—" "Walk to your father's shop and go home, Y/N. You can't work in these conditions, maybe the cold air will do you some good."

You do as she says, and she kisses your forehead as you pout, tucking your scarf into your jacket. She pulls her knitted beanie over your head before giving you a careful push out of her office and letting you know she'd clock you out. You opened your mouth to ask about Rosie, only for her to hold a finger to her lips and shoo you away.

The air was prickling against your skin as you made your way outside. There wasn't any snow so far, but the sky was gloomy and so was your mood. You shoved your hands in your pockets, your purse hitched high on your shoulder as you reached the crosswalk. You could see your father's shop sign from where you stood — bold blue lights forming your name and standing out against the white background. If you peek over your shoulder, you'll see your mother's sign, too — recently rebranded to a flickering neon sign, on theme with the retro vibe of the restaurant.

You ignore the pit of inadequency sinking in your stomach as you cross the street, nibbling on your lips and missing the feeling of Chan's warmth.

Despite yourself, you miss him. Even if he makes you angry in the morning and steals your toast, even if he uses up all your body wash when he stays over, even when he merely hogs the blanket and leaves you a shivering mess at two in the morning — you miss him.

Your father sees you coming from halfway down the block, his eyes lighting up through the store windows as you smile inwardly. He stops what he's doing to make his way to the door, and you see Chan holding boxes up to his eyes as he fumbles around to get to the front counter. You speedwalk the rest of the block, your father smiling brightly as you greet him with a hug and a kiss to his cheek.

"It's freezing out there, bud. What're you doing? Did your mother send you down?" He asks, closing the door behind you as you rush over to take one of the boxes off Chan's stack, wiggling your brows at him as he scrunches his nose at you. You stick your tongue out at him, and he just shakes his head, suppressing his smile as he keeps moving towards the counter.

"She sent me home early because I was, in her words, 'going to pace a hole in her floor.'" You roll your eyes, but the waver in the back of your voice is far too evident for your father's keen hearing. He raises a brow, "if this is about grad school—"

"It is, you know it is." You sigh, setting the box down on the counter. You take another and do the same, your boyfriend peering at you through his lashes before tilting his head, "were you checking the Informed Delivery again? I told you to stop doing that."

"I can't! I need to know when the mail is getting here," you slump against the boxes, and your father shares a look with Chan before shaking his head.

"Honey, you're going to get in." "You don't know that!"

"Y/N, it's grad school. I've been there, done that, and I did it with a kid and a wife and two jobs." He says pointedly, making you huff as Chan bites back his smile. You reach over and pinch him gently, earning a scowl as he bats your hand away. Your father pats your shoulder, "it's going to be okay. You're going to get in and you're going to do great and you'll be so proud of yourself."

"What about making you proud?" You mutter, and he just pulls your jacket hood over your head with a soft tap on the box beneath you, "you make me proud just by existing. Go home, Y/N. I'll see you both later."

Chan's eyes widen, and he darts to the back to get his coat as your father begins unpacking one of the boxes. You watch him silently, seeing him pull out a new shipment of vinyls, "anything good?"

"Everything's good," he retorts, holding up an ABBA vinyl that was missing from his collection. "Take this with you, put it on my desk at home."

You grab it, tucking it under your arm as you watch Chan bustle out of the back room with his scarf in his hand. He doesn't bother pulling it over his neck, or zipping up his jacket — and your father gives him a stern look. He pouts, limply zipping up his jacket to the middle of his chest, only for you to roll your eyes and reach over, pulling up to his chin.

"You'll get sick and then we're screwed when your parents get down here." You scold him, and you point at his scarf, "put it on."

"You're my girlfriend, not my mother." "If you want me to keep being your girlfriend—"

"Alright, alright. No need for threats today," he grumbles, wrapping his scarf around his neck loosely before fishing his keys out, "ready? Who is picking Rosie up?"

"No one. She has rehearsal for her play tonight," your father states, peeking over David Bowie and KISS vinyls in his hand. "You guys get home safe, and stay out of the garage."

"Unwrapped gifts?"

He uses the vinyl to point at you, "I mean it, missy. No peeking."

"No peeking, got it." You nod, waving goodbye as Chan bows his head politely. He slips his hand in yours, pulling you towards the door and back into the biting winter wind. "Bet you're glad you put that scarf on, huh?"

"Shut up," he rolls his eyes, dropping your hand and wrapping his arm around your shoulders before pressing a kiss to your temple, "did you eat lunch?"

"You just told me to shut up and now you're asking about lunch?" You jest, but wrap your arm around his waist as he guides you both through the vast parking lot. He shrugs, pressing another kiss against your cheekbone, "you're annoying."

"You're worse." "You still love me, though."

"Blah, blah, blah." You mock him with your gloved hand as he smiles against your skin, "I still haven't forgiven you for making our anniversary on Christmas Eve, Lee Chan."

He hums, ducking his head slightly to brush his lips to yours. You roll your eyes at him, giving into his lips as he pulls you into his chest, your lower back hitting the trunk of his car. His hand slides to your face, cupping your jaw as he speaks between kisses, "I'm just the gift that keeps on giving."

"You're so fucking annoying," you snort, and he just smiles into your lips as he cages you between him and the car. "Babe, I'm cold."

"I know a way to warm you up." "You're corny as fuck, get out of my face."

He only laughs, planting a chase kiss to the corner of your mouth before opening your door. You slip inside, quickly grabbing the AUX as he closes your door and rounds the car, sliding into the driver's side. He starts the car with a shiver, rubbing his hands together for warmth as the air vents blast warm air.

"Do we have plans tonight aside from combing through the mail?" He chides, and you huff, pulling your mother's beanie off and tugging at your scarf.

"Mingyu and Soonyoung texted me earlier saying they picked up from Hansol, if we want to join them at our spot." You unzip your jacket as he pulls out of the lot, peeling to the left to head home as he nods. "We're supposed to be getting snow, though, and they want to get up there pretty late so we're not busted like high schoolers."

"We're always supposed to be getting snow," he shakes his head, veering into the left lane as you nibble on your lip. He glances at you out of the corner of his eye, holding his hand out for you to take as you rest your head on the window. "Y/N, you can't stress yourself out like this."

"How are you fine? I feel like I'm going to throw up and die," you mutter, tracing circles into his palm before he sighs, simply sliding his fingers into yours and swiping his thumb back and forth on your hand. The car is silent as he drives home, and you hate the way your throat burns as you take a glimpse over your shoulder to look at him.

His eyes are tired, his back sore…mind full of stress and ideas and problems.

Chewing on his cheek as he flicks on the turn signal, your house coming into view as you sit up. Your eyes immediately dart to the mailbox, which is stuffed full (and left open) with overflowing mail. Chan barely has a chance to pull into your driveway before you're opening the door and sliding in front of the mailbox — pulling letter after letter out.

None of them are addressed to you except one, from a university across town that had the highest acceptance rate in the county. Close to home, carried your degree and Chan had applied, too.

You shove the rest of the mail into Chan's chest as he sidles up next to you, ripping the envelope open — and your heart sinks in your chest. The Dear before your name does nothing to soften the blow, and you try not to crumple the piece of paper in your hand as Chan's fingers gently pull it from your grasp. He clicks his tongue, folding the page back up and tucking it into his pocket. He slots the rest of the mail back into the mailbox, looping his arm with yours and pulling you toward the house.

You fall into lockstep silently, the rejection making your eyes burn with tears.

It was so stupid. A university with a seventy-six-percent acceptance rate saying no to you — a summa cum laude graduate with a hefty résumé and strong ties to the community. You knew half the professors there, they were friendly with your parents and Chan's. You knew other students there, Hansol and Seungkwan being two of them — Hansol went at night after his apprenticeship at the tattoo parlor and his sporadic shifts at your mother's restaurant, and Seungkwan went in the morning, leaving the spot open at your father's shop for Chan to fill.

"It's gonna be okay." Chan murmurs as he unlocks the front door, kissing your temple as you make your way inside. You roll your eyes, blinking back the tears as you kick off your boots. He takes your coat off, hanging it in the front closet as you cross your arms on your chest and make your way to your bedroom. He shuffles around in the front of the house for a moment as you slide your jeans off, grabbing a pair of his sweatpants from your drawer and pulling them on. You're pulling your shirt over your head as he appears at the door, your fingers plucking one of his out as he presses a kiss to your bare shoulder.

"Y/N, come on." "It's fine. It's not a big deal." "You can be upset about it, you know."

His fingers unclasp your bra, pulling the straps down your arms and tossing it across the room before he squeezes your sides. You shake your head, tonguing your cheek as you pull the shirt over your head. He rests his chin on your shoulder, "how can I help?"

"I don't need help." "Y/N."

"I don't, it's fine." You twist out of his hold, pulling your duvet out from its tucked position and moving your throw pillows onto the desk chair in the corner. He changes his clothes silently, his fingers fiddling with the remote and pulling up a random rerun of 2 Broke Girls on your television before sliding into bed with you. You're facing the wall, your knees curled to your chest when you feel his arm pull you into him. Your back hits his chest as you let a singular tear spill down your cheek, and he sighs against your neck as you bite back a sob.

"I know you're crying." He whispers, "it's going to be okay. It's just one. You have six others, don't worry."

Something in you wants to say that he doesn't get it, but he does. He does get it, and that's what bothers you — you know he didn't get in, either. His letter arrived a week before yours did, but he took it differently. He'd stared at the letter for a few seconds before shrugging and tossing it into the recycling bin in his kitchen.

He'd taken it in stride.

"It's frustrating," you mutter back, your voice thick as you wipe at your eyes haphazardly. He laughs softly, his hand slipping under your shirt and caressing your skin, "yeah, I know. But we'll never appreciate the easy things in life if other things didn't fuck us over."

"I know." "It'll be okay." "I know. I'm sorry."

"Don't be sorry," he presses a kiss to the back of your neck, and you sigh, letting your shoulders sag as you turn in his hold to bury your face in his neck. He wraps his arms around you, peppering kisses along your hairline, "I love you, and I'll always be here."

You nod silently, tears continuing to spill down your cheeks and soak into his shirt. You're not sure when you fall asleep, but you're sure the warmth of Chan's embrace and the soft cadence of his heart were nothing but a lullaby.

Your father had been wrong about Rosie — the rehearsal had been the day before, and the play was that night. The Lees also arrived back in town that night, creating even more of a hectic night as they tried to settle in while still getting ready on time to attend Rosie's play.

You and Chan were barely awake when your father pulled you out of bed, turning on all the lights and thrusting two bouquets of flowers into your hands when he rushedly told you to get dressed and get down to the elemtentary school. Chan haphazardly pulled on a pair of slacks that you'd ironed days in advance for this day, and you shimmied into the dress you'd promised Rosie you'd wear for the night of the play — a deep red with glitter all over it, swiping on a quick layer of lipstick and basically falling out the front door.

You were both half-asleep and sharing a cup of hot chocolate in the back of the school's auditorium, watching your little sister prance around the stage as Rudolph, her nose painted red and her microphone taped to her forehead. You leaned your head on his shoulder then, his hand snaking around your waist as one of the mothers leaned over and asked which kid was yours.

"Oh, she's my sister. She's Rudolph."

The mother, her nametag reading Mrs. Kim, gave you a tight smile. You raised a brow, "which one's yours?"

"Dasher. He'd wanted to be Rudolph but I guess your sister took the part." Her voice was rather grating, and you nodded slowly as your hand on Chan's arm tightened. Chan's brows furrowed, "Rosie earned that spot."

"Sure, of course." She nods, crossing her arms as your sister gave a monologue, "it had nothing to do with your mother being the caterer for the dinner after."

"That's enough, thank you." You snap, turning away from her as your mother leaned over your father to ask if you were alright. You gave her a thumbs up, and Chan's grip on the flowers was deathly as he tongued his cheek. You sat stiffly in your seats until the play ended, cheering loudly as the cast took their bow and the curtain dropped. Mrs. Kim was out of her seat before you or Chan could speak, but the sour taste lingered in your mouths as you both moved with your parents to find Rosie.

"Y/N! Did you see me!? Was I cool!?" Rosie screams your name from the side of the stage, and you smile as you make your way over to her. She wraps her arms around your neck as you nestle her to your hip, kissing her cheek, "you were so cool, babycakes. Come on, Channie's gonna take our picture, okay?"

The night went on smoothly, but you and Chan continued to share glances as the majority of the cast and their parents moved to your mother's restaurant. Mrs. Kim ate with an annoyed look settled in her brows, and you felt Chan hold you back from saying anything one too many times as your mother gave a toast.

She even congratulated Mrs. Kim's son on being casted as Santa's very first reindeer, the boy smiling as your mother mentioned the importance of his character.

"Glad to see someone knows the story," Chan mumbled in your ear, and you bit back your laughter as his phone buzzed against your thigh. You glance down at it, and he covers it quickly, shoving it into his pocket before kissing your cheek, "it's Mingyu. I'll be right back."

You hadn't seen Mingyu's name on the screen.

You'd seen an unsaved number.

You ignore the sinking feeling in your stomach as you nod quietly, his hand squeezing your hip as he slinks away. He makes his way outside, and you can still see him through the window — a grin on his face as he pulls his phone out of his pocket and checks whoever messaged him. He's flushed, as he scrolls through something, zooming in and tilting his head the way he does when he's intrigued by something. He swipes out of it, his thumbs clicking around the screen and sending off a message.

You don't see anything else because Rosie tugs at your sleeve, asking you if you'll get her a slice of the black forest cake your mother had made. You agree, swallowing the nausea in your throat as you scurry to the back.

"You're looking green, honey." Your mother's voice cuts through the air as you shakily cut the cake for Rosie, giving her a thick slice on a paper plate and making sure she takes it with both hands. She thanks you as she skips back out of the kitchen, and you glance at your mother. Her eyes are expectant, and you nibble on your lip.

"I didn't get into the university across town," you sigh, and her eyes soften. It's not a lie, obviously — but you're not going to bring up your relationship and it's potential problems up to your mother. She gives your shoulder a soft squeeze, "it's okay, honey. You've still got, what, six letters? I'm sure you'll get in somewhere."

"Yeah! Me too," you nod quickly, "I'm just bummed. I hope I at least get back into my undergrad, it would be embarrassing if I didn't."

"You will, honey." She snorts, pinching your cheek, "Now, come on. I need to rub Mrs. Kim's face in the fact that she couldn't buy Rosie's spot in the play. Can you believe she tried to bribe the teacher into letting her son be Rudolph? Despicable."

You gaped as you followed behind her, Chan still standing outside. He was still smiling, but he was speaking on the phone. He was leaning against the building, fingers toying with his lip the way he does when he's excited. His brows move as he speaks, his teeth sinking into his lower lip as he nods.

"Actually, Mom, I think I'm gonna cut out early." You clear your throat, and her eyes widen as she looks at you — but something on your face must give you away because her brows furrow.

"Honey, are you okay?" Her voice is hushed as she holds a hand to your cheek, feeling around as your father makes eye contact with you across the room. He excuses himself from his conversation just as Chan makes his way back inside, forcing himself to neutralize his expression before stepping back into the main room.

"Are you alright, Y/N? You look…stressed." Your father's voice is low as he, too, presses his hands to your face, and you bat them both away as you nod.

"Yes, I'm fine! I'm not sick, I'm not pregnant, so don't worry." You assure them, but your voice is thick the way it is before you start crying. Worry flashes across their faces, and you press a kiss to each of their cheeks before you feel Rosie tug at your dress, "are you leaving, Y/N?"

"I don't feel well, babycakes." You pout as you crouch to be eye-level with her, and she frowns as you carefully fix her antlers. "You did so well, though! You're super duper cool, the best Rudolph I ever did see."

She perks up slightly, and you wipe her face of cake crumbs before pressing a kiss to her forehead, "I'll see you at home, yeah? I gotta wrap your presents, too."

You wiggle your brows at her as she hugs you tight, bidding you goodbye excitedly. You wave at your parents, giving Chan a firm look that catches him by surprise. You push the door open, pulling your jacket over your shoulders and storming out of the building. He follows behind you, grabbing your wrist as you round the corner to the back of the parking lot.

"Woah, hey. What's got you in such a rush?"

"I want to go home. I have things to do." You reach into your pocket for the keys, only to remember that Chan drove you both. "Give me the keys, I'll drive."

"Not like that, you won't." He scoffs, and you twist your wrist out of his hand with a huff, "Y/N, what's gotten into you?"

"Nothing, I just want to go home. I need to wrap gifts and I need a damn drink." You run your hand over your face, blowing a breath out your lips as you look at him, "what did Mingyu want?"

He stiffens, but recovers quickly as he shrugs, "said he's got prerolls and we should join him and Hosh tomorrow after work. They're going into the city for last minute gift shopping, but they should be back before the snow is supposed to hit tomorrow."

You tongue your cheek, eyeing him before you take a step closer. He raises a brow at you, "what?"

"You giggle while talking on the phone with your cousin?" You ask, crossing your arms on your chest as Chan rolls his eyes. "Do you?"

"You don't laugh with your cousins?" "I don't have cousins, you know that."

"Y/N, what are you trying to get at?" He says flatly, "are you just looking for reasons to fight? Because I'm getting really sick of it lately."

You must look some kind of way because he sighs, running a hand over his face, "I didn't mean it like that—"

"Give me the keys." Your voice is plain, level. You hold your hand out, and he shakes his head, "I'm not letting you drive like this."

You shove your hands into your pockets out of frustration, feeling your mother's dolphin keychain rub your palm. Your eyes widen, and you pull the keys out and click around, your mother's car across the lot. You glance at Chan over your shoulder, before clicking your tongue.

"Might want to ask Soonyoung if he'll fork your bed over tonight." You turn your nose up, your heels clicking against the pavement as Chan moves to block your path. "Move."

"Y/N, I really don't want to do this tonight, okay? I'm sorry, I'm not trying to make things more difficult—" "You're not doing anything, Chan. I just want to go home. So move." "You're calling me Chan and you haven't called me that since we got back to campus last year so don't act like you're not upset with me."

"Chan, I'm going home." You state, a finality to your voice that he doesn't like as he shakes his head, "we're going home together."

"You weren't talking to Mingyu on the phone." "So what if I wasn't?"

"Then who was it?" Your voice comes out softer than you intend it to, and you're annoyed at the tears pricking the back of your eyes when you hear your mother yelling your name. You push Chan away slightly, turning around to see your mother looking around for you. You wave your hand, walking away from Chan quickly as she holds up a stack of envelopes.

"Honey, I'm sorry," she's out of breath as she reaches you, holding them out. "The mailman dropped these off here right after you left and I didn't get a chance to get them to you. Good luck!"

She scurries back inside, and your name is stamped across all the envelopes with several university seals. You chew on your lip, shoving the envelopes in your pockets and taking a deep breath.

"Please, let me take you home." Chan's voice is in your ear, and you shake your head, feeling your earrings swing.

"I'll see you later, Chan." You murmur, skirting around him and making your way to the car.

He doesn't follow you this time.

YOU WENT TO BED WITHOUT OPENING ANY OF THE ENVELOPES, AND IT'S BEEN A WEEK SINCE YOU'VE SEEN CHAN.

He texted you several times, calling you at least twice a day before you sent him a simple stop. He didn't, and you silently muted your conversation thread, ignoring the flooding messages and fiddling with the ring on your finger that said he was yours.

And you were his, of course.

That wasn't the part you were questioning.

You drove yourself to work — making both sets of parents felt the shift between you and Chan. Your little sister felt it, too, as you hoisted her into your backseat and drove her around with you to run errands for your mother and then drop her off to spend the day with your father at the shop — giving Chan a nod in greeting.

The way he frowned made your heart sink, but he didn't beg. He didn't plead, he didn't force you to speak to him and you were glad he didn't. You were really glad he didn't, because he was giving you the space you wanted even if it was clearly hurting him, too. You saw the way his hands twitched at his sides to touch you, the way he shifted in his seat at dinner — the way his eyes pleaded with his parents not to ask any questions and how they listened.

You went out for breakfast alone to avoid speaking to him, and you took yourself to the shop for your snow tires — the snow starting to layer slowly over the course of the passing days. Mingyu and Soonyoung were finally done with their gift shopping, and Chan hadn't been home until nightfall for the last two days…

"It's Christmas Eve," your mother sang, prancing through the living room with her big dress held against her chest. Yours was a soft pink this year, and you snickered from your spot on the couch as she ruffled your hair, "go get ready!"

"I will, I will." You pushed off the couch, shaking your head as you made your way back into your bedroom. You closed the door behind you, glancing at the envelopes on your vanity. You chewed on your lip, sighing as you grabbed the stack and stood at your desk, picking up a letter opener and taking a deep breath.

"It's not a big deal." You whispered to yourself, slicing through the envelope and unfolding it.

Rejected.

You're on envelope number three when Chan slips into your bedroom. You don't notice him, your vision blurry as you read the same words for the fourth time, after much consideration, we regret to inform you…

"Stupid," your voice is thick as you mutter to yourself, crumpling the paper slightly in your hand when you feel his chin on your shoulder. You don't bother fighting it, leaning into his warmth as a singular tear drops onto the paper. "Hey."

"Hey." He murmurs, his arms wrapping around your waist as he sighs. You don't like the way your heart picks up at his touch, your hands reaching for the next envelope. He pushes them out of your hands, slotting the letter opener back into your cannister of pencils before pulling you away from the desk. He turns you around, caging you against the vanity as he peers down at you.

"Are you still—" "Who were you on the phone with?"

He sighs, resting his forehead against your shoulder, "I don't have to tell you everything I do, Y/N."

"If there's someone else, just end this now."

He looks up immediately, "what? What did you say?"

You breathe out shakily, picking at your nails between your bodies as your lip trembles, "if there's someone else—"

He doesn't let you finish, crashing his lips to yours. The kiss is hungry, angry, even — like he's trying to prove a point. His hands are tight on your hips, pulling you flush to his chest, "never, ever would I do that to you, baby. There is no one else but you. Ever."

"But you—"

"I promise. I'd never step out on you like that. I told you I'd do right by you and I meant that, your honor is mine, too." His eyes are soft as you pout, "seriously? That's what you thought was happening? You think I'd do that to you?"

"No," you admit, covering your teary eyes with your hands, "God, I don't know. I'm just…I'm sorry. Everything fucking sucks and the weather is changing and we are changing, I feel crazy. I think I'm going crazy."

"You're not going crazy," he speaks gently, his hands stupidly comforting as they slide up and down your hips, squeezing lightly. "We are changing. Things are changing, time is passing. You're allowed not to like it."

"Then why is no one else freaking out? Why does it feel like I'm the only one?" You speak behind your hands, and his own wrap around your wrists, moving your arms to wrap around his neck before he presses a kiss to each of your eyebrows, eyelids, cheeks…one to your lips. "Chan."

"We are freaking out. I'm waiting on letters, too. I'm waiting for answers just like you are, just like everyone else. I want to make you proud, too. I want to make my parents proud, your parents, shit, even Rosie. I know you want that too, and knowing that you're doing this with me makes it easier. So what if we don't get into a couple of schools? We're bound to get into one, you know? We're moving down the path we're meant to, at the pace were supposed to. You want all your answers now and that's just not how it works, babe."

"I miss you," you hug him tightly, "I miss sleeping next to you every night."

He sags in your hold, his arms tight around your waist as he trails kisses down your shoulder, "I miss you, too. God, I miss you."

"Sleep here tonight." "I will." "And tomorrow night."

"Okay," he nods as you sniffle, "dumbass."

"Fuck you!" You bury your face in his neck despite yourself, feeling him smile against your skin, "Chan, stop."

"I'm sorry, baby. I'm sorry." He peppers his lips along your cheeks, kissing the pout on your lips twice before matching your expression. "I haven't seen you in a week because of this shit."

"You still haven't told me who you were on the phone with." "I don't have to."

You must look unimpressed, because he rolls his eyes, pulling his phone out and clicking around before pointing at the unsaved number. He presses the information icon.

Maybe: Diamond Life Apartments.

You tongue your cheek as he kisses it, tossing his phone on your vanity as you huff.

"And the pictures?" "Units that fit our budget. How did you even see that?"

You don't reply, slotting your lips with his. He melts into you, his hips pressing against yours before his hands slip under the waistband of your sweatpants. His thumbs brush the lace of your panties, and he pulls away to pull the sweatpants down — peering down at the white fabric. You shove his hand away, "you're not supposed to see that."

He nods slowly, but his fingertips pluck at the collar of your shirt, and you cover your chest with your hand before he can see the matching white lace of the bra. He nods again, fighting back his smile.

"You're fucking me tonight, aren't you?" "In your dreams."

"Yeah, you're in all of them." He speaks between kisses to your lips, "with the house…the ring…anything you want."

Your cheeks grow hot as he teasing his fingertips beneath the waistband of your sweatpants, "it's our anniversary and we're spending it with our parents and getting stoned with my cousins. Isn't that such shit?"

"You asked me to be your girlfriend on Christmas Eve, Chan. You knew it would be this way." "Stop calling me Chan. You're pissing me off."

"Don't care, that's your name," you shrug, your breath hitching in your throat as his hands cup your ass. He kisses down the column of your throat, nipping at the skin, "aren't you supposed to be getting dressed, baby?"

"How come you can call me Y/N for the last three weeks but I call you Chan and I get the paddle to my ass?" You huff, feeling him smile against your neck before he meets your eyes again.

"You told me that you didn't like it when I called you cute names while we were fighting, but we've been fighting everyday so I didn't know when I could or couldn't." He says pointedly, your eyes narrowing as he presses another kiss to your lips, "and if you wanna try a paddle, we can—"

"Shut up." "But you're so pretty bent over my knee…whining for more—" "Lee Chan."

He squeals as you poke his sides, pressing another kiss to your cheek before pulling his hands out of your sweatpants.

"But, seriously. Look at me," his hand grabs your jaw gently, making you meet his eyes, "it's just you and me. Okay? I'd never do that to you. In a million years."

"A million and one?" "It's an imposter. Not me."

"Okay," you mumble, blinking up at him as he cooes, pressing a kiss to your puckered lips. "You're so cute, baby. I love you."

"Uh huh." "Say you love me back or I'm keeping your gift for myself."

"Now I sound materialistic if I say it back," you point out, making him huff as you let out a chuckle. "I love you. Get out, I have to get dressed."

"Just a peek?" "You already got your peek." "Is it at least sheer?"

"Chan, get out of my bedroom." You state plainly, jerking your thumb in the direction of the door, and he pouts but moves away slightly. You turn around, your hands moving to grab your hairbrush when you feel his hand on your back. You roll your eyes as it snakes through your hair, tugging gently as he presses his hips against your ass. Your eyes flutter shut as you feel his bulge press into you through the thin fabric of your sweatpants.

"Just for good measure, you know I'm only yours, right?" His voice is low against your ear, and you hum in the affirmative as his other hand lightly drags a finger down the column of your throat, wrapping gingerly at the base with a soft squeeze. "And you're mine, right? All of you. Mine."

"Yours," you breathe out, and his fingers in your hair let go gently, soothing your scalp before both hands trail down to your chest, cupping your tits firmly, the rough material of your bra helping the friction against your nipples. You can't help but push your hips back against him, feeling his teeth nip at your earlobe.

"All of you." "All of me."

"Good girl, baby." He kisses the shell of your ear, "I'll see you later, beautiful."

Dinner is even slower than last year.

You're happily surrounded by family, and you can tell your parents noticed you and Chan are back on speaking terms. None of them say anything, simply watching the way he whispers about your mother's dress while unwrapping your silverware, the way you press a kiss to his cheek when he asks you to pass the salt, the way you both blush furiously when Rosie scrunches her nose at you and asks if she can be your flower girl when you get married.

Of course, you both say yes.

The questions you once hated are no longer asked. Your parents (read: your mother) no longer badger you about when you're getting married, when you're having kids, when you're settling down — instead, all four of them turning the focus on Chan. They ask him when he'll be proposing, when he's going to get his act together, when he's going to start thinking about your futures together and apart — and you can't help but smile smugly as he sinks in his chair. You eat your food silently, letting him drown in the questions as he gently nudges your foot under the table every time it's a 'we' question rather than a 'he' question.

"You're cynical," he murmurs as everyone gathers back around the front door, saying their nightly goodbyes and Rosie is leaning against your hip as your mother and Mrs. Lee have a laugh. Your father takes her swiftly, tucking her into her carseat in the back of his car before you and Chan get a chance to say your flurry of goodbyes and kissed cheeks.

"I thought it would never fucking end," you scrunch your nose as you take your coat off in the passenger seat, your dress rustling as you sink into the comfortable felt seats of your car. He snorted, "you? What about me!? You left me to die out there."

"We die like men, Lee Chan. I listened to them for years!" "…Very true, very valid and I'm sorry."

"Yeah, you should be." You mutter, but he doesn't start the car. You spare a glance his way, seeing him already staring at you. "What now?"

"Did I tell you how pretty you look tonight?" He leans over the center console, innocently running his eyes over you. You raise a brow, "yes, Chan. You cried in my bedroom and told me I looked like Ariel if she slayed and had a voice when she met Prince Eric."

"Or Princess Peach." "Both are princesses, are you trying to tell me something?"

"That I know no other characters with pink dresses." He kisses your cheek, "and that—"

"If you call me your princess I'm gonna throw up." "But you are." "Bleugh, next."

"I've called you that before and you've never complained," he snorts, turning the car on as you roll your eyes. You hate the way your cheeks heat, your fingers toying with the pink tulle of your dress before you peer over at him as he peels out of the parking lot.

"What are you giving me this year?" "All my love." "Chan."

"It's true!" He argues as he slows to a stop at the end of the street, preparing to drive up to the spot where Mingyu and Soonyoung said they'd be waiting for you both. It was your spot, technically — Mingyu and Soonyoung just happened to stumble across it when you and Chan snuck up there to get a little touchy-feely in his car during your graduation party with the excuse of buying more chips.

"Babe, come on." You whine, tugging at his suit jacket as he tongues his cheek, pulling forward as the light turns green, "you can't say I'm your princess and not tell me."

"I didn't get to say it, you cut me off. Bleugh, next, if I recall correctly." "I'll suck your dick if you tell me right now."

"Tempting offer," he reaches over, pinching your cheek between his knuckles, "but you'll wanna do that after, anyway. Trust me."

"I don't like you very much right now." You cross your arms on your chest, your fingers toying with the pendant of the little gold necklace you wore today. Your dress was floor-length with long sleeves and a square neckline, and you'd worn your hair down and back at Rosie's instruction. She'd begged you to do her hair like yours, and you'd even slipped a little tiara into the bump of her curls.

The rest of the ride was silent aside from Chan's phone on AUX, She's My Religion by Pale Waves being the last song to play as you made your way up the hill, snow covering the patches of grass and making you scrunch your nose. He slows to a stop, turning the car off before turning to you.

"I need you to open this before we do anything else." He reaches into the glove box, pulling out an envelope. It's addressed to you but the mailbox is that of your father's shop. It's from your old university, and you glance at him as he pushes it into your chest. You take it with a sigh, shaking your head as you hastily rip it open. You slip the letter out, giving him a bored look — but there's a twinkle of something in his eyes.

"What do you know, Lee Chan?" "That I love you."

"Uh huh," you must look unimpressed, because he points at the letter, "read it."

You make a show of undoing the folds of the letter, clearing your throat, "Esteemed Y/N L/N…they're really laying it on thick, aren't they?"

"Read, baby." "I'm reading, I'm reading."

"It is my distinct pleasure to inform you…" You trail off, sitting up abruptly as the words get caught in your throat. Chan is giddy next to you, "It is my distinct pleasure to inform you that you've been granted admission as a graduate student for the P.S.M program in Biotechnology for the upcoming Spring Quarter…"

You feel your lashes wet, Chan's fingers gently wiping your cheeks, "I told you you'd get in."

"I'm gonna throw up," you blurt, your voice thick as he laughs. His arms wrap around you tightly, tears of relief streaming down your cheeks as you cried into his shoulder, "Chan, I'm going to throw up."

"No, you're not. Because this suit was very expensive and you don't want to spend your Christmas cleaning puke out of your car." His teasing tone only makes you cry harder, his hand smoothing back your back in soothing circles, "shh, I know. So stressful, huh? But now I can say I told you so…and who knows, maybe you'll get a doctorate."

"Please," you scoff, sniffling, "I can't wait for an acceptance letter to that, I might die."

"Well, if you put three different mailing addresses you'll certainly drive yourself mad, my love." "Fuck you." "God, I wish you would."

You pinch his arm as he giggles, batting you away lightly as you slump in your seat. You take a deep breath, looking at the letter on the dashboard before looking back at him, "did you get a letter?"

"Nothing yet," he shakes his head, "but that one got to the shop this morning, it would've been there all weekend if I hadn't dropped by to pick up your gift."

"Getting me a gift from my dad's store is a cheap cop-out." "I never said it was from the store, I said I went there to pick it up."

"Well, what is it?" You sniffle, closing your eyes. "And don't tell me it's something expensive, because my stomach already hurts at the money I dropped for your gift earlier."

"You might be upset if I tell you the price." "Then don't, just give it to me and pretend it was cheap." "I don't think I can."

"Why?" You peel open your eyes, only to widen them the moment you see a small velvet box in his hand. He nibbles on his lip, fiddling with the crease of it as you sit up properly, "Chan."

"Don't say my name like that." "Like what—" "Like you're about to break my heart."

"Chan," you cover your face, letting out a frustrated groan as a fresh batch of hot tears simmer in your eyes, "Chan."

"Baby, please. Just listen." He pleads, and you trill your lips to stave off a sob as he pulls your hands from your eyes, his thumb running over the promise ring he'd given you exactly a year ago. "Just listen to me."

You nod silently, a laugh of disbelief falling from his lips as he wipes his knuckles across your cheeks, "baby, stop crying."

"I can't." "You can." "I love you."

"I love you, too." He presses a quick kiss to your forehead, before he takes your hands in his. "I don't want to ever take away from your personal achievements. I am infinitely proud of you and I'm incredibly honored to be the one that calls you mine."

"Chan." Your lips tug into a pout, dragging his name out as you bury your face in his neck. He wraps his arms around you gently, kissing the side of your face as he speaks.

"This is not a proposal until you want it to be. I didn't expect this either, but I don't have another gift prepared or properly wrapped for tonight. We can hold off. I can do this another time."

You're silent in his arms, your fingers carding through the hair at the nape of his neck. It's gotten longer, long enough to tug on as you feel him keep kissing your face.

"…And you won't be upset?" "Never upset with you, my love."

"Can I see it?" You pull back slightly, and he nods, shakily popping the box open. Your pout only grows deeper as you steady his hand, planting a kiss to his temple as he turns on the courtesy lights. A thin gold band with a princess-cut diamond, and three side stones — two sapphire, one emerald. It matches your promise ring, and his. His eyes are scanning your face as he shifts slightly, "do you like it?"

"Did you ask my dad?" "And your mom. And Rosie."

"Give me your speech." You sniffle, resting your head against his. He blinks at you, and you wave him on, "go on. Let's hear it. Question and all."

"I love you." He starts, and you nod quietly, your thumb tracing his nailbeds as his other arm wraps around your waist, pulling you over the center console and sitting you in his lap. He moves the seat back slightly, and you snuggle into his chest as he takes a shaky deep breath.

"I love you, and I remember when we were in middle school and I told you that for the first time, you told me that it was selfish to say that. That I loved you, because the point of being in love was that there was no I in team. You didn't let me tell you I loved you again without interrupting me and telling me that we loved each other, and that stuck with me for a very long time. I wanted to be in love with you, forever, even if it meant constantly getting interrupted because I knew how you felt about it but I can't help but give in to that selfishness. To love you and want you all to myself, knowing that I'd never get over you if I had even just a taste of what it was like for you to be in love with me. Our relationship has taken the worst times of my life and made them all that much sweeter, and amongst it all, you've made me a better man. I know I have a lot to live up to, and I know I've made you so many promises…and I intend to keep each and every one of them. I will always, always embrace your individuality and I always want things to be as easy as they've always been between you and me. You call my name, and I'll come. If time is the issue, if school is the issue, if I am not man enough for you yet, I will wait. Patiently, and I will be better for you. I will do everything I can to be the man you need, and in turn, I want you to be everything you've ever wanted. I want you to feel fulfilled. My love for you is rooted in selfishness, I will never deny that, and even if you deny me now, or tomorrow, or in ten years time…I'll still love you endlessly, if it means you're happy with yourself, and your honor is mine even if mine is not yours. I know this is a lot of me, me, and me…but I hope you'll have me, anyway. Will you…marry me?"

You nod your head silently, putting up your hand. It trembles slightly as you tap the box with your ring finger. He takes it out quickly, sliding it down your finger with shaky hands as you both hear a car pull up into the snow. You don't give him a chance to speak, pressing your lips to his as his thumb adjusts the ring on your finger before you move to hold his face gently. It's cold against his cheek, you can tell by the way he flinches — until you hear the slam of a car door.

"I love you." You mumble against his lips, "we're going to go up there for an hour, pretend we care about what they have to say, then I'm going to pretend I'm cold and you're going to walk me down here and I'm fucking you in the backseat. Do you understand?"

"Yes," he's breathless as he looks up at you, "yes ma'am."

"Perfect. Let's go get fucking blitzed." You pat his cheek, before turning back, "and yes, by the way. I will marry you."

"Great," he nods, but there's a gloss over his eyes that tells you the feigned nonchalance is not nearly enough to contain his emotions. You press a kiss to his lips again, "I love you, so much."

"I know." "Say it back, dipshit."

"There she is," he smiles, making you huff as he chuckles, wiping his eyes carefully, "I love you, honey."

"Are you still going to cry at our wedding?" "I could cry right now." "No balls."

Tears start to stream freely down his face as you gape, quickly wiping his cheeks as you plant your lips all over his face, "I'm sorry, I'm sorry—"

"I love you so much, Y/N." "I know, I know I love you, honey—"

A knock on the window makes you both jump, and you quickly cover Chan's face by holding him to your chest as you crack the window. You raise a brow as you look up at Mingyu, "yes?"

"Are you guys gonna get out or make out, 'cause I got shit to do." Soonyoung interjects from behind him, and the taller man nods and shrugs as he steps back. You roll your eyes, "you never change, Hosh."

"You're still hot, too." He says smugly, and Chan scoffs from against your chest, rolling the window down blindly and pointing a finger at his cousin, "I'll fucking end you, shithead."

"Yeah, because a little guy with lipstick stamps all over his face is going to beat my ass." He teases, and you give him an unamused look as you roll up the window, "we'll be right there."

"Don't get stuck, now." He turns on his heel, whistling as Mingyu shakes his head and follows up the hill.

"I like the lipstick stamps, thank you very much." He mutters, his arm around your waist tightening before he peppers kisses at the base of your throat, "you still want that summer wedding?"

"In the woods? "Like in Breaking Dawn?" "I'm getting déjà vu."

"Mmh." He keeps kissing up your neck, his hand finding yours and interlacing your fingers as he trails up your jaw, "you smell so fucking good."

"Keep it in your pants. Twenty minutes." You breathe out, but you lean into his lips more. He tugs at your earring, "I'm already hard."

"Not my problem." "It is. Did you know my girl's goin' to grad school?"

"Is she, now?" You run your free hand through his hair as he kisses your cheek repeatedly, but you tug him back, earning a soft whine and a rut against your thigh from his hips. "Get it together, baby."

"Just touch me a little. Spit in my mouth, even." "You're insane." "About you."

You plant a kiss on his lips, reaching into your seat to grab your coat and pulling it over your shoulders as he pouts, kissing up your neck. You hate how easily your underwear sticks to you, but you ignore the throbbing sensation and unlock the door — your hand easily finding his buldge over his pants and giving it a tight squeeze.

"Behave," you mutter sternly, his eyes wide as he nods. His lips part slightly, and you roll your eyes as you lean over slightly. He instinctively opens his mouth for you, sticking his tongue out and letting you spit onto it. He lurches forward to kiss you, and you let him meet your lips as you feel him grinding against your palm greedily. You give him another squeeze, swallowing his gasp before pushing the door open, "don't act up, Lee Chan."

"Tell me you love me." "I love you." "I could literally cum right now."

"Get out of the car, idiot." You roll your eyes again, but don't fight back the smile that graces your lips as you zip up your coat. He slides out shortly after, clearing his throat as he adjusts himself in his pants.

"One hour," he holds up a finger as he grabs your hand, and you raise a brow. "Easy. I've got this."

Not easy, and neither of you got this.

Chan is quietly listening to Mingyu talk about how he's finally got a foot in with Tzuyu from the jewelry shop in town, a long time friend of yours. You're listening to Soonyoung talk about his boyfriend from back home, how he went home with his parents and they've been struggling to communicate.

You can feel his bulge under your thighs as you sit on his lap, the two of you sharing a chair Mingyu brought out from the back of his truck. You can feel him rut against you every few minutes, genuinely trying to get comfortable but failing as the softness of your thighs tightens with every movement — and you're both grateful that Mingyu and Soonyoung are too zonked too notice it. You feel a sharp inhale against your neck about twenty minutes, and you almost think he's finished in his pants — but a strained look tells you he's fine.

"So, we heard you might have some news," Mingyu suddenly says, and you cross your legs on top of Chan's as you raise a brow. He blushes something awful as he looks away, and Mingyu wiggles his brows as he hands the joint over to you. You hold it between your lips, taking a quick drag as you tilt your head, "me? News?"

"Oh, cut the shit." Soonyoung says, a shit-eating grin spreading on his lips as he leans over his knees, resting his elbows on them. "Tell us already. Confirm or perish, Miss Y/N."

You roll your eyes, holding up your left hand. They glance at it, furrowing their brows and looking at each other. Mingyu scoots closer, holding your hand to his face before Chan swats him away and pulls your hand to his chest.

"You're engaged?" Mingyu asks, confusion crossing his features as it does your own.

"Uh, yeah? Is that not what you were talking about?"

"Sure, whatever. Uh, congrats," Soonyoung waves it off, before clasping his hands together, "grad school. You got in, right?!"

Realization crosses your face as both men look giddy for your answer, excitement gleaming in their eyes and warming your chest. You bite back your smile, nodding slowly as they cheer loudly. You cover your ears as Soonyoung smothers you in a bone-crushing hug, and Mingyu smacks the back of Chan's head lightly.

"You should learn from her! She's so smart and cool and you're some frat boy." Mingyu turns his nose up at him, and you manage to free yourself from Soonyoung's embrace to rub the back of Chan's head.

"Hey! He's still waiting on his letters!" You defend him, tucking his head to your chest as Chan sticks his tongue out at them, "yeah! I'm still waiting!"

"Listen, doll." Soonyoung points at Chan, "you can't expect wifey here to carve the pavement for you to drag your nuts. Either you get into grad school or you die trying, and if you're not going to go then you build her a house with your hands."

"I know how to love my girl, thank you very much. I'd build her a palace, so fuck off." Chan smushes his face into your neck, and Soonyoung rolls his eyes, the whites dusted pink from the weed.

"God, I miss Jihoon." He slumps back on his chair. Mingyu scrunches his nose, "then call him, idiot. I'm sure he misses you, too."

"This is why Tzuyu doesn't fuck with you." "First of all, Tzuyu and I are gonna go steady. Just you wait." "She invited you to her New Year's Eve party, Mingyu. She didn't ask you on a date."

"So? She might want a New Year's kiss! I can't risk not taking any chances she might give me!" Mingyu exclaims, and Chan taps his watch quietly.

"Hour and ten, baby." He whispers into your neck, and you sigh, looking over at Mingyu and Soonyoung.

"Fellas, I hate to do this—" "No! C'mon, Y/N! We're only here for a few more days before Soonyoung makes us drive back to smooch his boyfriend!"

"Whine all you want, bud, but I'm practically freezing my toes off." You grimace, gesturing at your open-toed heels with a stiff hand. "I'm just gonna warm up. I'll be back."

"You guys might as well go home," Soonyoung scoffs, nudging Mingyu with his elbow. "I told you they couldn't hang."

"Oh! Okay!" You nod, cueing in malicious compliance as you hold the joint back out to Mingyu. He takes it suspiciously, and you grab Chan's hand and stick your tongue out at Soonyoung, "have fun missing your boyfriend while I fuck my fiancé, shithead."

The boys nearly fall over themselves trying to argue with you, but you hold your head high and pull Chan down the hill to your car. You fish the keys of his pocket, letting him pull you close and kissing your lips messily as you unlock the car.

"I know it's our anniversary," he mumbles, actively trying to pull the zipper of your coat down in the freezing winter air, "and I promise I'll make it up to you but if I'm not in you in the next five minutes, I might die."

"You won't die." "But you can take it for me, right? You're my good girl, right, baby?"

Your cheeks grow warm despite the weather, your hand finally unlocking the doors as he kisses down your neck.

"Trying to knock me up already?" "Fuck, don't say that."

His hips press against you, and you hardly have a chance to open the door fully before he's pushing you inside, the warmth engulfing you both as he slams the door shut and makes quick work of your shoes, tossing them into the front seat. You're not surprised as he kisses the arches of your feet, dragging his lips up your ankles and pushing the skirt of your dress out of the way as you try to pull off your coat.

If Chan is anything when it comes to you, it's needy.

If Chan is anything when he's stoned, it's needy.

His kisses against your thighs are wet and messy, and you hardly have time to pull the zipper of your dress down like some sort of contortionist when you feel his face pressing into the damp fabric of your panties. You hear him inhale deeply as you manage to pull the dress over your head, lazily tossing it into the front seat as you feel his tongue press against your clit through the fabric, your thighs closing around his head before he forces them apart, whining at the taste of you coating his tongue through the fabric.

Your hand pulls at his hair, your skin already slick with sweat as you make him look up. His chin and lips are already covered with your juices, "I thought you wanted to fuck me?"

"I do," he pants out, "but you look so pretty. I have to appreciate it first."

You don't get to speak again because he shoves your hand out of the way, nosing at your pussy before pulling you firmly onto his face. You cover your mouth as you gasp out, his lips sucking your clit perfectly through the soaked underwear and making your skin prickle. Your hands card through his hair, holding him firmly in place as you rock your cunt against his tongue, before you feel his fingers pull your panties to the side and dive back in. He swirls his tongue just the way you like, whines of his name falling from your lips as your thighs tremble. He pulls back, his face covered in spit and arousal when you feel his fingers run through your folds, pressing hard against your clit and tracing tight circles. Your stomach caves in slightly, thighs closing around his hand as he tuts.

"Come on, baby. Can't keep your pretty thighs open for me? Didn't you miss me?" He pries your legs open with one hand, a pout on your lips as he presses a quick kiss to them. "Don't you miss me touching you like this?"

You nod limply as the embarrassment of bringing you so close to the edge already settles in, gasping lightly as he lands a wet slap to your clit. You rut up against his hand, earning another as he kisses up the side of your neck, "always so wet for me. You love me, baby?"

"Love you," you nod frantically as his fingertips tease your entrance, "love you so much."

"Love me so much, right? Wore this cute set for me? Wanted to look so so pretty for me, right?" His whispering only makes you whimper against his neck, your hands pulling at his suit jacket when you realize he's still fully dressed. "Need words, baby."

"Take off your c-clothes," you stammer out, your fingers pawing at his tie as he nips at your neck. He smiles against your skin, "but I want to look good for you."

"I'll touch myself for you," you offer, your voice shaky as he barely dips his fingers inside you. Your own tighten, "wanna earn it. Wanna see you, please…"

"Please?" "Please, daddy."

He kisses down your chest, his free hand unbuckling his belt expertly and pulling it through the loops, tossing it somewhere in the car as he gets back down to your cunt. He sucks your clit into his mouth, pulling you onto his face harder as he slides his fingers inside you. You let a choked moan out, his fingers moving so fast you can almost taste your release on the tip of your tongue, your thighs shaking as his mouth forces you across the finish line with a hard suck. Your fingers tug at his hair, your other hand covering your swollen clit from his mouth. You can feel him pout against your knuckles, kissing them needily when you feel his tongue snake over the ring he'd just given you.

You use your foot to push his shoulders back, his eyes fixed between your thighs like a man starved. His hand wraps around your ankle, and you quickly close your legs, lifting your hips to pull your panties off. His fingers fumble with his tie as you spread your thighs again, resting your ankle on his shoulder as he pulls it off his neck and throws it aside.

"Want you." You mumble, your fingers tracing over your puffy clit with a soft groan, your head falling back against the door as he unbuttons his shirt haphazardly, straining against his pants as he untucks his shirt. You huff as he trails his eyes up, your fingers spreading your cunt open lewdly, "look here. Want you to see how much I missed your cock inside me."

"Don't say that, I won't make it out of these pants," he whines, almost breaking the zipper of his pants as you sink your fingers inside you, thrusting them in and out shallowly before pulling down the cups of your bra and cupping your chest, pinching your nipple between your fingers with soft moans falling from your lips. He fumbles with tugging his shirt off, kissing the side of your foot and up to your knee as he throws it over his shoulder. He yanks you to him as he tugs his hard cock out of his underwear, not bothering to pull them further down before he pulling your fingers out of you and pressing them against his length. He ruts against your palm, letting you smear your cum and arousal all over him before you wrap your fingers around him tightly, tapping his tip against your clit with a whine before grinding yourself against it.

"Put it inside, baby." He orders, his eyes dark as you oblige, biting your lip as you tilt your hips up and guide him into your entrance. Your breath hitches, the stretch familiar and so good as you move to wrap your legs around his waist, pulling him closer. He groans, holding himself over you, his fingers digging into the seat under you as you try to move your hips against him. His hands pin your hips to the seat, "you do this on purpose, you know."

You peer at him through your lashes, your nails digging into his shoulders as he gives you a hard thrust, your moan choked as he builds a brutal pace, "you do all these things to get me desperate and wonder why you can't fucking walk the next day."

"L-Love it," you try to reply, your thighs tight around his hips, "love it when you fuck me l-like this."

"God, I know…" his head falls forward, eyes squeezed shut as you whimper underneath him, "pussy's so fuckin' wet…feels so good, baby. You're mine, right?"

His hand wraps gently around your throat, squeezing softly as you squeeze your cunt around him, "all of you. You're mine. This pretty mouth that talks all that shit, mine…takes my cock so well, too. Right?"

His hand trails down, pulling at the middle of your bra roughly, and you hear the flimsy fabric tear as he pushes it aside. He pinches your nipple between two fingers, giving the other a soft squeeze with a grunt, "these are mine. Always been mine, gorgeous. Perfect. You love it when I paint these with my cum and you're mine, right?"

Your head is swimming as he picks up the pace, his hands squeezing your thighs in a death grip, "these are mine, too. Press these pretty thighs together and fuck my cock between them when you're not being a good girl, yeah? Make you all messy and clean you up with my tongue after. Wrap these fuckin' beautiful thighs around my head, God…you're mine, right?"

Said thighs are shaking as he buries himself to the hilt inside you, holding them apart almost painfully as his hand snakes down between them and traces circles into your swollen clit. Your hips chase the friction, watching him bite his lip as you clench around him. He lands a sharp slap to your cunt, tears pricking at your eyes at the stimulation.

"Greedy cunt's mine, too, huh?" He mutters, throwing his head back as he gives you another hard thrust of his cock, your jaw falling slack as he hits the perfect spot. "Right there, huh? Right there, baby?"

"Y-Yes," you breathe out, pinching your nipples between your fingers as he sinks into you over and over.

"Perfect fucking pussy…so wet and needy for my cock, right? Always ready for me, whenever I want…gonna fill you up, okay?" He leans forward, biting the lobe of your ear, "I own you, you know that? Bet you did. You're my smart girl, right? So smart…gonna be a grad student and make me proud, right? So proud of you, princess. I'll tell you everyday."

You nod, tears rushing down your cheeks as you feel your thighs tighening around him, feeling him sucking the soft skin under your ear before he speaks softly, "you're mine. Just like I'm yours. You own me, too, baby…be proud of me, too."

You whine loudly as your orgasm rips through you, feeling him chuckle as he quickly follows. You wrap your legs around his hips tight, pulling him into a searing kiss as you keep rolling your hips up. He takes the hint, keeping his pace as you moan into his mouth, "missed your cock so much, missed you. Love you."

"Proud of me?" "So proud of you."

CHAN ALMOST THREW UP RECEIVING HIS ACCEPTANCE LETTER TO GRADUATE SCHOOL.

And he cried. He bawled in your arms in the middle of your bedroom, holding the same letter you'd opened just days prior in his hands. You kissed him all over his face, stamping your lipstick into his skin as he cried quietly. He pulled you close, the letter long forgotten on the ground as he tried to kiss you back, eventually managing to pin you against the carpet.

Your idea of celebration was quiet and private, and your parents excitedly made a nice dinner and had Mingyu and Soonyoung over before they left for the city again. Soonyoung once more inhaled your mother's chocolate cake, but you'd winked and handed Mingyu an extra Tupperware. He thanked you with a kiss to your forehead that earned him a smack from Chan, and you'd laughed until your sides hurt.

The thing about loving Chan was just that.

His devotion to it all. To you, to loving you, to being yours. He'd never known how to be anything else, and he's admitted he never wants to know, either. He makes good on his promises — he practically worships the ground you walk on, he kisses you breathless and keeps it cool in front of your parents. Your graduate school acceptance is the biggest deal you'd known since your first words — and Chan makes it a point to keep it that way. He talks you up to anyone he can, talking about how his girlfriend is a graduate student and she's going to be the best of the best in her field. He talks about how cool and smart you are, how hardworking and sweet.

He still whispers dirty things to you in the corners of your homes, don't get it twisted — something about how pretty you are with his cock in your mouth, how you must love being treated like his 'dirty little slut' so much…but you ignore the flame in your cheeks as he kisses you innocently, slipping away like nothing happened.

You'll be back in the city soon, too. Nestled away in your apartment, walking on campus — hand in hand.

Your engagement ring is nestled beneath your shirt most days, strung on a necklace with the same locket you were wearing last year when he asked you to be his girlfriend. Neither of you said anything, but you'd quickly learned how eager he was to defile the ring and the idea of you as his, eternally — often asking you to wear it when you fooled around, getting off on the idea of calling you his wife and making sure you knew he meant it. He was going to make you his wife — smart, gentle, with a loud mouth and a soft heart, you were his for the taking. Loving, worshipping…all of it.

He owned you, your heart, and he's stuck his claim years ago.

Just like you owned him.

Just like you reassured him.

"You're mine, right? And I'm yours?" "Always. Yours, and mine."

HAOLOGRAM © 2025 ||  no translations, reposting or modifications are allowed. do not claim as your own. viewer discretion is advised. your media consumption is your responsibility.

[acphengene]

Americano

✦ pairing: Dino x reader

✦ genre: soulmate au, fluff, angst, found family, tiny bit of suggestiveness

✦ word count: 4k

✦ reading order: Hoshi ✦ Jun ✦ Jeonghan ✦ Woozi ✦ Minghao ✦ Dino ✦ Wonwoo ✦ Dokyeom ✦ Seungkwan ✦ The article ✦ Scoups ✦ Joshua ✦ Vernon ✦ Mingyu ✦

When Lee Chan turned 13 he had not even cared to figure out what his mark might be after it wasn’t something he could see with the bare eye. 

It wasn’t that he didn’t care, he was just a busy guy filled with ideas for the future and things he wanted to explore and see. He was pretty nonchalant that way, what was bound to happen would happen, and whoever his soulmate was, she would be bound to him. 

His parents were a little worried when nothing seemed to show up, but he just shrugged and kept dancing with a smile on his lips. He had been happier, a little more perky than before his birthday, but nothing that would raise any flags, if you weren’t really paying attention. 

It took him almost a year before he noticed. He was sitting around the dinner table with his parents and his brother when he suddenly felt heat rise to his face, heart beating and a rage filled him. 

He had somewhat panicked. Telling them all that he was getting mad, but that it didn’t make any sense, because he did not know why he felt that way. His parents had laughed and hugged him, all while he felt like he could rip apart the world. 

He quickly understood that what he had felt wasn’t his own emotions, but yours. It had made him smile. The more he concentrated the more he noticed, and as time went on, the better he got to know you, the easier it was to distinguish where your feelings ended and his own began. 

It was complex, especially on the days where you were happy and he was annoyed or the other way around. When he had met his 12 older brothers they had all looked at him with a bit of pity, but he didn’t really mind. He knew you were okay, and as long as you had more happy days than sad, he wasn’t really in a position to complain, even if it would take him a while to find you. 

Chan did his best to be as happy and as content as he could. It helped that he did something he absolutely enjoyed, being on that stage was where he belonged. And all he did was hope that he got to rub off on you a little, he hoped he would be able to lift your moods on the days where you felt a little sad or discouraged. 

You had always been a happy kid, so when you turned 13 and nothing happened, much like Chan you just shrugged and kept living that sweet life of yours. 

When he joined Pledis however a change happened, and that’s where you discovered just what bound the two of you together. 

He was more nervous than he had been previously, there was joy as well, but a lot of uncertainty that left you wondering just what he was up to. 

Your uncertainty didn’t come before later in life, when it was time to pick just what you wanted to do with your life, and by then he was happy, ecstatic might even be a better word for it. He felt on the top of the world, and you couldn’t help but be jealous of him. He seemed somewhat care free, as if he had everything figured out. 

As the two of you grew older, you did your best to track his emotions, hopefully to find some sort of pattern. And although most of those around you claimed it was a task without much purpose, you knew it was all you had to go for in the end. 

Whoever he was, he was nervous to the point of nauseating around the time of award season, music not movies, so by instinct alone you had to assume he worked in the industry somehow. And with that tiny bit of information you had decided to do what you did best, which was fashion, more in particular styling. 

You hoped that following your dreams would allow him to feel the difference in your mood, especially since your parents hadn’t been that thrilled by your change from law to, what up until then, had only been a somewhat expensive hobby. 

You hoped you could make him as proud as he made you. And you couldn’t wait to tell him that he was the reason you had the guts to follow your dreams 

Chan had suffered from a severe amount of anxiety and nausea the past few weeks, and luckily it seemed as if it finally came to a stop last night, when the little silk sheet he liked to call your emotions that wrapped around him, had transformed from anxiety to relief and gratitude. 

“How are you doing today?” Wonwoo looked at him with a subtle smile all while his eyes held a bit of worry. 

Chan smiled brightly. “It seems like it’s all over” he sent his hyung a beaming smile, one that was so contagious that the older man couldn’t help but return it. 

“That’s good Dino” 

He nodded along, somewhat lost in thought as he looked to the floor. “Yeah it is. Sometimes I can't help but wonder what makes her have such strong emotions” he shrugged, but for no particular reason. 

“Imagine how she feels, our lives are chaotic and emotional enough, you know? And we know what causes the anxiety and the nerves and the happiness and sadness. Imagine feeling it all and not knowing the cause of it” 

Dino sighed. “Yeah, she doesn’t have it easy being bound to me” 

Wonwoo smiled as he shook his head. “No, none of them have it easy with the thirteen of us. But if you look close enough to those who have already found their other halves, it’s not like they’re a walk in the park either” 

And as if it had been planned Ruby and Woozi entered the room, currently in what felt like a heated argument. “I’m not saying that it’s bad, I’m just saying that it feels wrong” Ruby said as she walked away from her soulmate, he was right behind her rolling his eyes dramatically. 

“You just don’t see the vision yet! If we slow it down too much it won’t end up matching with the lyrics” 

“Then change the lyrics!” Ruby yelled back, as she grabbed a water bottle right as Woozi buried his face in his hands, letting out a sound that could only be described as frustration. 

As quickly as they had appeared they were gone again. 

“I’m sure yours will make your life a living hell in no time” Wonwoo said as he bumped shoulders with Chan. He responded by laughing. 

Chan looked for you everywhere he went, he looked at every person in every room that he entered, he looked at every soul he passed on the streets, desperately hoping that some day he would feel that connection, that pull that people often described. 

And that day wasn’t any different, so he did not see where he was going as he did his best to scan every face in the crowd, while he walked down the street. That was where he bumped into you. 

You had dropped your bag, your iced americano and the few folders you were currently carrying. Almost silently swearing, but he heard you, and every hair on his body stood up as he looked at you. He felt the silk sheet of your emotions, the panic with a hint of embarrassment. 

Both feelings that perfectly matched the red stained cheeks on the woman who kneeled down before him to pick up her things. 

He smiled behind his mask as he felt his heartbeat quicken, as he felt the gratitude, the all consuming happiness that blossomed in his own chest, and then he felt the love he so instantly felt for you, the need to protect you, to scoop you up and hold you close. 

He watched as your breath quickened, how your hand started to shake as you reached out for the folders currently laying spread on the sidewalk, and he smiled as he realized you felt his emotions in real time. 

However his own feelings were so overwhelming, he couldn’t feel yours yet. Or maybe they just mirrored his own so perfectly, maybe that was why it felt so all consuming. 

He crouched down to meet you, to help you, and that was when you scooped up your things, muttered a small ‘sorry’ before you stood, turned and all but ran from him. 

All he could do was look after you, and that was when the nausea and the devastating heartbreak you felt, hit him. 

You had never looked at him, you hadn’t felt the pull, and now you thought he felt it towards someone that wasn’t you. Chan wasn’t quite sure if it was your heart or his own that he felt breaking inside of his chest. 

As soon as the initial chock had disappeared he chased after you down the street. 

Up until that day you had never had a panic attack, but you were pretty sure you were currently having one. It was as if the air itself didn’t bring enough oxygen to your lungs. You had run to the nearest café, so desperate to find somewhere secluded, away from prying eyes. 

You had slid your body down a wall in the back. Luckily it didn’t really seem like anyone noticed you, so you had crouched over and buried your head as you finally allowed the tears to roam freely. 

You felt his confusion, his own heartbreak. But you managed to push it all away as you for once allowed yourself to wallow in your own self pity. To ignore his emotions and only feel your own. 

He had felt love, all consuming love, and it hadn’t been directed at you. You bit down on your tongue in an attempt to stifle the scream that threatened to spill from your lungs. 

Then you felt a set of hands on you, almost peeling you from the wall you sat up against. The world around you had gone quiet, and not just because the pumping of your blood was all you could hear, no, the whole café that had been buzzing with life just a few seconds earlier was now completely silent. 

You were pulled into an embrace and for once you allowed someone to comfort you as you broke. 

“It’s okay, I’m right here” a voice whispered as a hand stroke your hair. You clung to the strangers shirt and it wasn’t before a tear landed on your forehead you realized that whoever this was, they too were crying. 

It was a strange enough situation that you managed to pull yourself out of your emotions and finally look at the person comforting you. 

Eyes filled with tears met yours. “Hello princess”. The man said the words, as he used his hands to remove your stray hairs from your face. 

His eyes were kind, and his smile looked almost nervous. You felt a little panicked, being in another man's arms like this, until you felt the pull towards him. The need for having him even closer, of being near him. 

Despite everything inside of you screaming to stay close to him, to breathe him in, you pulled away. It could’ve only been a few minutes since she had felt the love blossom in his chest, and yet here he was, as heartbroken as her, worried, nervous. But still comforting you. 

You looked away from him, as you tried to pull away even further, but he only put two fingers beneath your chin and once again forced your eyes to lock with his. 

“Don’t you dare let your mind go there. All the feelings you felt from me were feelings towards you. It’s always been you, it will always be you and no one else” 

You shook your head in confusion and he let out what could almost be described as a small chuckle. He looked down at his legs that stretched around your body on the floor, currently covered in the coffee you had spilled all over the place not long again. 

You let out a gasp. And his smile grew. “There it is,” he said as a single tear escaped his eye. 

You flew from where you sat on the floor to his arms that quickly caught you. He didn’t falter, he only pulled you as physically close to him as he could. 

The silken sheet that wrapped around the two of you was beaming with a mixture of pride, exhaustion, pure happiness and a love neither of the two of you had ever felt before. 

He laughed a little. “Sorry for bumping into you” 

“Oh please never apologize for that” You said as you rested a hand on his cheek, he melted into your touch. He was so beautiful, so incredibly put together, hair perfectly in place, styled to absolute perfection. 

You cleared your throat, as you tried drying your eyes. “God I’m so sorry, I must look like an absolute mess” 

He grabbed your wrists and stopped your fussing as his smile grew. He was absolutely radiant. 

“You are utter perfection, princess” 

The heat rushed to your face at the nickname, and he laughed. It was so contagious that you too chuckled a little as he pulled you into his chest. 

“A car is on it’s way, I’ll make sure to get you cleaned up so you look presentable before work” 

He took your hand and pulled you from the floor in a quick and easy motion. His hands found your waist instantly as he pulled you into him. 

“Actually I don’t have work today” You said with a small smile. 

You had spent the morning giving out resumes as usual, in the hopes of landing an internship somewhere in the city. You had just heard back minutes before the two of you had collided. Hence the victory ice americano. 

“Oh yeah? Neither do I” he said as he pulled his jacket off and draped it over your head. You didn’t really question him, but just raised a brow. He had given you a small nod as if to say: Just trust me. So that was exactly what you did. 

The streets were filled with noise and the two of you were ushered to the car as voices all around screamed one name: Dino. 

When the door to the town car closed behind the two of you, you pulled the jacket from your face, and suddenly you realized exactly who it was that was sitting next to you. You finally realized exactly who your other half was. 

“Holy shit” you said in a small voice. 

“Sorry about that” He said with an almost embarrassed voice. 

“Holy shit!” You almost yelled and he chuckled, but you felt how nervous he was, how the fear crept up on him. 

“No - it’s not you, it’s not that there’s a problem with your life, it's just…” 

He looked at you with those big eyes, as you felt how he tried to squish the fear and worry down within himself. 

You smiled at him, took his hand and took a deep breath. “It’s just… You’re basically my boss” 

Confusion colored that silk sheet of his emotions, and then he laughed. So loud, and so genuine that you couldn’t help but laugh along with him. 

He had taken you back to his apartment, made sure that your name and photo was given to security, and they were informed that you should always be allowed, even if he wasn’t home. It had been pretty smooth sailing from there. 

You had told him how you that morning had landed an internship at Hybe, within his crew. He had felt pride at that, at how you had followed your dreams and had succeeded in them without anything to help you, except your own talent. It reminded him of himself. 

The two of you had agreed to keep your bond secret for now, none of you wanted to think that this was nepotism or that you had gotten the job through him. Least of all you since you had used blood, sweat and tears to stand up to your parents to get them to allow your career change. 

That night you had spent in his bed, first fully clothed, later in the night with absolutely nothing between you. You felt like home here, in his arms, in the darkness of his room when the curtains were drawn. 

“I’ve never felt more at home, nor more safe in my entire life” you said as your head rested on his chest, listening to the heartbeat of your lover beneath that incredibly toned chest of his. 

He kissed your forehead. “It’ll be my life's mission to always have you feel like this” and you knew he meant what he said. You could feel it. 

The next morning Chan had left the comfort of your now shared bed to go and make breakfast. He had texted Joshua in a panic, begging him for his best breakfast recipes, and he had given them. But as soon as the older man had started asking questions, he hung up the phone. 

It definitely didn’t look that pretty, but he hoped you could recognize the effort he had put into it. 

It was dark when you woke, the curtains were still drawn and the duvet was still warm. You smiled as you reached out an arm to grab onto your other half. But the other side of the bed was cold, as cold as it was every morning when you rolled over and hoped the dreams you had of him were real. 

You curled around yourself. Once again hugging your legs, pulling them into your chest, as you felt the loss of him ripple through you. 

You were used to this, you were so used to dream of him, and then waking up to once again being alone. But it had felt so real, you had been so sure it was actually him this time. 

You heard the crash of a plate somewhere, but chose to ignore it. It wasn't until the lights turned on around you, that you realized it had in fact happened. 

He felt your happiness, and smiled to himself. You were awake, and what perfect timing it was. He plated the last few things and walked towards the door. 

Then the sadness, the panic and the loss hit him. For a second or two he had been confused until he remembered those stings of sadness and heartbreak he would sometimes feel in the mornings. He knew them too well, he had the same dreams of you more often than he liked to admit. 

He dropped the plate, he didn’t even care if it broke, if all of his hard work had been for nothing. He just ran to you. 

He turned on the light and pulled the duvet from your warm naked body, and pulled you to him for the second time in less than 24h. 

“Princess it wasn’t a dream. I’m right here” He took your head between his hands and looked at you, nodding with you as he kissed away your tears. 

You chuckled as a tear slid down your cheek. He felt your embarrassment, and rolled his eyes. 

“You have absolutely nothing to be embarrassed about. You hear me?” he squished your cheeks together and kissed your mouth. You laughed as you pushed him away. He only pulled you with him back onto the mattress. 

“I think your breakfast is ruined” He said as you nuzzled into his side. You took a deep breath. 

“I’m sorry, I just… I thought it had all been a dream” 

He kissed your forehead. “Don’t apologize princess, had the roles been reversed I think I would’ve panicked just the same” 

He rolled over you so you were laying flat on your back, him carefully positioned on top of you, to make sure he wouldn’t crush you with his weight. 

“Now it’s time for my breakfast” He winked at you before he dived down under the duvet, letting his mouth loose on your body. 

He was definitely real. 

The days after you met continued much like that first day of yours. The two of you being cooped up in his apartment, getting to know one another and just enjoying each other's mind, body and soul. 

When you started at Hybe at first you were a little worried, but luckily for you the two of you were on different floors or other ends of the building most of the time. You got to know the men and women around you, without them being biased towards you. 

You had an instant connection with Pink, and it made sense to you when you found out that she was bound to Hoshi, your other half's best friend. Of course the two of you would vibe with one another. 

Throughout the last few weeks you had met a few of the guys, and today Seungkwan popped his head into the room that you and Pink were currently occupying. He sent a quick glance your way and you introduced yourself with a smile. 

“Practice might run a little late today, so Hoshi sent me to say you could just join us in the practice room when you’re done here” 

Pink nodded and thanked him for the information. When the door closed behind him you waited a few seconds before you turned to her. 

“Hey, can I ask you something?” 

She nodded as she packed a few more things down into the giant suitcase she used to carry all her stuff. 

“What’s with the flowers?” 

Pink froze and slowly turned towards you. 

“What?” she had such a serious look on her face you were scared you had said something wrong. 

“Th-the flowers that follow Seungkwan everywhere? I was just wondering if-” 

You didn’t even get to finish the sentence before you were pulled by your wrist from the room. 

Up two floors and down a hall you had never stepped foot on before. Pink opened the door and Chan’s eyes found yours instantly, he had no doubt felt you panic just seconds before, because he had looked like he was just about to run out the door to find you. 

The thirteen of them stood up on a line and looked between you and Pink. “She’s one of yours” she gestured towards you. 

The boys looked from one to another, and just as Chan was about to step forward and come clean. Vernon took a step, he then proceeded to pinch his chin, and when you didn’t even flinch he muttered a small. “No not mine” 

He did a little pout as he muttered a small sorry to the woman who was just walking around getting pinched randomly. 

“What food do you crave?” Mingyu said, and much like the maltese he embodied he crooked his head a little to the side. 

“B-breakfast” you said as a blush crept up your neck. You couldn’t help it, you looked for him everywhere you went. And there he stood, all nonchalant, with that damn smirk on his lips. 

The room erupted with screams and scolds and envy. But he only stepped towards you as he slipped his arm around your waist and pulled you into him. Kissing your neck tenderly. 

“Everyone, meet my princess” he said with pride, and you felt your knees give in beneath you. 

“Oh that’s disgusting! I’m NOT calling her that” Hoshi said as he walked towards Pink. 

“How did you even find out? We’ve been fucking amazing at hiding it these past few weeks” Chan said as he felt your love wash over him. 

“She commented on Kwan's flowers” and the room was then a choir of ‘ahhhhhh’s of understanding. 

You furrowed your brows at Chan and he just nodded to Seungkwan who took one of your hands. 

“Just walk through them,” he said with a gentle smile and a little nod. 

And as you did, dark red chrysanthemums blossomed at your feet. You giggled and Chan was there by your side in a second. Plucking you one before gently pulling you into his arms. 

“They’re my favorite” you said as you smelled the flower. 

“And you’re mine”

✦ taglist: @ijustwannareadstuff20 @zaycie @lveegsoi @hellaboredd @loudpeachdetective @why4anne @why-did-i-just-do-this @ramyeonzwithspam @floating-moon-dust @skyearby @acourtofmoonlightandstars @stormy1408 @tunafishyfishylike @sol3chu @blvengene @fics-lovebot @fangirl125reader @fabulousarepo4 @tunafishyfishylike @meowstake @chaseyui @ateez-atiny380 @reiofsuns2001 @dcrlingyou @dy-kyeom @unusuallyshy @littlemoonfairy02 @melovehao @kwonhs96 @juju-227592 @strwberrymuffins @mute-chaos @girliepop-is-in-the-house @pansexual-and-eating-pancakes @wonznme

✦ as always; please comment, like, share, reblog all of that. It what's keeps me going and keeps me writing. My asks are always open for feedback or if you just wanna give me a little praise

[cheolaholic]

of suit & affection; lc

summary; when the grumpy ceo hires a pa that can keep up with his rhythm in life, he’s left wondering if he should maintain the professional boundary that’s been tempting him to cross.

modern! au • office! au • colleagues to lovers • fluff, angst, smut

pairing; lee chan x fem!reader | wc; 12.1k | rating; 18+ explicit nsfw

contains; CEO! Chan, PA! reader, age gap (chan is in his 30s, reader in her 20s), occasionally switches POV between reader & Chan, brief appearance of Seungkwan, light angst, he fell first and doesn’t stop falling, kissing, big bro! Wonwoo, Jun gets married in this fic, Chan has a mega hidden soft spot for reader, reader does resign from her role, Chan is a yearner and he earns it, reader reciprocates Chan’s feelings but there aren’t as many hints about her feelings towards him compared to Chan’s feelings about reader

mature/trigger warnings; semi-public sex (in his office and ungodly hours), soft dom! chan, sub! reader, fingering, unprotected sex (wrap it before you tap it), brief asphyxiation, emotional vulnerability/intimacy during and after sex, multiple reader orgasms, creampie, brief cockwarming (he keeps it in her after sex for a few minutes), groping/breast play, squirting, some form of workplace bullying, misogyny (ppl say reader slept her way up)

petnames; Chan (Channie) // Hers (Baby, Babygirl)

a/n; this took way longer to come out than it should 💀sorry yall, but the past two months had been weird and was a huge ass roller coaster that i couldn’t really sit down and properly write 😭bcs of that, a lot of fics got pushed back so hopefully i can get them back on track, if not, pray that posting goes back to being somewhat consistent 🫡 this fic is also based on this ask !! i tried to make this a she fell first trope, but it ended up the opposite way but it still kind of works, so to the anon that requested, i hope you enjoy !!

✨ support me by becoming a patreon (enjoy exclusive perks & content) OR tip me on kofi !! 💜 if you are unable to do so, you can also show support by reblogging your favourite works of mine !!

👾 no taglist for this fic as i unfortunately was running late with this fic & had no time to post a teaser. but, you can join my general taglist here !! this allows you to be automatically tagged in future fics !!

RE: EMPLOYMENT OFFER – PERSONAL ASSISTANT

Dear Ms Jeon ___,

We at DINO & CO EVENTS. are pleased to formally offer you the role of Personal Assistant, effective July 25th 20XX.

The offer comes as a result of your outstanding performance, professionalism, and dedication during your internship with us. We believe that upon this confirmation, you will continue to be a valuable asset to the company.

This offer is subject to your acceptance and the signing of the attached employment contract. Please review it carefully, and kindly revert a signed copy if you agree to the terms by July 18th 20XX.

We are excited to have you join our team in a full-time capacity and look forward to supporting your continued growth and success at DINO & CO EVENTS.

Should you have any questions or require further clarification, do not hesitate to reach out to us.

Warm regards, Boo Seungkwan PA to Lee Chan (Surprisingly the brain behind the Dino madness) 📞[phone] | 📧[email protected] DINO & CO. Events 🌐www.dinoncoevents.com We make the magic happen, and the party roar ✨

“Truthfully, I have no idea why you’ve accepted this role,” Seungkwan snorts as he walks you through a tour of the office. “Chan’s… He’s a sucker for details and he absolutely hates it when clients want to change shit last minute.”

You shrugged, “Can’t be worse than your groupmates bailing on you on the day of presentation without a heads-up or script.”

Seungkwan pauses mid-step, shooting you a look, “Oh, ____, it’s so much worse.”

You laugh, unsure if he’s joking or being painfully honest – but knowing him, it’s probably both.

The office still feels familiar to you. Same desks. Same chaotic bulletin board full of post-its, printouts and marker notes. Whatever stress or pain from their last event still lingers in the air. To best describe the feeling, it’s like slipping into an old hoodie of yours – wrinkled and a little worn out, but still gives you comfort.

Hell, the exact same pink hoodie was what kept you together during your internship when you had to bring work home to chase deadlines that were delayed.

“Still can’t believe I’m back here…” you murmur, mostly to yourself, but your senior hears it.

“Believe me, no one can.” He pushes open the glass door to the planning department. “When Hansol told Chan they were bringing back one of our interns to fill my role, he was one second away from going ‘Are you fucking kidding me?’ until he said it was you.”

Your brows lifted in surprise, “He remembered me?”

Seungkwan hums, leading you toward your soon-to-be desk. “Duh. You’re the only intern who actually made it through a full event cycle without quitting or crying. That fashion expo a few months back? He’s still impressed you did the entire run-through on my behalf while I was dying from food poisoning.”

You cringe at the memory, “Please don’t remind me. Chan didn’t even look up from his iPad!”

“___,” he deadpans. “That’s how you know he liked you. If he didn’t, he’d start grilling you as to why the post-event report didn’t get sent to his inbox the very same day.”

You take a slow breath and glance around. There’s paperwork everywhere, whiteboard covered with crossed-out datelines with scribbled dates, tired staff tapping away on their laptops. Chaos lives within this company, but somehow, you feel weirdly comfortable.

“So… I heard you handed in your notice.”

Seungkwan turns to you.

You shifted, “Why and how long?”

He gives you a solemn smile. “An old friend of mine, Dokyeom, reached out and offered me a short gig as an emcee for one of his events. Let’s just say… that gig sorta ignited my long snuffed out love for being an entertainer or y’know, a menace with a mic.”

You snort, “So you’re leaving this chaos to cause more chaos on stage?”

“Precisely,” he grins. “Never realised how much I missed it until I was back up there. The lights, the crowd… It’s like I remembered who I was before selling my soul for a more secure future, only to be met with near impossible deadlines and vendor tantrums.”

You lean against the edge of a desk, “Sounds like a midlife crisis, but for thirty-somethongs.”

Seungkwan places a hand over his chest with mock offense. “Excuse you, I’m not that old.”

“Seungkwan, no offense but you’re older than Chan. Like, thirty-five? Thirty-six?”

“Chan’s thirty-three, I’m thirty-four. And you’re..?”

“Twenty-four.”

He blinks, “Jesus… And it’s called a quarter-life awakening, thank you very much.”

“How much ‘til you’re out of here?”

“Two weeks. Probably enough time to brain-dump everything into that pretty head of yours and hopefully you’ll survive your first proper event with the boss-man without any seniors or supervisors watching over you.”

Your head snapped towards him. “What?”

He waves at you, “Oh, relax. You’ve dealt with worse. Remember that influencer bride who decided to change her whole wedding theme the night before?”

You cringe. “Lavender to gold. And she wanted peacocks, Seungkwan. Live peacocks and a literal Labubu bouquet.”

Seungkwan shudders. “Traumatic. But also why you’re chosen. You were… calm in the face of absolute nonsense, and you’re absolutely competent. Chan loves that.”

You drum your fingers against the wooden surface, “So this is you passing the torch?”

He grins, “More like throwing it in your lap and saying ‘Good luck’. But I trust and believe that you’ll do great!”

He pauses before adding, quieter this time. “Chan’s got a hard shell, and he has this air of aloof to him, but don’t let it get to you. I’ve been with Chan since his early days of starting this company and once you crack that shell, he’s… actually nice to be around. Just keep doing what you’re good at and he’ll come around.”

“Or..?”

“Or he’ll grumble about it in a Google Doc no one reads.”

You let out a laugh and Seungkwan smiles. “You’re like… a strange ray of sunshine in this office, ___. I’d say you have what it takes to deal with Chan.”

“Two weeks…” you echo.

“Let’s make ‘em count!”

You still remember Chan’s words on your first day.

“Keep things professional. I don’t do small talk or distractions.”

He didn’t even look up from his screen when he said it. He just kept typing away on his monitor as the blue lights painted sharp edges on his face. His tone was cold and that alone should’ve been your cue to back off.

Most people did.

But, you weren’t most people.

The air in which Chan carries himself intimidates you in a way that also intrigues you. Because to you, something about the way he said distractions sounded personal. Like he was talking to himself more than he was talking to you.

Now, 3 months in, you were practically the company’s golden child. During a chaotic gala lunch in ShangHai, it was revealed that one of their backdrops came broken. You managed to find a replacement and had it installed in three hours.

A beachside wedding that was in the middle of a monsoon season and should’ve never been accepted but did anyway because the bride was an old client’s niece? You handled it – messy hair and preventing things from blowing away, and all.

You were no longer just the intern who stayed.

You were the one handling things.

The team trusts you now, some even looking to you before they approach Chan. Of course, there were some… sexist comments being thrown around. Several of the male employees felt inferior as to having a female colleague surpass them.

You heard it one afternoon thanks to a poorly timed entry into the pantry.

“Bet she slept her way into that position… Chan wouldn’t hire her otherwise.”

You gave him a look, firing back with calm, cutting, “Careful, Mr Park. With words like those, I might start thinking you’re projecting.”

The room went quiet. You grabbed yourself a cup of freshly made tea before continuing, “Is that what you tell people or yourself when a woman outpaces you?”

The smirk from his face vanishes before he can even cover it. You didn’t yell nor curse, but the unimpressed look says it all.

You left without a second glance. You didn’t need to defend your work.

It spoke for itself.

Three successful back-to-back events, zero client complaints, and a CEO who – notoriously known for being impossible to please – has stopped double-checking your timelines and started directing client negotiations to you.

But that doesn’t stop moments like these from happening. The whispers in the hallways, the lingering looks you get when you step out of Chan’s office with his feedback in hand.

Sure, you were young; but you were competent, and you didn’t flirt to get what you wanted. For some people, that was threatening enough.

To you, though? It meant that you were doing your job a little too well for people to be comfortable.

Later that same day, Chan noticed the tension. He doesn’t directly ask about it – he’s not the kind to get involved in gossip, but he noticed the change in your demeanor when he called you in to review the venue list for next quarter.

“You’re quiet today, ___.”

You don’t look up from your notebook, “Just tired.”

He studied your body language – how your shoulders were tense, the grip you had on your pen a little tighter than necessary.

Then, without looking up from his screen, “If anyone’s making the work environment uncomfortable for you, you let me know.”

His tone was sharp and low. “I do not tolerate people turning the office into their little high school gossip ring.”

You blinked. Sure, his eyes were glued on his screen, but there was no performative softness in his words. No CEO-to-subordinate pretense.

That was when you came to notice the subtle way Chan stood up for people. He doesn’t do it loud or obvious, but you could feel it.

Next were the unspoken acknowledgements and/or encouragements.

Every morning there’d be a cup of coffee at your desk. Not just any coffee, it was your exact order – vanilla latte with a pump of honey, less sugar. There was no note, no explanation. Just a coffee drink, exactly the way you like it.

A shoulder tap during a venue inspection when you’re two steps away from saying something you’d regret to a passive-aggressive florist who insists that purple wrapping goes well with a purple bouquet.

The most shocking of all? He let you pitch to a client without him present. Trusted you 100% with the whole thing.

You too came to learn to read the man.

The way he taps his pen when he’s anxious about a particularly large scale event. The way his brows furrow together when he’s trying to re-do a brief. The way he calls out to you in that sharp, but gentle tone, for when he needs you before he says something that could lose a client.

You both fall into a rhythm. Sure, it was tense, but it felt… strangely familiar.

Today as you’re wrapping up the final preparations for another high-profile conference, Chan steps into the room quietly, scanning the layout with those critical dark brown orbs, hidden behind a pair of silver frames that perch perfectly on his nosebridge.

He doesn’t say anything at first, just walks while making those tiny mental notes you’ve come to anticipate. Then, he nudges a vase just a little over to the right on one of the tables. “You missed a spot.”

You snort, “Oh no. The world is ending.”

He shoots you a look, unimpressed. But then, you notice the corner of his mouth twitching ever so faintly that you could’ve missed it. It was the closest thing to a smile you’ve seen from him.

And you realise – Lee Chan does do small talk. He’s just selective on who he has it with.

You aren’t exactly as naive as people make you out to be. You know exactly what people think when they see you side by side with Chan.

A young woman working closely with a man like him? With all sorts of access and the kind of influence that could change industry trends if he wanted to?

There’s only two stories people choose to believe. Either you’re sleeping with him, or you’re in love with him.

The truth is far less romantic, and way far off what they spread.

Truth is you Chan. And he understands you.

And apparently, that is harder to believe than anything else.

A year into your employment, Chan has come to learn 2 things:

You’re terrifyingly good at your job.

People hate that you are.

He never intended to play favourites, Hell, he never wanted to rely on anyone the way he does with you.

But to Chan, competence is rare.

Trust? Even rarer.

So when someone consistently shows up before he even asks, thinks at least five steps ahead and has countless backup plans? It becomes impossible not to notice.

You don’t panic during a crisis, at least not outwardly. And in the silence of after office hours, when the company lights dim and the air stills; when he thinks he’s the only one left in the building – he hears your pen scratching across your notebook just outside his office door.

He doesn’t tell you he appreciates the things you do for the company.

He doesn’t tell you most of the gratitude he’s felt towards you.

Yet whatever he does say, someone always finds a way to twist it.

The rumours began quietly, like they always do. A whisper. A laugh. A snide remark disguised as a joke.

“Boss’ favourite.”

“Can you believe her reports get fast-tracked? I have to do at least 5 revisions on mine!”

“C’mon, she’s got to be sleeping with him. Why else would he let her get that close?”

The first time Chan heard these rumours were outside the restroom. Two junior executives decided to not only assume you were sleeping with him, but that if you’d let them, they’d and he quotes, “Would hit that ass in front of the entire office in a heartbeat”. The way their faces paled when he stepped out would’ve been funny had it not been so pathetic.

Chan doesn’t care about perception, he used to, but not anymore. But he knows you do.

He sees it in the way you sit straighter during briefings. How you wear your earbuds more often at your desk. How your lunch breaks got shorter, you enter the pantry less frequently – opting to create your own little snack stash in your drawer.

He can feel your anger, your exhaustion. But more than that, he knows you’re hurt.

Because it wasn’t fair.

You didn’t ask for this dynamic nor did you ever try to manipulate it. If anything, you’ve respected Chan’s words of keeping things professional. Blurred lines don’t interest him, and it surely didn’t interest you too. What you were both interested in was work – keeping the business afloat.

Chan still remembers the first time you said no to him.

“With all due respect, Chan,” you said, gesturing to a vendor proposal. “This is a bad move and you know it. You’re making this decision out of frustration instead of logic.”

You’ve earned his trust not through loyalty, but through truth.

That’s what made them talk.

Because they can’t understand why he listens to you; why he lets you lead when he wouldn’t let those in senior positions to. They don’t know why or how you’ve become the person he trusts the most since Seungkwan.

“Do you hear them?”

You both were working late for an upcoming last minute event – Hong Jisoo, Health Minister and an old friend of Chan’s reached out in hopes of being able to plan his daughter’s 10th birthday. Despite it being last minute, Chan valued the years he’s spent with the minister and agreed without much hesitation.

Your question was unrelated, but he knew what you were referring to.

“I don’t acknowledge baseless rumours born out of jealousy.”

You sigh, “That’s easy for you to say.”

Chan wanted to argue but he stopped. Not because he didn’t think it was worth his time, but because you were right.

The armour he wears had taken years to build, same goes for the immunity of his title. Plus, you were the one they’re talking about. You were the one they’re isolating.

“It goes against the principles I’ve built this company on.”

There wasn’t any softness nor sympathy in his tone, just truthfulness. He sets down his pen, “I do not tolerate workplace bullying or harassment of any sorts, ___. However, I’m worried that my words or involvement will reinforce the narrative.”

He expects you to snap at him, to tell him that by doing nothing, he’s essentially indirectly enabling their behaviour.

But you don’t. You just resumed your Pinterest scrolling to put together a moodboard for the child’s birthday.

And for the first time in Chan’s entire life, the silence terrified him more than yelling ever could.

The next morning, you find a box on your desk. 

There were no ribbons, no card – just a sleek, matte black rectangular box that hints at its expensive content. It was as if it had been placed there with intention (it was). When you opened it, it revealed several pens – each one engraved with your initials in Serif font.

You know who left them there. Nobody else would reach the office this early besides the CEO himself. You don’t thank him, he doesn’t expect you to. But when you place the pen down during a meeting with the minister to discuss the details of his daughter’s birthday party, you feel Chan’s eyes lingering on the stationery longer than necessary.

Chan had a difficult time falling asleep that night. He doesn’t know why but the thought of you being isolated on purpose because of his trust in you angered him beyond his belief.

outperforming adults

chan 🦦: you guys still up? horanghae 🐯: 👀👀👀 horanghae 🐯: ohohohohoho horanghae 🐯: chan seeking advice? chan 🦦: what makes you think im seeking advice? minghao 🐸: call it a feeling we have minghao 🐸: so minghao 🐸: whats up chan 🦦: the PA horanghae 🐯: CALLED IT horanghae 🐯: YALL OWE ME 100 BUCKS EACH chan 🦦: wtf moonjun 😺: we all made a bet that you’d inevitably fall in love with your PA chan 🦦: what chan 🦦: why???? chan 🦦: she’s just my PA???? horanghae 🐯: that’s what they all say horanghae 🐯: and that’s how they all start minghao 🐸: minus that minghao 🐸: ngl chan minghao 🐸: it’s surprising to us that you’re letting her this close to you minghao 🐸: given your closed off nature moonjun 😺: we know it’s something to do with her competence moonjun 😺: and how rare it is for you to find someone just as moonjun 😺: or if not more competent than Seungkwan chan 🦦: wow chan 🦦: you make it sound like Kwan’s the golden standard horanghae 🐯: my dear Chan horanghae 🐯: you literally trust Seungkwan with your life  minghao 🐸: and your schedule moonjun 😺: and your coffee order chan 🦦: well yea chan 🦦: he knows how to deal with bs minghao 🐸: uh huh minghao 🐸: sure moonjun 😺: so moonjun 😺: what happened?? chan 🦦: idk chan 🦦: like ppl are talking down on her chan 🦦: downplaying her competency chan 🦦: and it just angers me that they’re saying this bcs she’s a woman minghao 🐸: that shit is so petty for a bunch of ppl that are years minghao 🐸: or even decades older than her lol moonjun 😺: he’s oddly giving off protective but won’t show it energy lol horanghae 🐯: HE LIKES HERRRRR chan 🦦: i did not say that minghao 🐸: didn’t deny it though moonjun 😺: you are doomed my boy chan 🦦: i hate you all

His friends had a point though. Chan was oddly protective over you – not because you’ve become too important to lose, but you were also too dangerous to keep you so close without any risks.

He thinks about it. About multiple scenarios.

If he were anyone else, he would’ve blurred the line by now.

If you were anyone else, maybe you would’ve let him. You would’ve let him cross that line and dive into a mess that is confident to have dozens of consequences.

Yet a year of working with you had made him realise that you don’t mistake attention or praise for affection nor care. Now, he’s laying in his bed, wondering how long you’ll stay. How much longer of this misogyny you’ll take.

And whether one day, someone else – someone who won’t keep you at an arm’s length or admire you from afar; will see you the way he does.

He also wonders if he’ll hate himself for letting you slip through his fingers.

You think about it from time to time.

About your relationship with Chan.

Of course, you weren’t foolish enough to want to tempt fate, because you know curiosity will kill the cat. Or that it never asks for permission and always opts to just barge into your life without notice.

You knew that if Chan were any other older male with no self-control, he definitely would’ve blurred that line by now. If you were anyone else, you probably would’ve let him. You would’ve leaned into that magnetic pull. Given into that unspoken intrigue he carries behind his measure words and steady gaze.

However, you weren’t anyone else. And he wasn’t just anyone.

Then again, people love drama. They love gossip. Of course they’d whisper behind your back, nitpicking every detail of your work relationship, twisting your competence into something ugly.

The Boss’ Favourite.

It’s comical how people can turn such simple moments into something scandalous. If you were handing him a document, you were ‘flirting’. Staying late to finalise event timelines? ‘Angling for a raise through other means’. Never mind that the reason you were so trusted by the Boss himself was because you were good at your job.

“Woo?”

Wonwoo looks up from his laptop, fingers stopping mid-hover and mid-type. He takes just one glance at you before asking, “What’s bothering you at work?”

Your brows furrow, “What makes you think it’s about work?”

Your brother raises an eyebrow. “___, I’m a trained and licensed therapist.” When he sees your unamused look, he gives you a small chuckle. “Look, I’ve been noticing how… you don’t seem as preppy or cheerful as compared to when you first started or the first day of your internship.”

“Talk to me.”

You cross your arms, shrugging. “I dunno, Woo. It’s just… exhausting, y’know? The whispers, the side eyes… They’re all treating me like I’m some kind of office seductress just because I’m competent and that Chan trusts me.”

Wonwoo leans back in his chair, a rare softness in his eyes. “I’m gonna be honest, babysis. The industry you’re in is unfortunately a predominantly male industry. I’m not saying it to dismiss or invalidate your feelings, but you need to remember that a man’s ego is easily challenged, especially those whose ego is already frail.”

“That doesn’t justify their actions though?”

“I’m not trying to. All I’m saying is, people love to spin stories because it’s easier for them to believe a drama than accepting the simplest of professionalism. I know you’re capable of many things, ___. Don’t let their projection of insecurities and assumptions get to you. You know you’re good, so just keep doing it. You’re stronger than their gossip.”

You give him a small yet grateful smile, “Thanks, Wonwoo. I needed to hear that.”

He smirks, “Hey, anytime. And remember, if they get too loud, you’ve got a licensed therapist on call at your convenience.”

You laugh, chest already feeling lighter. “Good to know.”

And so, you’ve stopped wasting your time on people who want to misunderstand you. You stopped trying to correct the narrative.

Instead, you let your work speak for itself.

Maybe that’s why you continued to stay. Why despite everything – the gossip, the age gap, the weight of Chan’s position against yours; you still chose to stay. Because while the ‘what ifs’ seemed tempting, you also know that whatever it is you both had built, it was built on something far more secure than temptation.

“___, you’ll be traveling with me to Shanghai for a wedding event deal.”

The way he said it was so matter-of-fact, like you both had been traveling together for work a thousands time before – but you hadn’t. He’s only ever asked you to accompany him to dealings within Korea, not out.

Your pen, the exact one he’s given you last year, stalled against your notebook. “Is this an old-time client?”

You glanced up from your desk when you asked the question, meeting his gaze where he stood in the doorway of his office. He had one hand braced against the frame, as though he wasn’t leaving until he got your confirmation of joining him. “No, it’s an old friend of mine. He doesn’t trust anyone else to do his wedding apparently.”

His tone was professional, yet his eyes… There was something about his eyes that made your stomach feel… strangely unsettled.

“When?” you asked.

“Next week,” he answers. “It’ll be a five day trip. I’ll send the itinerary to your inbox.”

It was past 8pm when the hum of the office began to sound like white noise.

The rain outside hadn’t let up either. It had started sometime after 4pm. A soft patter that was barely noticeable but by 6pm, the sound had shifted into a relentless downpour – each droplet smacking against the glass like it was trying to break in.

You glance up from your screen, shoulders stiff from hours of sitting. The clock on the wall said it was 8:30 at night and the rivulets of water race each other down outside the window. Everyone had left the moment the clock hit 6 – you stayed because you needed to finalise the the wedding pitch for the Shanghai client (who you’ve learnt was named Wen Junhui).

The low hum of the AC fills the now empty office space. You stop typing, rubbing at your wrist and flexing your fingers after hours of work. A mug of tea sits on your table, forgotten for at least two hours. You think of reheating it or making a new cup, but you hesitate on whether or not to walk to the pantry.

“You’re still here?”

You turn, startled.

Chan leans against the frame of his office door. He had one hand shoved into the pocket of his slacks, the other carrying his own mug. His tie was loosened, the knot hanging lower than usual and his sleeves were rolled up to his elbows. His hair in slightly mussed, probably from running his hands through it multiple times.

You nod, giving him a small smile. “Just… finalising the documents.”

His eyes scan your desk, then flick back to yours. “And here I thought I was the last one in the building.” Stepping closer, he adds, “You don’t need to be precise with this one. It’s Junhui and I’ve known him since we were teens; he’ll probably do lots of changes just to fuck with me.”

You let out a small laugh. “Those kinds of friends, huh?”

The building gives a low groan in the wind and somewhere outside, thunder rolls. You wanted to leave after Chan’s comment regarding the pitch, but the storm outside is enough reason to delay. Your boss sets his mug down on the corner of your desk, “Perhaps my workaholic tendencies have rubbed off on you.”

Then, he chuckles. “Not sure if that’s good or bad.”

You open your mouth to respond, but the words die when the overhead lights flicker.

Once. Twice,

Then everything goes black.

The hum of the air conditioning comes to a halt, the silence growing louder. The only light now comes from the city outside and the light from your laptop screen. “Umm…”

Chan glances up at the lights, then back at you. “Backup generator should kick in soon.”

And it does, though not as effective in lighting up the entire room. A sharp crack of the thunder rattles out the windows, followed by a gust of wind that seems to push the rain harder against the glass. Your boss moves towards the windows, peering out at the blur of lights in the storm. “Seems like the whole block is out.”

Then he looks back to you, “You should be home, ___. Not here working your early twenties to the bone.”

You arched a brow at him, “You’re telling me that I shouldn’t be working myself to an early grave?”

He mirrors your expression. “Fiesty…” He walks back to your desk, pulling a chair and sits down. You study his expression, noticing how it looks different in the shadows – sharper, more unreadable, yet a hint of softness. He was always this no-bullshit boss who is always razor-sharp in meetings with low patience towards inefficiency. But, being stuck with him in the office building as the storm continues outside, he feels less like the CEO everyone whispers and more like –

You stop the thoughts before they could fully form.

“You’ve been here for a year,” he says after a moment, his voice lower. “I know you’ve heard things.”

You blinked. “Things?”

“Rumours. Whispers,” he continues. “Why you’re in this position. Why you’re always trusted with tasks that should’ve been handed to one of the senior execs.”

Your fingers twitch slightly on the desk. “I’ve… I’ve learnt to ignore them.”

He leans back, the shadows shifting across his face. “You shouldn’t have to.”

You open your mouth to respond but another crack of thunder makes you flinch slightly. It’s not fear; but the sudden, deep rumble that vibrates through the floor. “You don’t like storms?” Chan asks, watching you closely. You shake your head, “Kinda, but it’s more of… it’s too loud.”

The silence between you stretches, but it doesn’t feel hostile – instead it feels… soothing. Picking up his mug, he takes a sip before finally speaking again. “People talk because they think I don’t notice or that I don’t care about my employees. I do, but… I don’t know how to show it without making things worse for you.”

You blink, caught off guard. You try to process where this was coming from because up til now, you’d only ever seen this man in sharp suits and sharper suits.

Outside, the wind howls as the rain batters against the windows. “I suppose we’re stuck here until the storm passes,” you say.

“I suppose so.”

You aren’t sure how much time passes after that. It feels strange – not the kind that leaves you twitching in discomfort, but the kind that felt domestic. Terrifyingly domestic. You find yourself listening to the rhythmic patter of the rain, the occasional low rumble of the thunder mixing with the subtle sounds of your boss shifting in his chair across from you.

"You've been here for a year now.”

You glance up, “Almost. Two more weeks.”

He arches a brow, “Really? It feels longer.”

“Is that a good thing?”

The corner of his mouth lifts faintly. “Depends.”

You huff out a quiet laugh, but you catch the undercurrent in his tone. The conversation drifts after that – they were smaller things at first. He asks you about the demands of past clients, you tell him about the endless back-and-forth you had with one client regarding colour palettes. Next thing you know, Chan admits that he hates attending networking dinners (even though it helps out a ton). You find yourself talking about your first week at the company, during your internship, how you had somewhat gaslit yourself into thinking you’d accidentally addressed him by the wrong name in email.

He laughs at that, the sound low and genuine. And just for a moment, you forget the storm entirely.

Another flash of lightning.

This one was bright enough that it bleaches the room white for half a second before you’re plunged back into darkness. The thunder followed almost immediately and was loud enough to vibrate the glass. You let out a shaky breath, glancing out the window. “That was… close…”

Chan follows your gaze, “If it gets worse, we can wait it out in one of the conference rooms downstairs. No windows.”

You nod in understanding, but neither of you make a move.

The rain keeps falling relentlessly, and it is at this moment, in the dim light that you realise the world outside is muted and blurred, the office feels like its own small universe. A small universe where you and Chan are cut off from everything else.

The morning of the wedding arrived and you were already at the venue before most of the staff to do a final check on the details. You went through the seating charts, floral arrangements, and the pacing of the ceremony rehearsals. Junhui had practically spared zero expense – the ballroom looked like it was plucked straight out of Cinderella's ball. The ceiling was glittered with crystal chandeliers and silver-trimmed tables draped in ivory linen.

Then again, who wouldn’t splurge on their wedding if they had the chance to. And according to Chan, Junhui gets off of spending money on his fiancee, now soon-to-be wife.

It’s a weird kink, but hey, who are you to yuck someone else’s yum?

Chan had been there since early too, though unlike you, there was no sign of fatigue on his face. Even in the dim lights of the ballroom, his presence is unmistakable – you can’t miss it even if you tried. He stands near the stage, giving quiet instructions to the sound team and judging by the looks on their faces, it’s the kind that shouldn’t be repeated; and shouldn’t be done wrong.

When he finally turns to you, you caught a glimpse of something – something softer than his usual stoic CEO composure. That something felt just like the memory of the night in the office weeks ago, when the storm had made the air hum and his voice dropped into that rare, unguarded tone.

But, you shook off the thought and returned to your clipboard.

By mid-afternoon, you were back in the bridal suite, double checking the emergency kit you’ve prepared: safety pins, double-sided tape, a small sewing kit, oil control film, breath mints. You can hear the bride’s laughter echoing from the adjoining room as her bridesmaids teased her, and you were so focused on sorting through the kit when you heard the door open.

You turned and was face-to-face with Chan. Your brows furrowed, “Chan? You shouldn’t be in the bridal suite.”

“I know,” he replies, voice even and low. “But they need you for the family seating plan. One of the uncles decided he doesn’t like where he’s sitting.”

You sigh, standing up as you mutter, “Of course he didn’t.”

Chan scans your face briefly. Then, “You’ve been running around since morning, ___. Have you eaten?”

You wanted to brush it off, tell him that you’d grab something later, but his eyes drifted to the small tray on the table where a cup of tea and pastries sat untouched. They were sent up for the bridal party. Not waiting for your answer, he picks up the tea and offers it to you.

You hesitated, but took it, fingers brushing against his for the briefest of seconds. Not even the warmth of the cup could explain the quick, uneven beat of your heart.

“Thanks…” you murmured, taking just a sip in a poor attempt to calm yourself.

He doesn’t step back immediately. Not into that professional distance that you were used to. Instead, his eyes lingered and studied you the same way he had done during that stormy blackout night. You remembered the way the shadows moved over his face, how his voice softened when he’d spoken about the thoughts he’d usually lock away.

You wondered if he was thinking about it too.

The moment ended when one of the bridesmaids peeked in, asking you for help with a clasp on her dress. You set the tea down and followed her out, not even noticing the way Chan’s eyes followed you until you disappeared into the hallway that seemed endless.

The reception hall was in full swing once vows were exchanged. The evening air is filled with clinking glasses and laughter.

Chan lingered at the side of the dance floor, a champagne flute in hand as he watched Junhui dance with his new wife, their expressions radiant as they spin in each other's arms. Around them, guests swayed, couples leaning into each other as though they had all the time in the world.

Once the newlyweds were done with their first dance, they approached him.

“You’ve really outdone yourself with this wedding reception, Chan,” Junhui says with a big grin, pulling the younger one into a tight embrace. “Everything is perfect. More than we could’ve imagined.”

“That’s what I always aim for,” Chan says with a polite smile. “Congratulations again, hyung. You both look–”

He pauses. Then, just for a brief second, his eyes softened. “Happy. You both look happy.”

There’s a mischievous glint in Junhui’s eyes as he glances at his wife who shares the same look. “We most definitely are. And you need to join in the celebration. Don’t tell me you’re just going to stand here all night and watch everyone else dance – they might think you’re a cardboard cutout.”

Before Chan could form an answer, the bride chimes in. “It’s your event too, Chan. Why don’t you just dance to one song? For us?”

His brows raise for a fraction of a second.

Chan doesn’t dance, well he kinda does, but not at these events. Not where eyes could linger and assumptions could multiply by dozens. He almost refuses until he sees the way they’re looking at him, expectant and warm.

Then, his gaze shifts to you before his thoughts could finish.

You looked up when he approached you, brows lifting slightly in surprise. Before you could ask if there was an issue with either the tech or if one of the cousins had an allergic reaction to the food due to a failed allergen disclaimer – “I need a partner. They want me on the dance floor.”

Confusion is evident on your face as your lips parted, “And… You’re asking me?”

He shrugs, “I’m close with Junhui, but not with any of the other guests to pull them away from their evening.” A beat passes, then he adds, “I also preferred it to be you.”

You swallow hard before slipping your hand into his when he extends it, letting him lead you onto the dance floor. The crowd parts just enough to let you both through, a new melody spilling from the strings. Chan positions you with ease, one hand settling on your wait while the other guides you fingers into place.

“Just follow my lead,” he whispers into your low, voice low yet oddly warm.

Slowly, your body moves with the rhythm, your steps syncing with his.

As for Chan, he can’t stop thinking about the warmth of your hand in his, how your other hand felt against his shoulder. “You do realise this isn’t part of my job scope,” you murmured, a teasing edge to your tone. You catch the faintest curve of his lips, “Consider it hazard pay.”

You raised a brow, “And hazardous for who exactly?”

His thumb shifted against your waist. “Well, it’s a risk either way.”

He felt you stiffen slightly, but you didn’t pull back. And neither did he.

“You’ve done well today, ___.” The admission surprises even himself – they weren’t something he gave freely. He watches the way your eyes flicker up to his, the surprise evident when your soft voice answers. “Thanks.”

The music slowed into something quieter, more intimate. His hand shifts, his thumb brushing deliberately along the side of your rib. He felt the subtle shiver and held your gaze when you looked up. Just for a moment, he forgot about the crowd, the job, and the distance he was supposed to keep.

When the song ends, he releases your hand slowly, thumb grazing your knuckles before releasing you as the guests applauded.

“You did well.”

You gave him a small smile, “Guess it’s part of my job scope now.”

He chuckles softly, then nods his head towards the edge of the room. “Come. We still need to make sure nobody digests something they shouldn’t.”

And just like that, he turns away – but not before making sure you caught up to him, the lingering touch of his hand on your waist carrying on throughout the night.

Chan had just wrapped up a meeting in one of the smaller meeting rooms when he overheard the sound of hushed voices coming from Conference Room 3. He wasn’t the type to eavesdrop but when he caught your name being whispered amongst the attendees inside, he couldn't help but to slow his steps and stop just outside the door.

“...I heard she’s leaving.” His voice was low, but Chan had managed to catch it.

The air seemed to shift around him.

Leaving? You?

“Really?”

“Yeah. Marketing division in a different firm. Heard they’re offering her a good package.”

“Why would she though?” Another asked. “She’s got it made here. Everyone knows she’s the boss’s favourite.”

One chuckled, though it wasn’t entirely cruel. “That’s the thing. You know how people talk about that label. Plus, she’s practically his shadow half the time.”

“Honestly,” a third voice chimes in. “I can’t say I’m surprised. The hours and work here are brutal. What surprises me is the fact that she didn’t leave sooner.”

Chan stood outside the door, the words threading like fine, invisible wired straight into his chest.

Boss’s favourite.

It’s a phrase that’s been going around the moment he hired you full-time. He’s heard it whispered in the hallways, caught in awkward silences when either of you entered a room; even in the knowing glances his own board members would give him. In his own words, he thought you’d learned to tune it out. Now he was wondering if maybe he’d just convinced himself that you had.

Rationally, it was ridiculous for him to feel betrayed(?) by the news, or rather whispers of you leaving. After all, people came and went all the time – the industry culture is precisely why there’s such a high turnover rate. Hell, he’s had many assistants before you, Seungkwan being one of them – some were competent, some less so. And yet, the thought of you leaving scraped something raw in him, something he rarely acknowledges.

He walks away before anyone could notice him. By the time he reaches his office, he shuts the door behind him as the calm facade starts to crack. The phrase of you leaving the company replayed in his head like a broken record. You hadn’t said anything to him. There was no hint, no complaint, no dissatisfaction – nothing that suggests you were looking to work elsewhere.

Granted, you weren’t obligated to tell him. But his mind constantly wanders back to that night of the blackout, how he told himself that there was something different about the air between you, yet it wasn’t enough for him to act on. Of course, there was your stance of professional boundaries and Chan respected it – maybe because he thought you’d be fine with it.

Maybe because he didn’t trust himself to cross it.

He sits at his desk, his eyes drifting to the mug you’d left there this morning. It sits next to the files he’d requested – its handle pointing to the left. You’d set it down that way so he could pick it up without adjusting. That small act of consideration, one that he didn’t even realise you gave ‘til now, hit him harder than expected.

Was this a habit you’d train yourself into because it was your job? Or was it something else?

Did you really want to leave because of the rumours?

If it was, he can’t blame you either. He’s seen the way the whispers seemed to follow you. They were subtle but persistent – the glances from other departments, the quick way conversations ended when you walked into the room.

He hated it.

He hated how his position made things harder for you instead of easier.

Chan leaned back in his chair, thinking back to that night of the blackout once again. The storm battering the city, how you flinched at the bright flash of lightning… how you sat across him, voice soft and unguarded. That night, you had looked at him like he wasn’t just your boss. It was like you were looking at him like he was someone you wanted to understand.

Now he wondered if that night had been the turning point, but instead of turning toward something – it was turning away.

Sometimes he wonders how things would change had he told you he understood how you felt, how it wasn’t just you who carried that weight.

Was this his fault? It can’t be – he’s always made sure he’s kept his distance. Made sure that the professionalism is always maintained, but could that also play a role in your departure? That he’d made you feel invisible in the one place you shouldn’t have? Or could the rumours about favoritism finally reach a breaking point that it pushed you away?

He exhaled slowly, though it did little to ease the knot in his chest. Being faced with the possibility of your departure had finally made him confront the tsunami of emotions he’s kept bottled up. This was no longer about his ego, power or the fact that you’ve worked with him for more than a year – it’s how you’ve seamlessly integrated yourself into his life.

How you managed to fit into his rhythm of life, how you knew the answer to his questions before he even asked.

Chan wasn’t the type to beg someone to stay. Not in business, not in anything. If a client wanted out, he’d sign the papers and move on. In the past, when a romantic partner wanted to see other people, he’d just agree and go back to work.

But this wasn’t business, yet it wasn’t a romantic affair either.

If you left, replacing you wouldn’t be as easy as pie. Not because there wouldn’t be competent candidates, but because they wouldn’t – couldn’t – be you.

The thing about Chan is that he’s always been good at keeping his business and personal life apart. But this? He doesn’t even know where to begin – this wasn’t personal nor professional. It was just… you. And the possibility of losing you unsettles him more than he’d like to admit.

By the end of the day, when the office filed out and the Friday sky fades into the heavy blue of the evening, Chan finds himself walking toward your desk.

Of course, you were still sitting behind your desk, still working even though everyone else had probably gone off for a Friday night party. He stood a few feet away, watching the soft glow of your desk lit up your face, your brow drawn in quiet concentration. He studies a moment too long before you notice him.

“Chan?” You set down your pen, “Is something wrong?”

His throat was tight when he swallowed, “Come to my office, ___. I’d like to have a chat with you.”

His words came out sharper than he intended, and you stiffened. Still, you nodded and rose to your feet, following him into his office. When the door shut behind you, your steps continued until you stopped right at his desk.

“I overheard a conversation the executives had,” he starts, searching your face. “I… They said you were resigning. That you were accepting an offer elsewhere.”

The silence that followed after was heavy. You turned away at first, eyes drifting to the bookshelves. He lets out a shaky breath, “So it’s true.”

“I… I can’t keep acting unbothered by the whispers forever.”

Your jaw tightened, “I… They think I’m here because of you. That I’ve–” You stop yourself from finishing that sentence. “You’ve heard what they say. You know what they say.”

Chan feels his chest constrict. “I know. But that doesn’t make it true. You–”

“Doesn’t it?” Your voice raised just slightly, gaze snapping back to him. “Because what if they’re right? What if I am using you? To advance my career? That I’m just infatuated by the power you have that–”

You take a moment to steady your breath. “If what they say is true, if that’s the case – then what does that make me? What does that make us?”

Your words struck him hard, chipping at every brick he’s put up around himself. He steps closer until the distance between you both was only able to accommodate at most, a thin piece of paper. “Don’t say that, ___,” his voice is low, rough even. “Don’t degrade or reduce yourself like that. Not after everything that you’ve done and proven. You’ve carried this company through hellish peak periods, handled clients that could’ve broken others. Your competence is why I hired you, not because of–”

“That’s not the point!” Chan is stunned. Not because you raised your voice at him, but because your voice was trembling. “The point is the power imbalance in between us, Chan… You’re my boss. Older. You have the power to make or break me.”

“I know.”

The words left his lips and with a weight that’s been sitting on his chest for months.

“Did you think I haven’t thought about it? That I don’t know what it looks like? I’ve been keeping my distance and holding back because I didn’t want to ruin your future, ___. You have so much potential that the mere thought that I could risk it… I don;t want you to be seen as less than what you are because of me.”

Your breath caught in your throat, but he wasn’t finished. He raised a hand, then stopped, letting it hover over your cheek. “The age difference… Because of the age difference, I’m supposed to know better, to protect you from things like this. But, the truth is, ___…”

His voice faltered for a second, then came the raw truth:

“Truth is I love you.”

You blinked, momentarily caught off guard.

“This whole time, I’ve loved you quietly and from a distance. I thought it was the only way to keep you safe but now that I’m hearing you leaving, it’s like I’ve already lost you without even getting the chance to show you.”

The confession hung between you both, thick and undeniable. His lips parted, but no words came. Chan searches your eyes, waiting for your rejection. Instead, you whispered, “I never saw you as just a CEO.”

You notice the way he tenses. “From the start, you’ve always been someone who inspired me. Someone who makes me want to be better. You make me feel seen when no one else does. It’s not about titles  or power, Chan… It’s about you.”

Chan lets out a shaky exhale, his hand finally resting on your cheek. His thumb brushes the curve of your jaw in a tentative manner. The feel of your skin against his palm was enough to undo him. Slowly, he slides the hand to the back of your neck, pulling you a fraction closer and his lips stop just above yours. He searches your eyes for permission, waiting for you to give him consent so he could finally taste you.

And when you lean in, the brush of your mouth feather-light against his – he doesn’t hesitate to snake his arm around your waist to ground you both as the kiss deepens, slow and searching as he pours out every bit of emotion.

The kiss wasn’t rushed nor reckless. It was the kind of kiss that lingered, that promised more. When he pulls back, he rests his forehead against yours, both of you trying to steady your breaths.

“This changes everything,” he whispered, thumb stroking the skin of your neck.

You smiled faintly, lips swollen from his kiss. “Good..”

Something flickered in Chan’s eyes. His hands slide from your jaw to your waist, gripping it firmly like he was trying to convince himself that this was reality.

Before you can catch your breath, he spun you around and guided you towards his desk. In the next instant, he had you bent over the polished mahogany surface, his body pressing flush to your back. Papers scatter from the sudden movement, a few sliding onto the floor, but he doesn’t care.

All his focus was on you.

His hands are rough with urgency, running up your sides, squeezing your sides, then sliding higher to palm your breasts through your blouse. A low, strained groan rumbles from his chest, the sound of a man finally giving into his desires. His fingers fumble with the buttons of your blouse, undoing them impatiently until the last is free.

He doesn’t bother to remove your bra. Instead, he pushes the cups over breast so his hands can greedily squeeze them. His thumbs brush over your nipples until they harden under his touch, your arousal already starting to dampen your black panties.

“Just a little bit of teasing and your nipples are already hard?” he teases, breath hot and ragged. “Fuck, baby. It’s like you’re begging me to ruin you.”

He flips up your skirt, palm spreading across the curve of your ass. He gives it a squeeze before a loud smack echoes in his office, the stinging causing you to gasp. Chan chuckles at your reaction, pressing his growing hardness against you. He grinds slowly, one hand gripping your hip while the other slowly drags itself between your thighs. “You’re so hot when you’re bent over my desk like this. Looking like you belong here.”

The air is thick, the faint ticking of a nearby clock and the hum of city life just beyond the office windows – and the sharp sound of your breath as Chan presses two fingers against your clothed pussy. He hisses under his breath, tracing the outline of your slit through the fabric. “Fuck, babygirl. You’re soaked for me already.”

He teases your clit through the fabric, each teasing rub pulling another helpless moan from your throat. He tightens the grip he has on your hips, leaning over your back to press the full weight of his chest. His lips brush against the shell of your ear, his voice seductive, “Sometimes I think about what it’d be like to have you like this.”

His fingers trace slow, deliberate circles over this thin fabric between your thighs, not quite exactly giving you the friction you crave. He relishes every noise you let out, every twitch of muscle while nuzzling into your neck with a low hum of satisfaction. Grinding his hips against your ass, Chan swore he almost cummed in his pants at the sensation. “Feel that, baby? That’s what you do to me every day.”

Slipping his fingers beneath your panties, he drags them through your slick folds with deliberate slowness. You let out a moan of relief and Chan happily swallows the sound with a kiss.

“I could fuck you right now,” he growls out. “Rip off these fucking panties, shove my dick inside this pretty little cunt… And you’d let me, wouldn’t you?”

He tugs your panties down just enough to expose your drooling cunt, spreading you open. The cool air against your click folds sends a shiver up your spine, but the heat from his touch returns instantly. Two calloused fingers slide through your wetness, coating themselves before pressing lightly at your entrance. He moves them in teasing circles until you’re whimpering and pushing back against him.

“Impatient girl,” he chuckles. “I’d like to take my time with you, but tonight is not the time for that.”

He eases a finger inside, groaning at the way you clench around the digit. He pumps it slowly, letting you get used to the intrusion before slipping in a second. “God, you’re tight.” The heel of his palm grinds against your clit as his fingers start to work deeper and faster into you. Chan’s dick strains harder against his slacks as the wet sound of your pussy mixes with your soft moans.

“Gonna stretch you out good on my fingers before I fuck you, babygirl,” he murmurs, curling his fingers and pressing them against your g-spot. He thrusts his fingers deeper, faster; the feel of his palm grinding over your clit has your thighs shaking with the effort needed to hold yourself up. Your nails scrape helplessly over the mahogany desk, leaving faint marks over the polished wood as the band of arousal grows tighter and tighter.

“C-Channie–” you gasp, voice breaking as your body arches against him.

“Such a good girl for me,” he rasps against your ear, lips brushing the sensitive skin. “So wet and tight for me, yea? Letting me stretch this cunt out with my fingers so I can fit my dick inside you.”

He curls them just right, constantly rubbing against that spot that makes stars burst behind your eyes. You’re just about to cum when he pulls his fingers away from your pussy, leaving you clenching desperately around nothing.

You cry out in frustration, but before you can protest, you hear the sound of his belt being unbuckled. “I know, babygirl,” he coos, adjusting your stance as he rubs his leaking red tip against your pussy lips. “Poor baby was close to cumming, wasn’t she? Don’t worry. You’ll get to cum as much as you want on my cock.”

He slides the heavy head of his cock against your slick folds, savouring the way your arousal coats the tip. Then, in one harsh thrust, he pushes his cock in, filling you to the hilt. Chan lets you adjust to the stretch, committing the moan you let out to memory while his hands held you close to him. Like he’s terrified you’ll slip away at any second.

“Shit–” his voice cracks, “You feel so much better than I imagined.”

Chan doesn’t waste another second, pulling all the way out only to fuck his cock back into your clenching pussy roughly. The motion is enough to make the desk creak beneath you – papers crumpling, pens rolling off the edge; but Chan couldn’t give a shit. He’s too lost in the way your pussy is dripping all over his dick, too consumed by the moans that spill from your throat. 

He fucks into you rougher, one hand sliding up against your back to press you harder against the wood. “You like this? You like being bent over and fucked like a good slut by your boss, baby?”

“Yes, Channie!” You cry out as your eyes roll to the back of your head. “Feels so good! F-Fuck!”

The office is filled with the lewd sound of skin against skin, blending with your moans. Chan’s tempo is brutal, fueled by longing and the need to make you his. His hands leave your hips to lace with yours against the desk. “I love you,” he moans into your ear, “I love you so much, ___.”

Your voice breaks, “I love you too, Channie. Love you so, so much..!”

Chan slows the pace of his thrusts, instead he shoves his dick deeper inside you and grinds, making your whole body shudder as his cockhead rubs against the spongy spot deep inside your pussy. He keeps you pinned in place, like he’s afraid the world will steal you away if he loosens his hold on you for even a millisecond.

His lips find the side of your neck, planting kisses between ragged breaths. “Do you feel me?” he murmurs, “How deep my cock is inside your little pussy?”

You tilt your head back, letting it fall onto his shoulder. Fuck, he’s so big and deep that you briefly wonder if one creampie from him is all it’ll take to get you pregnant. Your pussy flutters at the thought. “So deep, Channie,” you whimper, trying to fuck yourself back onto his fat dick. His hips stutter for a moment, grinding deeper into your sweet pussy. His hands let yours go to hold you steady by the hips while the other comes up to cup your face. Tilting your head toward him so he can see your expression, his cock pulses at the sight – your cheeks were flushed, lips parted and eyes hazy with pleasure.

“So beautiful,” he murmurs, brushing his thumb along your lower lip. He makes a mental note to praise you more because he feels your gummy walls clenching at his statement. “Do you want more, babygirl?”

You nod, whimpering when his hips roll forward just a little. “Always want more if it’s you.”

Chan groans, leaning down to capture your lips in a deep, slow kiss. Pulling away, he slides a hand up to wrap itself around the column of your throat. He doesn’t squeeze with the intent to hurt, just applying enough pressure for you to feel it – enough to make your breath catch.

His hips snap forward with a renewed force, the lewd squelching of your dripping pussy swallowing his cock bouncing off the walls of his office. “Say I’m yours, please.”

“M-Mine..!”

Chan chokes you just a fraction tighter, watching you with hooded, desperate eyes. The combination of the pressure on your throat and his rough thrusts rips your climax right out of you – back arching, pussy walls convulsing while you cum with a strangled cry. “That’s it,” he grunts, already growing obsessed at the way you clench and gush around his cock. “Cum for me, baby. Milk my cock just like that.”

But even as your body quivers in the aftershocks of your climax, Chan doesn’t stop driving his cock into your soaked heat. The table creaks beneath you as your nails rake helplessly over the polished wood, each thrust of his hips punctuated by his low moans. He releases your throat, holding your jaw so he can tilt your face back for a hungry kiss, all teeth and tongue as he claims your mouth just like how his dick is claiming your cunt.

“You think I’m done just because you came first?” he chuckles, “Not a chance.”

He pounds his fat dick into your pussy harder, deeper as he chases his climax. Each thrust sharper and stretches you further, but your walls flutter around him like you want more. Your moans break into gasps and whimpers, feeling that familiar tension building up once again in your abdomen.

He asks if it was too much to handle, yet his hips don’t slow. There was a note of tenderness in his tone, but something in you said it was twisted in a sense that he gets off of overstimulating you.

You tried to respond, tried to find the words, but when he angles his hips to start slamming against your g-spot, your body betrays you. You clench hard around him and he chuckles darkly, tightening the grip he had on your hip. “Pussy sucking me in like it doesn’t wanna let go. Is that what you want, baby? Want me to keep this cunt stuffed?”

You whimper his name, nails dragging over the smooth surface. Your legs tremble with the effort of holding your entire body up, but Chan moves the hand that was holding your jaw down to your stomach. Pressing down, you feel the bulge of his cock sliding inside you.

“Feel that?” he rasps, rutting his cock harder, faster – the desk rocking beneath you. “This is where I’m gonna cum, baby. Gonna cream this pretty cunt of yours even when you’re begging for me to stop.”

The stimulation burns through you, body convulsing as another orgasm crashes through you. Your cry was raw and guttural, and Chan loses himself completely in the way you tighten and gush around him. “Yes, that’s it,” he groans, thrusts turning ragged. “That’s my good girl. Cum on my cock again, baby. Make a mess for me.”

He presses his forehead to the back of your shoulder, his breath coming in harsh, uneven pants.

“Fuck. You’re squeezing me so tight. Feels like I’m in fucking heaven. Shit–”

He slams into you to the hilt, and you feel it – the way his cock pulses before hot, heavy spurts of his cum flood your womb. He lets out a low growl as he grinds himself deep, filling you full of his spunk until it leaks back out around the base of his length. You hear him curse again, the hand on your belly pressing down a little harder so you can feel the weight of his cum being fucked deeper into you.

“Good girl,” he murmurs, voice wrecked and desperate. “Been wanting you for so long. You’re mine now, yea? And ‘M all yours – fuck.”

Chan stays buried deep inside you, his chest pressed against your back. His lips press shaky kisses to your shoulder, your neck, your hair – like he’s trying to coax you through your orgasm. But he doesn’t make an effort to pull out though. Instead, he adjusts his hold and lowers himself into the chair behind him and drags you along; his cock still buried inside your swollen, stimulated pussy.

His hips shift just enough to make you feel the stretch of his dick – his hot, sticky cum sloshing inside you. “Gonna have you cockwarm me like this for a while, okay?” he murmurs against your ear, a faint smile stretching on his lips when you nod. One large comes to cup your breast, kneading it lazily while his thumb flicks at your nipple. The other drifts to your thigh, caressing it with a tenderness that makes you involuntarily clench around his half-hard dick.

“My baby did so well for me,” he praises, nipping at the curve of your neck when you whimper at his touch. He loves how you arch into his touch, how your walls squeeze his cock despite your body aching from overstimulation.

His hand squeezes your tits harder, hips rising to grind his cock just a little deeper. Your hands fly to grab at his wrist when his fingers find your swollen clit, rubbing it in slow, deliberate circles. 

“Channie…” you whine, unsure if you were pleading for him to stop, or for more.

“I know, baby,” he coos, teeth scraping over your earlobe as he presses harder against the sensitive nub. “I know you’re sore. But, you can give me one more, right?”

Your whole body jerks when he flicks your clit just right. You try to wriggle free, but his arms tighten its hold on you, keeping you pinned in his lap, cock still pulsing you as your pussy walls clench and unclench around him rhythmically.

“You’re squeezing me again,” he groans, grinding his hips up more as his fingers circle your clit faster. “Do you love it when I play with this needy pussy while it’s stuffed with my cum? Didn’t think my innocent looking PA likes to be used as a fucktoy by her boss.”

You let out a strangle moan, hands tightening around his wrist but made no effort to push it away. “T-Too much!”

His fingers pressed harder, circling faster on your clit until the coil inside you snaps. Chan groans in approval as you convulse in his lap, clear liquid gushing out of you as you squirt over his hand, some landing on his table where several documents were laid out.

He doesn’t care about it now, though.

He could just get you to print a few more copies.

“Fuck yeah, baby.” His hand doesn’t stop until you’re shaking from overstimulation. “Squirting all over me, soaking me like you’re my little office whore.”

Chan finally removes his hand from your clit, but he still keeps his cock buried inside you. You collapse back against him, body still buzzing with pleasure from the pleasure of release. He loosens the hold he has on you, pressing a kiss to the top of your head. “You did so good for me baby.”

You whimper, feeling his hands start to roam your body. “Just let me hold you,” he murmurs, giving your breasts a teasing squeeze. Once his dick softens inside you, he slowly eases out, not missing the way you wince from the oversensitivity. He carefully tilts you forward, reassuring you that he’s got you while grabbing a folded handkerchief from his desk drawer. He carefully wipes the mess from your thighs, muttering soft apologies when you flinch at every touch.

Once he’s satisfied, he pulls back up your panties and gives your now clothed cunt a few soft pats before pulling you back into his lap. Tucking you sideways against his chest, he grabs his suit jacket and drapes it over your front like a blanket.

“How do you feel?” Chan whispers, one hand rubbing soothing circles along your back, the othe cradling the back of your head. “A lil’ sore…” you managed to murmur, voice weak and drowsy. You shift a little closer, fingers curling into his shirt to anchor yourself.

“Stay the night at my place,” he says quietly. “Hell, maybe even every night if that means I get to hold you like this every night.”

His thumb strokes your cheek, titling your face up slightly so he can get a better look at you. Your cheeks are flushed, lips swollen and eyes starting to lose focus. His expression is softer, stripped of any dominance – only tenderness.

You laugh weakly, the sound muffled against his chest, and he chuckles with you, pressing a kiss to your forehead once more.

For the longest time, the office is only silent except for your breathing evening out against him. In the steady weight of his arms, you’re reminded that you’re safe, cared for,

Wanted.

Stepping into the building felt different this time. Sure – the lobby hadn’t changed, the soft clicks of heels still echoed, the polite hush of voices that made you straighten your back; but you had. You no longer carried a clipboard in your hand, no more schedule running through your head, and no stack of contracts tucked neatly under your arm.

Instead, you’re just on your day off and walking back into a place that had once consumed every hour of your life.

Your stomach did somersaults when the doors slid open to the executive floor. Again, nothing had changed.

Glass walls reflected the sterile overhead lights, several employees scattering about to chase for deadlines, and the faint scent of coffee lingered in the air. Heads turned at the sight of you – recognition flickering across faces, before turning into curiosity.

You could hear it.

She doesn’t work here anymore. Why is she back?

Your heels clicked against the carpet as you walked down the familiar corridor, towards that one door that stood out at the end. Pushing the door open, you greeted Jungwon, the new PA Chan hired before knocking.

“Come in.”

Pushing it open, you see him sitting behind his desk – sleeves rolled up, jacket draped over his chair. His glasses slipped slightly down his nose, and he almost scolds whoever entered his office and not immediately telling him their reason until he looked up.

The second his eyes landed on you, his posture relaxed.

“You.” His voice dropped, quieter but a small smile accompanied it. “What are you doing here on your day off, baby?”

“Can’t a girl visit her boyfrien?” you teased, shutting the door behind you.

He raises an eyebrow. “Visiting, huh? That awfully sounds like you’re trying to distract me.”

You stride over to his desk and the second you’re within reach, he tugs you into his lap. “How’s your new job treating you?”

“Fewer all-nighters. Less drama,” you admitted.

He chuckles, “Yet you still came back here.”

You tilt your head, like he just asked you the most ridiculous question. “Of course I’d come back! You’re here.”

Chan’s hands slid up the sides of your waist, his touch causing goosebumps to rise. “You shouldn’t make a habit of visiting me at work, y’know,” he murmurs into the crook of your neck, his breath warm against your skin. “I might forget I’m supposed to be professional.”

You giggle, glancing up at him. “Maybe that’s the point.”

He grins, the air between you shifting, heavy with everything neither of you could do in his office at the moment.

Yet his hands remained where they were, yours resting on his chest. He leans down to press his lips against yours, soft and unhurried. When he pulls back, his eyes hold yours and soften in a way that no one else can ever see. “Later.”

You smile, wrapping your arms around his neck. “Later,” you echoed.

taglist !! 💗

@gyuhao365 @minhui896

[wheeboo]

paging dr. heartthrob | lee chan

SYNOPSIS. You can’t afford to be burnt out, especially during a crucial era of your life: being in medical school. Enter your best friend—a boy with a tough-looking exterior, a skateboard that’s seen better days, and a heart softer than his beat-up converse—Lee Chan, with his backpack full of snacks, and an uncanny ability to show up exactly when you need him most. He may not be a doctor, nor exactly your therapist, but he certainly is a heartthrob, and your heart can’t help but always page him. PAIRING. skater boy!lee chan x med student!fem!reader (ft. lowkey stoner!vernon, med student!jeonghan, med student!joshua, soonyoung) GENRE. fluff, childhood best friends to lovers, angst, hurt/comfort, suggestive, slow burn, college au WARNINGS. heavy swearing, food + drinking mentions/consumption, so much fucking mutual pining!!!, reader experiencing burnout + self-doubt issues, chan has a mullet, piercings, and tattoos yes, (3) shirtless chan scenes, chan is a self-critical perfectionist, mention of scars, descriptions of minor injuries, hospital mentions + visits, mental health topics, drug use (weed & vaping), reader has a panic attack and passes out, kissing, terms of endearment, vernon makes a sex joke at the end lmao WORD COUNT. 24.2k

notes: hi hi everyone! this fic is part of the @camandemstudios "the lonely heart's cafe" collab! it also takes part in the same universe as my favourite horangdan @etherealyoungk upcoming fic with hoshi HAHA. ty to skye and also @bananabubble + @imujings listen to me ramble abt this too. pls don't forget to show love all the other authors in this collab <3 HAPPY BIRTHDAY LEE CHAN!!! 🫶

You slam your textbook shut. You don’t think you can reread the same page about neurotransmitters and synaptic transmissions any longer without losing your mind for the third time that night. 

Your head feels like it’s two seconds away from combusting, and the pressure coming from upcoming exams, assignments that are constantly due the very next day, along with endless clinicals is suffocating. You’ve been staring at this textbook for what feels like hours or even days, but nothing’s sticking. It’s as if your brain has reached its limit for the day, and you’re left grasping for focus that you can’t find.

“Screw it,” You mutter under your breath, closing the textbook and tossing it to the edge of the bed where it threatens to fall off if you don’t catch it in time, but you ignore it, too tired to even care, and it falls onto the floor below with a soft thud.

Running a hand through your hair, you can feel a headache beginning to creep in, a dull throb behind your eyes. Your body feels heavy, as though it’s been holding in all your exhaustion for the past five months. Accepting your fate, you flimsily fall back onto the bed, granting the greenlight for the comfort of the sheets to swallow you whole. 

Then a tap hits your window.

You ignore it at first by grabbing your pillow and burying your face in it, too bummed out to scold the freshmen who think that it’s cute to throw pebbles at people’s windows for the hundredth time this semester. 

Another tap follows, then another, becoming more insistent after each one. At this point, they may as well blow a missile through your damn window. But then you hear it𑁋the sharp hiss of a psst, before a muffled, yet unmistakable voice holler out your name. A groan escapes your lips as you drag your body off the bed and shuffle towards the window, pulling the curtain aside and sliding the sash up. You’re immediately greeted by a whiff of cold air hitting your face. 

The irritation leaves your body within a second once you spot the figure that’s waving up at you from the ground below. There’s a jump to your heart when you catch a glimpse of the scheming grin that runs across their face. 

“Chan? What the hell?” You whisper-yell down towards him, glancing around you as if your voice was loud enough to wake up your next-door neighbours. “It’s midnight!” 

You wouldn’t be surprised if you somehow mistakened your best friend as a burglar from how the dark hoodie he’s wearing engulfs him. But you watch as he pulls his hood down and adjusts the scratched-up skateboard tucked underneath his armpit, flashing you that boyish grin that never fails to disarm your guarded-up walls. His breath curls in the cold night air, and you catch the glint of his lip piercing when he tilts his head back to look at you.

“Come on, Y/N, I got reinforcements!” He reveals a black plastic bag from somewhere behind his back, waving it up to you like he’s just discovered some kind of treasure. 

You squint, trying to make out what’s in the bag, but it’s too dark to see anything clearly from your window. “What is that?”

“Snacks,” he calls back, his grin widening. “And caffeine. Actually, wait𑁋” He reaches a hand inside the bag, shuffling throughout its contents. “No caffeine, because you need to get your insomniac ass to sleep.” 

You roll your eyes at that. “You’re actually a goddamn idiot.”

“So I’ve been told many times. Now, are you going to let me in before that stupid security guard comes and tackles me to the ground again?’ 

Briefly, you can’t help but smile at the memory of that one specific time a few months back where Chan had been caught sneaking around the apartment complex. The poor elderly security guard nearly had a heart attack when he found Chan struggling to climb the side of the building with a skateboard in hand because you jokingly refused to let him inside your messy apartment. You had to spend an hour talking your way out of that one, and even then, you weren’t sure if all your talking and dumb excuses were enough to convince the security guard that Chan wasn’t a robber trying to get to you through your window. 

“Ugh, fine. Give me a second,” You relent, pulling away from the window and hurrying to unlock the door. After a minute, you could already hear the recognisable, obnoxious stomps from the stairs that were echoing throughout the quiet hallway of your apartment. 

When you see Chan emerge all breathless like he’s run a marathon in that oversized hoodie, skateboard still tucked under his arm, you can’t help but shake your head, crossing your arms together as he gallops down the hallway and to your door. 

Then he looks at you, and for some reason, it almost seems like he looks… different. You don’t know why, because in your eyes, he still looks the same. His dark hair had grown longer𑁋pretty much a mullet at this point𑁋and he had recently changed his lip ring to a sleek silver hoop that catches the faint light in your apartment hallway. The hoodie he wore was thrifted from this store in a sketchy part of town that closed up two years ago, its print faded and frayed at the cuffs of the sleeves. His beat-up Converse shoes are practically at the verge of dying. You think he’s definitely worn it more than a million times, but that wasn’t anything new. There wasn’t anything on the surface that was new. 

Yet as he stands there, rosy cheeks flushed from the cold, his grin as radiant as always, there’s something about him that makes your heart stutter for just a moment.

“Okay… You’re doing that staring thing again.” Chan snaps his fingers in front of your face, bringing you back from your head. “You gonna let me in or not?”

You snap out of it, quickly stepping aside to let him in. “You’re so annoying, you know that?”

“And yet, you still tolerate me.” He shoots you a wink before brushing past you, and you observe as he leans his skateboard against the wall of your place. Then he flops onto the wobbly chair in front of your desk like its second instinct, like this place is his second home, and in a way, it is, because you’ll always be the first to let him in. 

Chan lifts the black plastic bag as if he’s showing it off to you and sets it down on your cluttered desk, which has been overtaken by textbooks, flashcards, and an impressive collection of empty coffee mugs. You feel yourself fall into a pit of embarrassment at the mess, but this is Chan you’re talking about𑁋he’s seen you at your worst, or… the worst he’s seen so far. 

“You know, I’ve heard these snacks are scientifically proven to cure stress,” he claims while handing you a plastic bowl of cup ramen.

You snort at that as you grab the cup of ramen from his grasp and place yourself down on the floor right by him. “Oh, really? Did you read that in The Medical Journal of Lee Chan’s Dumbass Theories?”

“Damn right I did.” He flashes you that lopsided grin, popping open a bottle of water and taking a sip before passing it to you. “Drink. You look like you haven’t had anything but coffee for days. Can’t imagine how much shit is in your head right now.”

You pinch the bridge of your nose at the thought. “I know. I’ve got a headache trying to memorise whatever the hell is in these textbooks.”

“And what’s the medical term for a headache again?”

You peer at him with narrowed eyes when you take another sip of water. “Cephalalgia.”

“See, you’ve still got it in you,” he quips wholeheartedly while leaning back in the chair, a leg propped up on his knee, a pleased smirk to his face when he captures the faintest sight of a smile to your features. 

You only let out a scoff as you stand up to fill water into your cup of ramen, placing it in the microwave right after. Even then, you swear you can still feel the way his eyes are wandering over you as you move around the small kitchen, the tonnage of his gaze making your skin tingle. You try to shake off the odd sensation, focusing on getting your ramen prepared. You can hear Chan shifting in the chair behind you, the sounds of rustling hitting your ears as he rummages through the snacks.

Silence overtakes the both of you for a few minutes. It’s comfortable. It always is when it’s with him. 

It’s a bit scary, too. Even though it shouldn’t be.

“I went to the skatepark earlier,” Chan suddenly pops in. 

When the microwave dings, you carefully take out the cup of ramen. “Practicing your 900?”

“What can I say? I’ll be the next Tony Hawk,” he teases amusedly. “I’m just kidding. Could never be on that man’s level.”

“You’re going to hurt yourself one day doing all those… tricks and shit,” You say as you settle on your bed, pushing away pieces of paper of horrendous math calculations, making them fall down to the ground. 

Chan shrugs, looking nonchalant as he leans back in his chair, casually stretching his arms behind his head. He was always pushing himself, always looking for the next adrenaline rush, no matter how reckless it seemed. It's a bit worrying sometimes. “Eh, I’ll survive. A little pain is part of the game.”

“Still. Just… be careful, alright?” The softness and genuine concern to your tone isn’t hard to miss as Chan looks over at you, the teasing spark in his eyes dimming for a second.

Chan plops a chip into his mouth, the crunch bouncing off the walls of the room. 

“I will, don’t worry.” Then he leans in like some sort of villain in a superhero movie. “So… I’d like to propose an idea.”

You already know what he’s about to propose. “Chan, no𑁋”

“You, me, these snacks I robbed from the store, and a few episodes of Gilmore Girls.” 

You pause mid-bite, your spoonful of ramen hovering just inches from your mouth as you stare at him in disbelief. A part of you wonders if the lack of caffeine in the bag had somehow changed his brain chemistry, but then again, this is the Lee Chan you’ve always known since you were fourteen𑁋spontaneous, reckless, and somehow endearing despite it all.

“You’re such a weirdo,” You murmur under your breath, but the smile on your face betrays you as it always does.

“Come on! You know you want to, Y/N,” he says smugly, and as he catches the slight unsureness to your features, he lets out a sigh. “Relax with me, please?”

For a moment, your mind weighs about the mountain of work that’s bound to be dumped on you, the looming exams, the clinical hours you’ve been drowning in… and then you think about the weight lifting off your shoulders every time Chan’s around. Even just for a little while, the world seems to slow down when he’s here.

He’s a goddamn terrible influence on you in the oddly best way possible. Oh, the irony. 

“Okay, fine. Just… one or two episodes, alright?” You give in.

The way Chan’s eyes light up from your words sends a flip to your stomach, and he’s quick to leap off the chair to sink himself down right next to you on the bed. His warmth is quick to surround and engulf you, making himself comfortable in a way that feels so familiar it almost makes your heart race. His shoulder brushes against yours, and you shift slightly to make more room for him, attempting to ignore how suddenly hyper aware you are of his closeness to you.

He rolls his sleeves as if he’s prepared to commit his entire being to this mini-marathon of episodes, and you catch a peek of the tattoos that roam up and down his arms. You’ve seen them countless times before, but tonight, they seem to catch your attention more curiously than ever, and your gaze lingers for just a second too long before you snap your attention back to the screen of the laptop being placed between the two of you. 

The bed creaks slightly as he adjusts himself, pulling the blankets up over both of your legs and getting comfortable as if he owns the place, before pressing the play button.

Even as the episode rolls in front of you, your mind… wanders to the boy right next to you. To Chan. To your best friend.

He isn’t looking at you when you’re looking at him, too focused on the scene playing before you. And just the single thought of him is enough to fill every part of your mind, every crevice in your heart. It’s overwhelming.

But it’s not just tonight. It’s not just this moment.

It’s every time he’s around.

The warmth of his body against yours feels too comforting to ignore. The way his carefree smile that you’ve seen thousands of times over the years always makes you forget the time, the way his eyes seem to see through you sometimes that you feel almost bare, the way out of the eight billion people walking this planet right now, he’s the only one who knows you better than anything else. 

Your heart stutters in your chest.

Is this it? Is this what people talk about when they say it just clicks?

You want to laugh at how oblivious you’ve been, but the thought that keeps echoing through your mind is no, this isn’t new𑁋it’s been there for a while.

But as you steal another glance at him, the realisation hits you like a fucking bulldozer, like a speeding train, like a bullet penetrating through your body, like a punch to the gut you’re sure will leave a bruise. You nearly choke on your ramen.

You’re falling for him. You’re falling for your best friend. 

No, scratch that. You’ve already fallen. Hard. For God knows how long. Fuck. 

And the worst part? He doesn’t even know. You’re utterly screwed.

You were at the cusp of middle school and high school when you met Lee Chan. Even though you’re only a year ahead of him, the eighth graders at your school seemed to have a superiority complex bigger than their egos could contain. Back then, he was just another scrawny seventh grader running around with wild passions, and you were just trying to survive through these awful years of awkwardness, or just middle school in general. 

It was during one of those ridiculous dares that you met. Some eighth grader had dared him to steal a soda can from the teacher’s lounge fridge, and he’d been caught red-handed𑁋by you, unsurprisingly, as you were sent to pick up some paperwork for your office aide duties. And instead of being embarrassed or causing a ruckus in the middle of the hallway, he had grinned at you like he threw the most disastrous prank in history.

“You won’t snitch, right?” he had asked, while holding the can of soda behind his back. 

“Well, I’m an office aide after all,” You had responded sarcastically, crossing your arms together. “I could totally report you to the principal.” 

But your words hardly phased him. Didn’t phase him at all. In fact, he’d just looked at you like one of those geeky kids confident in winning their Pokémon Go battles. 

“Let me give you a reason not to then,” he had said, revealing the soda can from behind his back and offering it to you. You had stared at him in disbelief, and after a short while, you’d finally taken it. He had just shot you a smile and shuffled past you, as if nothing had happened, but not before adding, “Come to the playground after school. I’ll show you something cool.”

By something cool, he showed you something called a kickflip. You had no idea what a kickflip was at the time, but Chan was way too eager to show you as he grabbed hold of a skateboard that was once used by his father. You had watched him try and fail repeatedly, but never once had he looked embarrassed or frustrated. It was that lighthearted attitude of his that drew you in, something you admired even then. And so, you stayed after school, watching him persist until he finally nailed the trick, his smile wide and victorious. Maybe the world felt lighter in those moments too𑁋that maybe going to high school wouldn’t be an absolute shitshow. 

That as young and dumb that you were, maybe life had good things for you. 

Because it was with him. 

You didn’t call it a crush though, because all the eighth graders who were stuck in their heads all mentioned how crushing on seventh graders was disgusting and gross, that going after the hot high schoolers was cooler. Thus, you ignored the small flutter in your chest whenever he made you laugh after nearly face-planting while practicing, turned a blind eye to the way your heart skipped when he gave that ungodly smile after nailing another trick. 

You told yourself it was nothing. You were just friends. Best friends, even.

“I think I have a crush on my best friend,” You downright admit in the middle of the cafeteria, unconsciously stabbing your salad in front of you with a plastic fork.

Jeonghan peers at you while slurping up his banana milk. “Eat your ugly salad.”

You glare at him but take a begrudging bite of your salad anyway, chewing slowly as if it might somehow alleviate the embarrassment swirling in your chest. It’s been almost a week since you’ve come to terms with your feelings for your best friend. Jeonghan sets his banana milk down and leans forward, propping his chin on the palm of his hand with the kind of smug expression that tells you he’s about to make this conversation even worse.

“Well, you could𑁋”

“Shut up.”

“I didn’t even say anything!” Jeonghan raises his hands in the air like he’s surrendering, letting out a scoff. “How inconsiderate of you.”

“Just𑁋Don’t you get it, Jeonghan?” You ask after stuffing a piece of cold lettuce in your mouth. “This is medical school. The pressure’s insane, and everything is a goddamn mess. I can’t just throw everything away over a stupid crush. And it’s not like Chan would feel the same way. We’ve been friends for so long… and it’s just stupid to think about anything more. I’m stupid for even falling for him in the first place.”

Jeonghan watches you carefully while mulling over your words, then his lips curl into a slight smirk, yet a hint of softness to his eyes.

“You know,” he starts, leaning back in his chair, swirling the banana milk in his cup. “It’s not stupid to have feelings. It’s natural. What’s stupid is throwing those feelings under the rug and leaving them to the dust mites.” 

“But I just…” Your voice trails away as you struggle to find the right words. “I already have a lot on my plate right now, and it almost feels wrong to think of him that way. As someone more than a friend. I feel like a pervert or something𑁋I don’t know.”

“A pervert?” Jeonghan questions with a raised brow. “Aw, do you dream of giving him a little smooch on the lips?” 

You choke on the next bite of your salad, coughing and trying to hide your face in your hands as Jeonghan just snickers, completely pleased at your reaction. 

“You’re actually the devil’s worst nightmare personified,” You mutter under your breath, but there’s no anger behind it. 

“Ah, well, that’s a new one,” Jeonghan remarks amusedly. “Better than the devil’s knight in shining armour, I suppose.” 

You sigh, dropping your fork and slouching in your seat. You don’t think you have the energy to think about all of this right now. There’s a certain heaviness that settles in your chest as you reluctantly chew your way through the rest of your salad. You have other things to worry about right now, such as the mountain of schoolwork on your desk, your pathology exam on Friday, and having to impress your grumpy fifty-year-old attending tomorrow. 

“Come on, let’s get through pharmacology.” You start to pack up your belongings, sealing off the remains of your unfinished salad and stuffing the container inside your backpack. Jeonghan watches you knowingly with a sigh as he gathers his own things.

“You’re avoiding the conversation,” he points out, standing up and tossing his empty drink into the trash bin.

“I know,” You admit, standing up to join him. “I just don’t have the mental space for it right now. I have so much to do, and thinking about Chan and... whatever this is... it’s not helping.”

Jeonghan doesn’t say anything after that, and you appreciate the quiet while shoving your laptop and notebook inside your backpack before flinging it over your shoulder. He doesn’t want to apply more pressure on the wound than needed. 

One day, he thinks, you’ll have to face it, and that it’ll come to bite you in the ass sooner or later. 

You could really use a shower right now.

After an entire day of clinicals and back-to-back lectures, all you want to do is melt in your bed and let the world fade away. But instead, you find yourself trudging towards the skatepark, because you promised to meet up with Chan for God knows why. By all means you’re definitely late, and you aren’t even sure if Chan would be at the skatepark as he’d have to wait almost an hour for you to show up, yet the thought of disappointing him somehow hurts more than the aching fatigue in your legs.

You spot him instantly. He’s mid-trick when you approach, his skateboard spinning in the air before he lands effortlessly with a triumphant grin. You see him fan himself, wiping his sweat off with his shirt he retrieves from the ground, catching sight of his exposed form and the tattoos that run up and down his skin. His back is turned towards you as well, and you catch a glimpse of another tattoo that he has: a series of Japanese letters that trail down his spine, spelling out his zodiac sign, Aquarius.

After a mere pause, he turns his head and spots you, his face lighting up like it always does, and you feel that familiar flip in your stomach again.

“You’re late,” he calls out, kicking the skateboard up into his hands and jogging over to meet you.

You roll your eyes but can’t help the small smile tugging at your lips. “Blame my neuro attending. That man has the stamina of a marathon runner and the patience of a saint. Could rival Derek Shepherd, to be honest. I think I aged ten years today.” You set your bag down on the floor next to a nearby bench. “You didn’t wait long, did you?”

“Nah, not that long. You actually came after Vernon left𑁋idiot left his vape here,” Chan says while fishing the vape out of his pocket and taking a shameless hit from it, a cloud of vapour floating into the air when he exhales, before offering it to you with a teasing grin. “Want a hit?”

You scrunch your nose, shaking your head with a laugh. “Offering me, a med student, that shit is crazy. My lungs are precious thank you, unlike you and Vernon.”

“Tell that to those bozos.” He points to the noisy teenagers at the other side of the park, before sitting right next to you on the bench. “Can’t even roll over there without getting smacked in the face with weed.”

Your smile falters just slightly as you watch him lean back, his face tilting towards the darkening sky. The dim light of the streetlamps catches on the curve of his jaw, the slope of his nose, the relaxed purse of his lips, and highlights the sleek dragon tattoo that snakes up his arm. He looks... peaceful. Content. Like the world isn’t asking too much from him tonight, like there’s no ginormous weight of expectations pressing on his shoulders, unlike you. 

“I messed up today during clinicals,” You randomly confess, making Chan turn toward you. “There was this patient today… a girl. Seventeen years old, has a tumour that’s basically about to split her brain in half. I kept arguing with my attending about treatments, and I was so sure I was right𑁋that we could do something more about it𑁋but in the end, I just... made it worse. I felt like such an idiot, because… because there wasn’t anything we could do. She only has one chance with surgery, and she took it, despite her low chances of surviving.”

Chan listens to you, his eyes gentle and thoughtful, understanding but not pitying. It’s the same way he used to listen when you were venting back in high school, always patient, never rushing you to fix yourself or your emotions.

“You’re not an idiot,” he tells you, but his tone is nothing like a scold. “You care. That’s the difference. Not everyone would have fought that hard for her, even if you didn’t win. You’ve got a heart the size of the ocean, dude, you know?” 

You smile faintly, chest tightening a little to his words. “The mother-fucking ocean?”

Chan grins at your lightheartedness, nudging you with his elbow. “Yeah, the mother-fucking ocean. You’re stubborn as hell, but you’ve got that heart. And that’s what makes you good at what you do. It’s what makes you you.”

You look down almost in guilt from his words, unconsciously playing with your fingers in your lap. You don’t know why, but it hits harder than usual tonight, and for a second, the rush of everything you’ve been holding back hits you𑁋the exhaustion, the worry, the feeling that you’ve been carrying more than your fair share of burdens these days. They almost threaten to burst out of you, but right now, they don’t. Not yet at least.

“You’re gonna be a good doctor,” Chan continues. “I don’t even have to be a doctor to know that. You just… you get it. You’re going to go out there and do great things. Maybe even better things than me.”

You almost want to laugh at that, almost want to tell Chan just how much shit he’s done that is far greater than what you could ever dream of. You’re not sure if he realises it himself𑁋how great he is, how much you admire him, love him𑁋but you think you could spend more than a lifetime telling him just that if you could. 

Maybe you’ve been avoiding these feelings for too long, but the truth is, they’ve been there for as long as you can remember. You can’t pinpoint the exact moment these feelings shifted from friendship, to admiration, to something more𑁋maybe it was when he helped you get through the first few years of high school, or when he held your hand during a school dance, not in some romantic gesture but because you were scared of your anxiety acting up𑁋but it’s always been there. He’s always been there. 

“I… Thank you, Chan,” You say softly. Then you tilt your head back, looking at the same sky he is, the heaviness in your chest easing just a little. “You’re kind of annoying, you know that? But you’re also... you’re really great yourself. Like, better-than-I-deserve great.”

Chan just chuckles at that. He leans forward, resting his elbows on his knees, turning his head slightly to look at you. “That’s probably the dumbest thing you’ve ever said, and I’ve heard a lot of dumb shit from you.”

“Wow, okay. Forget all that I said then,” You retort back playfully, shaking your head and crossing your arms together. “You’re the worst person alive, actually.”

When you’re busy gazing up at the sky above, Chan turns to you. His eyes flit over you, basking how your eyelashes slowly bat together from tiredness, how your lips are slightly curled up in relaxation, how your features glow from the singular street lamp illuminating the skatepark. He doesn’t say anything for a moment, and glances away, his thoughts racing faster than he can keep up with.

“You meant it though, right?” he asks.

“What?” You question, turning towards him. 

“About me being great or whatever.” You can tell he’s trying to brush off the hesitation, but you sense the uncertainty in his voice. “You meant it?”

Out of all times, you wonder why he’s questioning it right now, at almost midnight in the middle of the skatepark. You’ve told him countless times how great he is, always hyping him up for skate competitions and giving him comfort on the times he’s down himself. Why… is he suddenly asking if you meant it?

“Well, I… Of course, I meant it,” You respond, catching his eye. “Why wouldn’t I?”

For a short period, there’s just silence, comfortable, a pinch of awkward𑁋a word you can pretty much never associate with your interactions together𑁋yet heavy. The way Chan’s features soften on his face from your words seem more important than the stars blinking up in the sky right now. 

Then all it takes is a tiny giggle from him, and you can’t help but groan.

“Oh no,” You grumble pesteringly, shooting him an exasperated glance, but your tone is light, teasing. “I fueled your ego now, didn’t I?” 

“Yep. I can walk around like I’m the best thing since sliced bread,” Chan jokes, puffing out his chest with pride. “My greatness has been confirmed by a certified medical professional.”

“Whatever, big head,” You sneer back playfully. 

Chan stretches out a bit more on the bench, his legs extending and his arms behind his head. You can tell he’s getting more comfortable too, probably ready to call it a night, just like you, and you can’t help but let yourself soften a little.

Without thinking, you shift your body and lean your head down to gently rest it in Chan’s lap. His body stiffens for a few seconds as if he wasn’t expecting it, but he doesn’t pull away. Instead, he lets you settle, and after a beat, his hand comes to gently rest in your hair, and something tugs at your heartstrings from the feeling. Your eyes slowly flutter to a close. 

“You okay?” 

Those words almost make you want to cry. 

“Yeah,” You reply quietly. “I’m fine.”

“Don’t lie to me.” 

When you open your eyes back up, Chan is looking down at you, studying you, his thumb tenderly tapping the top of your head as he waits for an answer.

“Alright.” You let out a deep inhale, blinking back up at him. “I’m not.”

Then his hand stops moving, and you nearly regret even telling him that. 

“Do you want to talk about it?” he asks cautiously. 

The corners of your lips tug up slightly, another sigh leaving you. All you can do is shake your head.

“Not really.”

Chan just pulls away, not entirely, but enough to give you a little space. His hand stays near, though, and he’s still watching you, his expression soft.

“Okay.”

For now, the two of you let your gazes drift back up to the sky, and you think𑁋maybe falling for your best friend isn’t the worst thing in the world.

The number 87 is scratched at the top of the page of your medical jurisprudence exam. 

“Thanks for letting me cheat off you, by the way,” Jeonghan chimes in jokingly over your shoulder, nudging you in the arm before walking past you and out the door. 

You roll your eyes at his comment but remain standing right where you are at your seat, and you don’t know why you can’t get yourself to move. Your fellow classmates𑁋all dressed in their finest set of scrubs𑁋brush past you and out of the classroom, but you could only clench your first around the paper in your hand. 

An 87 isn’t bad; if anything, it’s great. Hell, it’s probably better than some of the other people in your class. You should be happy about it. But for some reason, you can’t shake the feeling that there’s something off. It’s the fact that you’re standing here, staring at a number that’s supposed to represent your hard work, your achievements, yet it feels empty, hollow, even.

You don’t feel proud of yourself. 

All you can think about are the countless nights you’ve spent studying for something that doesn’t even feel fulfilling anymore. Your mind wanders over the sleepless nights, the skipped meals, the times you could hardly breathe because rotations had you stuck in the hospital𑁋what was it all for? A number? A stupid grade on a piece of paper?

You take a deep breath, trying to push the thought away.

“You’re doing fine,” You remind yourself, quietly, under your breath. But somehow, it doesn’t sound as convincing as you need it to. “You did good. You’re fine.”

Yet, there’s a voice that echoes off the walls of your head: you can do better. 

You meet Jeonghan and your other mutual friend Joshua in the hallway after managing to finally leave the large lecture hall. The two of them are chatting enthusiastically amongst each other, comparing their exams and the questions they received credit for along with the ones they got wrong. 

You force a smile to slip across your face when you approach, though it merely feels like a mask you’re getting tired of wearing.

“If I manage to survive this program, then I better be gifted with twenty years worth of coffee,” Jeonghan says while stuffing the exam paper inside his backpack. On the other hand, Joshua seems to be way more organised than you and Jeonghan combined, slipping his paper into a colour–coordinated folder before holding it under his arm. 

“What did you want to go into again? Pediatrics? Can’t imagine you with children for the life of me,” Joshua comments playfully.

“Alright, mister, you’re the one who wanted to go into plastics,” Jeonghan retorts with a smirk, nudging Joshua in the ribs. “I can totally see you standing in front of a mirror practicing how to say, ‘Oh, ma’am, you’ll look amazing after this rhinoplasty.’”

Joshua rolls his eyes but laughs. “At least I’ll make my patients happy. I’m not sure kids would survive under your care without learning sarcasm as their first language.”

“Sarcasm builds character, my friend,” Jeonghan states matter-of-factly, wiggling a finger up in the air as if to emphasise the point. “Don’t worry, I’ll teach those little demons how to get through life in the correct way.” 

You give in a chuckle at their banter, clumsily folding your exam paper in half and stuffing it deep inside your bag, hoping you’d probably forget all about it by the end of the day. Though the tension inside you doesn’t seem to want to disappear quite easily. You should feel happy to be surrounded by friends who’ve stuck with you through this hellish journey, but instead, you’re just... floating. 

It’s like you’re suspended between reality and expectation, unsure of where you really fit into either world. You try to push it down, but the feeling keeps creeping back, making your chest feel tight.

“Now I think this calls for a celebratory shot of champagne, or Iced Americano, whatever you want to call it,” Jeonghan announces to you and Joshua as all of you are walking outside.

The time has nearly reached evening by this point, the warm hues of the sky painting the sunset that’s illuminating the campus. It’s a sight that would normally give you a sense of peace, an opportunity to relax, but it doesn’t give you that feeling right now. Far from it. You should be happy, you remind yourself again and again. You’ve been working towards this for your entire life, yet here you are, dragging yourself through the motions like a robot programmed to survive but never to live.

And maybe that’s what hurts the most𑁋the thought that you’ve lost yourself somewhere along the way. You can’t remember the last time you felt truly at ease, or when you last let yourself just... breathe.

Your steps don’t fall in rhythm with Jeonghan and Joshua as you trail behind them. All of your energy feels like it’s been drained out of your body, and that you’d much rather be in the comfort of your apartment to study and distract yourself. 

“You guys can go ahead,” You say to Jeonghan and Joshua with a soft, yet tired smile. “I think I’m just going to head home and get some rest. Catch up later?”

Joshua frowns, noticing the tension in your voice. “You sure?” 

“Yeah,” You reply nimbly with a half-shrug, even though the word feels like a lie when it leaves your lips. “Just… tired. You know how it is. You two deserve to celebrate, though. Go and enjoy yourselves.”

Before you could give Jeonghan or Joshua any chance to respond, you give them a half-hearted wave before hiking off in another direction. You blink away the heat that was threatening to form in your eyes, keeping your gaze focused on the ugly, cracked pavement ahead as you hurriedly make your way back to your apartment. Every step feels heavier than the last, and you swear you feel yourself sinking with each one you take. You tell yourself it’s fine𑁋that you’ll feel better once you’re home, but you can’t tell if you’re just trying to convince yourself that. 

By the time you arrive at your apartment building, perhaps more time has gone by than you expected. The sun has nearly set at this time, making way for the moon to take over with its nightly duties, casting its pale glow over the world around you. But it doesn’t seem to paint its glow on you. 

When you start trudging your way towards the entrance to your building, a voice freezes you in your path. 

“Y/N! Wait up!” 

Your heart sinks in your chest at the voice, almost urging you to step inside your place before that particular gnaw of guilt could grab you, but you freeze nonetheless. You reluctantly turn around to none other than Chan jogging up to you, his skateboard nearly falling from his grip as he lands right in front of you. He’s breathing a bit heavier than usual, as if he’d been running to catch up.

“You haven’t texted me all day,” he tells you breathlessly.

You lift a brow at that, a corner of your lip lifting up at his clinginess. “And you ran all the way here to tell me that?” 

“Well, duh, I have to make sure you’re alive.” He wipes off some sweat from his forehead. You could tell he just rolled here all the way from the skatepark. 

As you let your eyes scan over him, you can’t help but notice how effortlessly cool he looks with his messy fair falling in front of eyes, and the way he still seems to be trying to catch his breath from the exertion of running up to you. There’s a softness in his expression that makes your chest tighten, and it’s enough to make you lose focus on everything else. The exhaustion, the doubt, the ache in your chest𑁋all of it vanishes when you look at him. 

Truthfully, you missed him too. You always do. 

“You’re such a dork,” You prod, trying to suppress the soft warmth that spreads through your chest. You know he’s only teasing, but his concern still cuts deeper than you expect. “See? I'm alive and breathing.” 

Chan eyes you suspiciously, before grabbing ahold of his skateboard from under his arm. “Alright, if you say so…”

Before he could place the skateboard on the ground, you stop him.

“Wait, Chan.”

Chan shoots his attention back to you, and perhaps that’s enough to make your legs feel like jelly and your throat to go dry. You hesitate, biting back the emotions threatening to spill out of your mouth, but something about the softness in Chan’s gaze makes it feel like this is the right time to let it out. Even if it’s just a little bit. 

Without thinking, you take a step forward, then another, and another, before leaning in to gently let your head fall on his shoulder. Chan freezes, his body tensing at the sudden contact. For a second, you wonder if you’ve done something wrong, but then he exhales, his warmth radiating against your temple. You don’t notice the way his hand hovers uncertainly over your back, contemplating, before he ultimately brings it back to his side. 

“I got my results for an exam today,” You admit quietly. 

Chan thinks he knows where this is going, breathing out a defeated, “Oh. Did it… I mean, did you𑁋”

“I passed,” You mutter with a slight chuckle. “With flying colours.”

Chan doesn’t respond immediately, the only sound being the gentle rustling of the evening breeze. You can feel his shoulder shift slightly under your head, not out of discomfort, but then you feel his arm gently slide over your shoulders, pulling you a little closer to him. Maybe you’re close enough to the point he can feel your heartbeat. 

“Then why do you sound so down?” he asks. “If you passed, you should… you should be celebrating, right? That’s a big deal.”

“I am celebrating.” You huff out a breath. “Now that you’re here, I-I could celebrate.”

Chan tenses at that, like your words rendered him speechless. “Because… because I’m here?” 

You nod lightly against his shoulder. “It’s… easier to breathe when you’re here, I guess.” And then you smile faintly, even Chan can feel it. “Don’t let that get to your head, though.” 

But it does. It does go to Chan’s head in more ways than one as he feels that familiar heat crawl up his neck from how those words fall naturally off your lips, like it was such a normal thing to say. And no, it doesn’t fuel the prideful ego he claims he has, doesn’t make him smug or self-assured; no, it goes straight directly to his heart, as your words always do. He’s glad the dim evening light hides the full extent of his reaction, but he knows his heart isn’t probably nearly as subtle.

And when you lift your head off his shoulder and pull away slightly, he can’t help but stare at you. You don’t say anything either, the words sitting in the air between you. But then you smile𑁋tiredly, genuinely, not forced or hiding anything𑁋and the first thought that comes to his head is that… you’re beautiful. 

“You reek of sweat,” You suddenly point out teasingly, scrunching your nose. “How many hours did you stay at the damn park?” 

“Oh, you know, only a good seven hours,” Chan replies sheepishly, rubbing the back of his neck. “Plus I did go to the gym with Soonyoung too…”

“And let me guess, no knee pads or helmet?” You ask with a raised eyebrow. 

Chan opens his mouth in defense. “Well, I𑁋”

“Alright, I’ve heard enough,” You cut him off playfully, rolling your eyes dramatically. 

Then Chan lightly nudges you with the skateboard. “At least you’ll be there to patch me up, yeah?” 

“Nope, sorry, I’m leaving you at the mercy of the cranky ER nurses,” You tell him, wiggling a dismissive finger toward his face. 

Chan just steps back up to you, a twinkle of mischief that you capture in his eyes, before he grabs hold of the skateboard under his arm and shoves it in your hold, a low oof escaping out of your mouth. Then you watch with a scoff as he brushes past you and into your apartment building, and you jog to catch up with him.

“What the hell are you doing, Chan?” You call out after him, trying to juggle the weight of the skateboard in your hands. Chan glances over his shoulder with that signature grin of his𑁋half playful, half smug𑁋and it’s enough to make you want to smack him with the board. “And take this thing back, I’m not carrying it! Lee Chan!” 

Chan looks back at you with his tongue sticking out, before disappearing around the corner. “Sorry, I’m going to use your shower!” 

And for the first time the entire day, the laugh that leaves you is real. A real, genuine laugh that comes from deep in your chest, bubbling up before you can stop it.

“Hey, Lee Dino! You’re up!”

Chan picks his head up from where he sat on the bench, scrunching the empty water bottle and aimlessly tossing it in the trash bin beside him. He stands up, tugging his shirt off that was nearly drenched in sweat and throwing it aside near his belongings. The cool air of the afternoon hits his skin, caressing over the tattoos that paint his skin. 

His muscles flex as he stretches his arms above his head, relieving whatever tension was flowing through his body. The key factor to skateboarding is balance, but it’s also about rhythm𑁋finding the flow between body and board, and Chan knows it all too well. 

He inhales deeply, eyes scanning the open park in front of him, full of potential for the next challenge.

“Let’s see what you got today, Lee Dino,” Chan mutters to himself, a smirk tugging at the corner of his lips.

Dino. A self-proclaimed nickname that was at first given to him by his father when he was just a kid and fascinated by the strength and coolness of dinosaurs in those silly comic books. His dad had joked that he wanted his son to dominate the world like the dinosaurs once did, and that nickname stuck ever since. It felt fitting to Chan, even now.

He strides confidently toward the half-pipe, his worn-out skateboard tucked under his arm. Placing the skateboard on the ground, he pushes it back and forth a few times with his foot, the wheels scraping the pavement below. He eyes the ramp ahead, its steep curve teasing him, almost daring him to take it head-on. 

Chan doesn’t hesitate.

In one singular, fluid motion, he plants one foot on the board and pushes forward, flying off with a burst of energy that propels him toward the ramp. The world around him blurs for a split second as his focus narrows entirely on the slope ahead. His heart races, not out of fear but exhilaration. The crowd that had gathered around the park watches, a mix of awe and excitement in their eyes.

He hits the curve of the ramp, leaning into it just the right amount, and in one smooth motion, he launches himself into the air. The adrenaline kicks in, but it’s all muscle memory that fills him𑁋he knows exactly how to control his body.

Time seems to pause and the world around goes on mute as he floats above the ground. The board twists under his feet with the familiar flick of his ankle. His body moves effortlessly, adjusting for the perfect landing, and searching for the right second to take in a deep breath. 

He lands back on the pavement with the grace of a dancer, his knees absorbing the shock of the landing, and the cheers of his friends and his fellow skaters power up to full volume right to his ears when the world comes back to him. But as he rolls around the bowl, his focused eyes are already scanning for the next trick he’s about to perform. 

One trick after another, he continues, smoothly flowing from one move to the next. A quick Ollie here, a grind on the edge there, his body dancing on the board with a sense of freedom following right after him. He can feel the eyes of the crowd who have curiously gathered around the park to watch, but right now, it’s just him and the board. 

One last run, he tells himself. Chan rolls again, more faster this time, building up speed as the seconds of anticipation pass. As he nears the highest point of the ramp, he shifts his weight and takes in one last deep breath. He’s going for a bigger one this time. A heelflip, followed by a 360-degree spin mid-air.

The muscle memory kicks in again as he pushes off for one final time. He feels the rush, the levity to his bones that make him fly, the thrill as the world spins around him. But as he spins, something doesn’t quite feel right, and he could sense it right away. A rush of cold wind catches him off-balance, and for a split second, he hesitates mid-air, yet he’s just a millisecond too late. 

It’s a tiny moment𑁋one probably wouldn’t be able to notice it from how fast he was going𑁋but it’s enough to throw him off. His body is barely in the perfect alignment it needs to be. Panic flashes through his eyes.

And his heart sinks as he realises he’s not going to stick the landing.

Chan manages to land the board, but it’s far from the smooth he was expecting, slamming harshly that his body doesn’t fully absorb the shock. His right foot misses the edge of the deck just slightly, and the board wobbles beneath him. He tries to adjust quickly, but the momentum carries him a bit too far, and before he knows it, he’s stumbling off the side and onto the rocky ground, the skateboard shooting out from under him and skidding into one of the nearby flatrails. 

“Shit,” he mutters to himself. 

Collective gasps ripple through the air as he finds himself laying flat on the ground, his breathing heavy. Chan rolls onto his side, groaning in frustration.

“Man, you good?” Vernon’s voice pops in, the boy picking up Chan’s skateboard and jogging towards him. “That looked like a bad fall.”

Chan pushes himself up from the ground, shaking his head and laughing lightly, wiping his palms against the asphalt and feeling the sting of scraped skin. The fall had been harsh, his body aching slightly from the impact, but the sting is nothing compared to the frustration burning in his chest. He’s taken worse falls before, but this one felt different. This time, he knew he should’ve nailed it.

Maybe he was a bit too cocky. A bit too confident than he needed to be. 

“Yeah, I’m good, dude.” He grabs hold of Vernon’s outstretched hand and stands back up on his feet with a grimace. “Guess I miscalculated that a bit, huh?”

“You sure about that?” Vernon asks skeptically, handing Chan back his skateboard. “You look like you’ve taken a hit.”

Chan just chuckles, downplaying himself playfully. “Nah, I’m fine. Maybe just a little bit of a bruised ego.”

But even with that, his mind races, still replaying the trick, analysing the split-second mistakes he made. Why had he hesitated? Was he not focused enough? Was it the wind? Or maybe, was it that nagging feeling of doubt that had crept in when he least expected it?

“You’ve been pushing yourself harder lately,” Vernon says, eyeing him knowingly. “You’re going to burn out if you keep going like this.”

But Chan only shakes his head dismissively. 

“It’s just a slip-up.” Then he pats Vernon on the shoulder. “It’s all good, man.”

But deep down, he’s unsettled. He’s used to pushing through challenges, always looking ahead and striving for the next trick. But now, he feels like something’s holding him back, and it’s not just the fall.

He can’t help but think about you. A while ago when you’d reassured him, telling him he was great and making his heart do flips more than it should. Maybe he hadn’t fully processed it then, but now, with the fall still fresh like a wound, the words hold more poundage than ever. The words he told himself about his worth, the words you told him about his greatness… they don’t seem to line up with the failure he feels now. Maybe you were just saying it to make him feel better. 

Or maybe he really isn’t as great as everyone thinks. 

Because if you𑁋the one person who knew him best𑁋saw something in him, then maybe it was real. Maybe his greatness wasn’t just an illusion he crafted to keep himself from falling apart.

Later that evening, Chan finds himself taking a mindless hit of his vape. The skatepark has cleared away at this point, leaving only him and Vernon sitting on the edge of the half-pipe, the cool night air settling over the empty ramps and rails. The rush of adrenaline from earlier is now long gone, replaced by a quiet hum of exhaustion and contemplation.

Chan exhales slowly, watching the vapour dissipate into the dead of night, the faint flavour of Sour Fucking Fab coating his tongue. The nicotine buzzes in his veins, a distraction𑁋temporary, but enough.

His fingers absentmindedly tap against his skateboard, the frustration from earlier still simmering beneath his skin. Vernon leans back on his elbows, glancing at him with that same knowing look he always has when Chan is overthinking.

“You wanna talk about it now?” Vernon finally asks after exhaling a cloud of vapour of his own, leaning back on his palms.

Chan lets out a dry chuckle, shaking his head. “Not really.”

Vernon doesn’t push. He never does, seemingly having the unbotheredness that could rival a rock. The boy just nods, stretching his legs out in front of him, letting the silence do the talking instead. They sit there for a while, watching the overhead lamps flicker across the park, and the occasional car passing by.

Chan lets his legs dangle over the edge of the ramp, his skateboard resting beside him, scuffed and worn from years of practice. He takes another slow drag of his vape and drops his back down on the cool pavement below, sealing his eyes shut. 

“You good?” Vernon asks again, his voice cutting through the silence. 

Chan blinks, shaking himself out of it. “Yeah. Just thinking.”

“About your fall?”

Chan hums noncommittally. “Among other things.”

Vernon leans back against the rail, watching him closely. “You’ve been weird lately.”

Chan only lets out a breathy chuckle, yet doesn’t respond right away. It’s funny how one fall is enough to mess with his head. He just blankly stares up ahead at the night sky. He doesn’t have an answer. At least, not one he’s ready to say out loud. But Chan knows Vernon, and Vernon knows him, and he’s not going to let this go that easily.

“Do you think I’m actually good at this?” he asks suddenly, voice quieter than before.

Vernon turns his head slightly, eyes narrowing. “At skating?”

“Yeah.” Chan swallows the lump in his throat. “Or at anything, really.”

Vernon frowns puzzledly, sitting up properly. “Dude, what are you talking about? You’re literally one of the best skaters here."

“Yeah, but what if I’m just… I don’t know, pretending?” The words come out before Chan can stop them. “What if I’m just tricking myself into thinking I’m great when I’m really just average?”

Vernon studies him for a long while before letting out a slow breath. “Man, if that were true, you wouldn’t be out here busting your ass every day till the crack of dawn. You wouldn’t get back up after a fall. You wouldn’t care this much.”

Chan doesn’t respond right away, only pushing himself back off the ground. Then his mind drifts again, back to you𑁋your head resting in his lap, the way you looked up at him with something unreadable in your gaze. The impact of your words still lingers. You’re really great yourself. Like, better-than-I-deserve great.

“Have you ever thought that… maybe people see you as something more than you really are?”

Vernon lifts up a brow. “You’re speaking hieroglyphics.”

Chan scoffs annoyedly, running a hand through his messy hair. “Like, they think you’re this… great person, right? Someone who’s got it all figured out or whatever. But then, you screw up. And suddenly, you don’t know if you’re actually that person, or if they just convinced themselves you were.”

Vernon eyes him conspicuously. “Dude. That’s just imposter syndrome.”

A dry laugh leaves Chan. “Well, shit.”

“Okay, so you mess up one fall and suddenly you’re questioning your entire existence?” 

Chan snorts, but there’s no real amusement behind it. “Maybe.”

Vernon stares at him a little longer, a little harder, then sighs. 

“It isn’t just about the fall, is it?” 

Chan hesitates, his fingers tightening around his vape. He wants to say yes𑁋that it’s just about the fall, just about that one pivotal mistake𑁋but he knows it’s not. He knows Vernon is right.

Because if it were just about the fall, he wouldn’t feel this restless. He wouldn’t be sitting here, staring at the cracks in the pavement like they held the answers to all the questions buzzing in his head.

And the thought of you wouldn’t keep creeping into his mind, either.

He smiles faintly at the thought of you, and he swears he could almost feel the warmth of your body when you laid your head on his shoulder the other day. 

Maybe falling𑁋on the board, for you, for everything𑁋wasn’t the worst thing in the world.

Maybe he just had to figure out how to land.

“You ever think that maybe no one’s expecting you to be perfect except yourself?” Vernon questions suddenly. 

Chan turns to look at him in surprise. 

“Think about it.” Then the boy breathes out a cloud of vapour, hitting Chan square in the face, accusingly pointing at him with the mouth of his vape. “And wipe that disgusting lovesick shit off your face.”

Chan chokes from his words. 

“Chan?”

“...hm?”

You lightly flick the tip of your pencil on his head, causing him to stir in front of you. The two of you were in the library of your campus, and Chan for some reason voluntarily wanted to come with you, despite it being one of your boring study sessions. He’s sitting in the chair right across from you, hoodie over his face and face buried in his arms on the table, clearly dozing off.

“You’re sleeping,” You say, raising a brow. “Why did you even come if you were just gonna pass out on me?”

Chan slowly lifts his head, eyes heavy with drowsiness. His hair is a mess, sticking up in odd angles, and his face is creased from where he had pressed it against his arms. He blinks sluggishly at you, eyes still heavy with sleep, but there’s something else there𑁋something softer, something warm. 

“Mmm… moral support?” Then he shoots a glance towards your opened textbook and computer screen. “I barely understand any of the shit you’re studying anyway.”

You roll your eyes, fighting the smile threatening to spread across your face. “You could’ve just stayed home and slept, you know.”

“That’s boring,” he groans, rubbing his eyes before propping his chin on his palm. He studies your bare face𑁋tired eyes, a bit of breakout to your cheek, the way you chew on your bottom lip when you’re frustrated. “Talk to me.”

“About what?”

“Anything. I don’t know𑁋your shitty commute to school or if that one shitty nurse bothered you today. Just talk to me.” 

You sigh, stretching your arms above your head before setting your pencil on top of your textbook. You could feel Chan’s eyes waiting for you as you try to rack your brain for anything to talk about. Anything that didn’t revolve around you practically moping through your coursework the entire day. 

And then your face lights up.

“A baby held onto my finger last night,” You say, eyes softening from the memory. “Her name is Nabi, and she was sooo tiny, Chan, you have no idea. She wasn’t even my patient, so I had to sneak inside the nursery to see her, but…” You lean back in the chair, glancing down at your calloused fingertips from all the times you’ve practiced sutures. “I don’t know. She wrapped her tiny hand around my finger, then all I felt… was peace. It was relaxing. I haven’t felt peace like that in a long time.” 

Now that’s an image that comes to Chan's head. 

For a moment, like a spell, he’s lost in it. His mind wanders, as it always does when he lets himself think about you too much. He can imagine you there, looking down at Nabi with that quiet wonder in your eyes, watching you care for this tiny life. He pictures you cradling a baby of your own with the same peaceful look on your face as you guide them gently through the world. 

And the thought hits him like a tidal wave: You’d be an incredible mother.

It’s not something he’s imagined before, not something he’s consciously thought of. But now that you’ve said it, now that you single-handedly planted the concept in his head, he can’t push it away. He’s seen it when you did volunteer work for young children back in high school, seen it when you showed him pictures of you cradling the newborn baby of your cousin with the fondest look on your face. He can see it so clearly. 

“You’d be a great mom,” he blurts out suddenly, and he hardly processes the words until after they’ve left his mouth.

You blink at him, dazed. “What?” 

Chan clears his throat awkwardly, shifting uncomfortably in his seat. “I-I just think you’d be really good at it. You’ve always been great with kids, so…”

You blink at him again, unsure of what to say, and he can’t quite tell what you’re thinking in your head. But in reality, his words seem to hit you more than you expected. Perhaps you’ve been too caught up in your studies that it’s hard to imagine that kind of future for you right now. Yet, if somehow, life gave you that kind of situation, then maybe it wouldn’t be so bad. 

Maybe this would all be worth it in the end. 

And so, you smile. It’s a small, just barely noticeable quirk of your lips, but it’s soft, and for some reason, it makes Chan’s heart skip.

“Yeah,” You murmur quietly. “Maybe.” 

“Nabi was lucky to have you there, though,” Chan adds in. “Maybe she also felt peace too.” 

You peer at him with an amused look. “Are you getting a soft spot for babies now?” Then you scoff sarcastically. “I guess the tough-looking skater boy can get soft, after all.”

“Don’t tell anyone,” he jokes, trying to brush off the warmth spreading across his chest. “I’ve got a reputation to maintain.”

You could only roll your eyes. “Sure, I’ll keep your secret, buttercup.”

Chan just chuckles. He doesn’t mind being the soft version of himself with you. He doesn’t have to wear the hard exterior that everyone expects from him: the reckless skater with tough edges who never cracks under pressure. It’s easy, he thinks, to be soft around you. It’s easy for you to make him soft in the first place, with just a single glance, a smile, just you. 

The room grows quiet now, other students filing their way out of the library for the night, leaving only the two of you. You glance down at your work, but your thoughts drift, still lingering on the conversation, and on Chan. You notice how his gaze has relaxed, lips curled like he’s trying to hide a smile. You don’t mind it𑁋this side of him. The one that feels less like a skating rebel and more like a person you’re learning to understand more every day.

He watches you as you get back to your work, highlighting parts of your textbook with that quiet concentration that he admires. It’s occasions like these when he finds himself noticing even the smallest details about you. 

Yet his mind keeps repeating about the peace you mentioned, and there’s a sudden urge in him to bring it back to you.

“Come on.” He rises from the seat, stretching his arms over his head before grabbing his skateboard from where it rests against the table. “Let’s get out of here for a bit.”

You blink at him, confused. “What?”

“You need a break,” he states simply. “And I need to clear my head too. Let’s go do something𑁋anything but this.” He gestures at your pile of notes and textbooks like they personally offended him.

You stare at him like he’s proposed the most ridiculous thing in the world, hesitation making you stiffen. You glance between your opened textbook and unfinished papers. You still have a lot to study, and it looms over you like a cloud. But then you meet Chan’s eyes, and your heart gets lodged in your throat.

It’s tempting. More tempting than you want to admit. You bite your lip, considering.

“Chan.” You narrow your eyes at him. “You’re on thin ice right now.”

“Oh, come on,” he coaxes, tiling his head amusedly as if he knows he’s getting under your skin. “Just for a little bit, please?”

You groan, throwing your head back dramatically. “You’re a bad influence.”

“I’m a wondrous influence, thank you,” he corrects smugly, already swinging his backpack over his shoulder. “Now come on. Pack all that gross knowledge up.” 

“Just so you’re aware, one day all this shit could help me find some revolutionary cure in the future,” You point out while stuffing all your belongings in your backpack. “Catch me on the front page of the New York Times.”

Chan smiles at that. Honestly, with already knowing how smart and studious you are, he wouldn’t even be surprised if that someday were to happen. He’s never once doubted your abilities, never once doubted that you’ll potentially save the world in some way, shape, or form, never once doubted that you’ll accomplish great things. 

“Alright, whatever, as long as you don’t forget about me,” Chan says as you pack the last of your belongings.

You hit him gently on the shoulder. “I’d never do that to you.”

Chan’s heart does the familiar jump once again. 

The two of you make your way out of the library, the cool night air hitting your skin as soon as you step outside. Campus is quieter at this hour, streetlights casting long shadows over the pavement. Chan hops onto his skateboard with ease, gliding a few feet ahead before spinning back around to face you, rolling backwards.

“Okay, so… what’s the plan?” You ask him.

He pretends to think, tapping his chin dramatically. “We could get ice cream.”

“It’s freezing, idiot.”

“Or we could break into the football field and stare at the sky like we’re in some coming-of-age movie.”

You scoff airily. “We’re not breaking into anything, Chan.”

“Ugh, you’re boringgggg,” he exaggerates teasingly, but there’s no real disappointment in his voice. He kicks off again, rolling beside you as you walk. Then, as if something clicks in his head, his expression shifts and his face brightens up. “I know what we’re doing.”

You narrow your eyes at him suspiciously. “I don’t like the sound of that.”

Chan merely grins, and you know you have to give in. “You’ll love it, trust me.”

That’s exactly what someone who is about to get you in trouble would say.

Chan’s place has always been so… Chan. He shares it with another roommate𑁋a chill guy named Vernon who you’ve interacted a few times when you would visit the skatepark. The apartment is dimly lit, a shelf at the corner of the slightly unkempt living room containing a collection of vinyls and old CDs.

Posters of old rock bands and underground artists fill the walls. There’s another skateboard propped up by the door right next to a disorganised row of shoes and a stand propping up an electric guitar. The living room table is littered with books about sports you aren’t familiar with, loose papers, and a bong sitting casually beside an ashtray that contained some old rolled-up joints. 

It’s been a while since you’ve visited his place personally as you’re used to him visiting you instead. It looks a bit different this time, some new furniture and decorations added that you haven’t seen before, but it still oozes the familiar comfort rightfully belonging to Chan. 

“Bro, can you turn it down a little?” You hear Chan knocking a few times on Vernon’s door.

A voice is muffled on the other side, then the door swings open, and Vernon’s head pops out from the room. The two of them exchange a few words before Vernon turns his head to shoot you an acknowledgement.

“Yo, Y/N,” he greets you casually.

“Hey, Vernon,” You respond back with a quick smile. 

Vernon faces back to Chan, glancing between the two of you, before poking him in the chest and muttering quietly, “Don’t fuck this up with her, man.”

Chan just swats Vernon’s hand away with a scowl, feeling the heat spread up to his ears. “Shut up.”

Vernon just shoots a knowing smirk before heading back into his room. You hear the music from inside lower slightly, yet still audible through the walls. Chan turns back to you, and you catch him fiddling lightly with one of his ears, but you don’t question it.

“Want something to drink?” he asks, slipping past you to head into the small kitchen area.

You give a nod. “Sure.”

You watch as he rummages through the refrigerator, half-expecting for him to pull out two bottles of beer or even just plain water. But instead, he fishes out two small juice boxes, sending you back to old memories of your middle school lunches and lazy summer days at the skatepark, and you bite back a chuckle. 

He throws one to you, and you catch it mid-air.

“Seriously?” You question while stabbing the straw through the carton. 

Chan only shrugs. “They’re Vernon’s. He bought them in bulk last time he got shit-faced high. Said they were ‘the peak of human invention’ or whatever.”

You roll your eyes, but when you take a sip, Chan watches in amusement as you dive in for more. 

“Told you. Peak of human invention,” he muses while taking a sip of his own. “Our middle school has to take notes.” 

“For sure,” You agree wistfully, sitting yourself down at the arm of the couch. “Alright, so what’s this grand plan of yours?”

A mischievous glint flickers in Chan’s eyes, and he disappears for a few minutes inside his room. When he comes back out, he has a few blankets hung over his shoulder.

“Rooftop,” he chimes eagerly with a grin.

You lift up a brow, eyeing him with skepticism. “I… Are we even allowed up there?”

Chan merely shakes his head, already walking toward the window where the fire escape is. “Nope.”

You groan but follow him anyway because, despite everything, you trust him. He’s always been the reckless one, the one who always takes risks, the one who hardly thinks before acting, but somehow, whenever you’re with him, you never feel unsafe.

The climb up the fire escape is easy, and soon, the two of you are on the rooftop, looking out over the other unappealing suburban apartment buildings beneath your feet. There’s a slight inkling of fear that you’ll get caught up here, but at this point, would it be the worst thing in the world? The answer is quite easy. 

The night air is cool, a minor breeze driving through the air, blending with the soft music Chan plays from his phone. He spreads out the blankets, plopping down with an exaggerated sigh before patting the space next to him.

You settle down beside him, tucking your knees up to your chest. The streetlights ahead cast golden halos to the ground below, and for a few moments, neither of you decide to speak. But it isn’t uncomfortable per se𑁋far from it, honestly. It’s just a simple silence where words aren’t necessary to fill it. 

“Junior year, Christmas break,” Chan says after a long pause, glancing toward you with a fixed look. “Senior year for you.” 

You take a contemplative sip of your juice box. “The time you gaslighted me into running away with you for a night? Right before that embarrassing Christmas party at my house?”

“I was a pretty bad kid back then, wasn’t I?” Chan chuckles softly at the thought. 

“Yeah, dude, what the hell happened to you? You used to be this scrawny little kid who spread rumours about snakes being at the playground so that other classes wouldn’t come.” You lean back on the blanket with him, exhaling a deep sigh. “Now you’re all… responsible and weirdly philosophical.” 

Chan eyes you with a raised brow. “You haven’t changed.”

“I haven’t?”

“Nope. You’re still the same stubborn smartass girl who’d rather kill themselves in textbooks than touch grass once in a while.”

“Okay. Rude, first of all.” Then you lift your gaze up towards stars, and something in your chest aches. “But I guess some things never change, yeah?”

Chan stares up towards the sky as well, watching the same stars as you. “Yeah, I guess not.” 

The two of you sit in another pit of comfortable silence for a while. You feel his shoulder brush against yours as he adjusts himself on the blanket, and for a brief second, your breath catches. It’s such a small thing𑁋his warmth seeping into your skin, his presence right beside you𑁋but it makes your stomach flutter in a way you don’t want to acknowledge.

You turn your head slightly to catch a glance of him. The sleeves of his hoodie have ridden up, revealing the large tattoo on his arm. You could tell how intricately designed the ink is on his skin, lines and shapes weaving together in patterns you can’t quite decipher but are distinctly, undeniably Chan.

“You ever think about it?”

“Huh?” You utter out.

“The future.” 

You blink at him with surprise. Chan isn’t usually the type to dwell on these things. He lives in the moment, takes on whatever the hell life throws at him. If anything, you were usually the one to think about the future. You were always known for having a plan for everything, knowing exactly the kind of path you’ll take. But now, it seems more unclear than ever. 

“I… don’t know,” You admit unsurely. “I think about what I want to do, who I want to be. But when I think about it now, with everything going on, I…” You find your voice trailing away, guilt slithering up your spine. “It’s hard to imagine it now.” 

The only response you hear from Chan is a low hum, before he clears his throat. 

“I think you’d be happy.” 

Your breath catches. “What?”

He turns his head to look at you, his eyes soft even under the night sky. “I think that no matter where you end up, no matter what you do… you’ll be happy. You deserve to be.”

Something warm unfurls in your chest, like a flower coming in full bloom. You don’t know what to say to that, and even if you did, you wouldn’t be able to let it out. Your throat suddenly feels dry, your hands clammy, and you force yourself to look away in a flash to blink back some heat in your eyes. 

Chan notices the pensive look to your face, but doesn’t push for anything more. He sits himself up on the blanket, taking a quick hit of his vape before exhaling a thin cloud of vapour into the night air. You fix your eyes on him, the dim light casting shadows over his face as he exhales. 

His gaze drifts out to the neighbourhood of buildings ahead, but he seems to be lost in thought, withdrawn, like he’s fighting with himself about something he doesn’t know how to voice. The silence stretches again, but this time it’s heavier, different𑁋more intimate than you’re used to.

Then, you clear your throat. “We should probably head back soon.”

Chan doesn’t move from his spot on the blanket. “Yeah. Probably.”

But neither of you make an effort to actually get up. He wordlessly offers you his vape without looking, and you hesitate momentarily before shamelessly taking it from him, inhaling a little too deeply, but not caring enough to stop𑁋just to feel something other than this. The taste is odd at first, unfamiliar, but it quickly becomes something soothing in the cool night air as you breathe it out. You pass it back to him, your fingers brushing over the warm skin of his hand.

“Y/N?”

Your heart stutters when he calls your name. “Yeah?”

Hesitation lingers in the air. Chan sucks in a deep breath. 

“You’re my favourite person, you know?”

Your breath gets caught in your throat at that, but you quickly mask it by giving him a playful shove in the arm, probably ruining the sentimental moment.

“I know, idiot,” You retort playfully, hoping it would be enough to hide the way your heart is racing. “You’ve told me that many times already.”

Chan just shakes his head, his expression unreadable. “I mean it.”

Your fingers nervously knead at the fabric of the blanket pooling around you. You can’t get yourself to look at him. You can’t.

Because you know. You know exactly what he’s saying.

And you don’t know what to do about it.

So instead, you swallow hard, keeping your gaze ahead. “You’re mine too, Chan.”

Chan doesn’t respond right away, and you don’t catch the faint smile that was beginning to bloom across his face. There’s a sigh that leaves his lips, almost one of relief, and he leans back on the palm of his hands, his eyes glued to your side profile.

“Yeah,” he mutters softly. “I know.” 

Neither of you say anything more.

“Okay, listen, here’s the catch. She’s like… really great. Like… she spoils me and all that. It’s so overwhelming,” Soonyoung huffs out after dropping his deadlift and standing up. “I don’t know how to be a good boyfriend for her! I’ve never dated anyone before! How the hell do I ask her to go to the movies with me?” 

Chan is listening. Well, not entirely𑁋Soonyoung’s words seems to be going in one ear and flowing out the other. He’s been listening to the older boy’s rant about this sudden new addition to his dry love life, the best part being that it’s his older sister’s best friend. Chan nods along anyway, keeping his gaze fixed on the gym floor as he absently rolls his water bottle between his palms.

Soonyoung only continues to ramble, pacing a little in front of him with his hands to his hips. “Like, what if I mess it up? What if she realises I have no idea what I’m doing and decides I’m not worth it? Or what if I’m too much?”

Chan hums, taking a long drawl of his water. “If she’s with you, she probably already thinks you’re too much, bro.”

The older boy shoots him a measly glare, popping down on the bench right next to him. “Wow, thanks, genius. You’re sooo encouraging. You’ve never been in love before, anyway.” 

When Soonyoung snatches his water bottle, a few beats of silence fills the air. Chan continues to stare down at the gym floor like it contains all the answers in the world, all the answers he’ll never have, and Soonyoung gives him a few curious looks. And then, it clicks in his head.

“Wait a damn minute.” Soonyoung fixes his posture right away as his eyes widen, sitting up straighter. “Chan𑁋”

“Man, you really are blind are you?” Chan retorts with an amused click of his tongue. “No wonder you suck at being a boyfriend.”

“Shut up!” Soonyoung shoves him in the arm, before grabbing him by the shoulders like he’s just made the greatest discovery in history. “No way, is it Y/N? It’s Y/N, right?”

Chan’s reaction is immediate, the sound of your name already sending those familiar flutters to the pit of his stomach. This only makes Soonyoung beam up even more, and Chan already knows that the older boy will take this right into his damn grave. 

He tries to pry Soonyoung off him, but he only relents.

Soonyoung is practically vibrating with excitement. “Dude, wow, didn’t you used to tell me you were going to marry her or something?’

“Why the hell do you still remember that?” Chan groans and rubs a defeated, embarrassed hand over his face. “I was, like, fifteen. A dumb, didn’t know their right-from-left kid. She was way out of my league at the time.” 

“But not anymore.”

Chan rolls his eyes. “You’re insufferable.”

“Come on, look at you! You’re hot, like a total eye-catcher and mouth-drooler material. Of course she’d be into you,” Soonyoung persists, a mischievous grin spreading across his face. “Literally anybody would swoon over you.” 

Chan rubs the back of his neck awkwardly. “It’s different now, though. Med school is swallowing her whole, and she barely has time to breathe anymore. Besides, it’s just… complicated, you know?” 

“You’re each other’s person,” Soonyoung affirms with confidence. “Don’t forget that.” 

Chan’s heart thrums loudly at that. Now, the only thing he could think about was his conversation with you the other night. He can still feel the soft brush of your shoulder against his, the comfort of your presence beside him. You’re my favourite person, he had said; You’re mine too, you had said. It echoes in his mind like a tenacious virus infecting his thoughts. It’s true, he knows it is. You’re his person.

The big question is, though, how the hell does he gain the courage to finally face it?

Chan had never been the one to overthink things. He’s always been the careless kind. But with you, he finds himself replaying every single little memory with you, and it makes him almost want to combust. 

Running a hand through his sweat-dampened hair, Chan grimaces, tapping his foot out of unease.

“Love really is a piece of shit,” he mutters. 

Soonyoung leans back on the bench with a reflective sigh. “Yeah, it really is.” 

Chan side-eyes the older boy for a second, nudging him lightly in the shoulder. “Let me give you a piece of advice then.”

Soonyoung turns to face him with a puzzled look.

Chan just smirks, shoving Soonyoung in the forehead with his index finger.

“Stop being a pussy and your girlfriend𑁋do I need to spell it out for you? Your girlfriend𑁋to the damn movies already, you loser.” 

No, this is not happening.

A tear squeezes past your eye and lands somewhere by your feet as you stare at the bold, unforgiving letters of the word FAIL written at the very top of an exam you took the other day. You will yourself to blink as if it would miraculously make the words change, for some mistake to have been made. But nothing changes. The numbers don’t rearrange themselves, the percentage doesn’t miraculously rise above the passing threshold. It stays there𑁋permanent, irreversible, mocking like a goddamn clown. 

No, no, no, no.

Your throat tightens.

This is the fourth exam you failed in a row. You had studied until your eyes dried up and burned, pushed yourself past the brink of exhaustion, drained every last drop of energy you had left into preparing for this exam, hoping to make up for the list of others you scored below average on. You sacrificed sleep, skipped meals, ignored texts from friends. And for what? For fucking what? 

For this shit? 

Your vision swims.

Your pulse hammers loudly right to your ears, loud enough you’re sure it could drown out any kind of sound. Your knuckles tighten its grip around the paper until they turn white, nails digging into the palm of your hand. 

Your breath hitches, and suddenly, it feels like the walls around you are closing, eager to shut you in. The room suddenly shrinks into a confined space that’s hard to properly breathe, the air too thick, your own skin too suffocating to be in. Your heart pounds painfully against your ribs, and a cold sweat trickles down the back of your neck.

You had been barely holding it together as it was, restrained by the threats of burnout. Long nights, endless studying, the constant weariness sitting heavily on your bones. And now? Now you have proof that none of it was enough. That none of it was worth it. That you weren’t enough.

A ding from your phone startles you out of your thoughts for a split second. You barely manage to catch the notification that jumps at you.

[10:37pm | dumbass 🛹] y/n?? are you okay? i don’t know what’s happening, but your friend jeonghan ran into me saying about how you ran away crying??

A choked sob escapes you before you’re able to stop it. You can feel the anxiety creeping its way from down your feet and up through your bones. You hardly realise how much you’re trembling from your hardened grip on your phone.

[10:39pm | dumbass 🛹] y/n answer me please i know you’re not okay

A cold panic grips your chest achingly𑁋you’re sure there’s a bruise there forming in some disgusting mental form. 

What does this mean for you?

Your future?

Your dream?

[10:43pm | dumbass 🛹] y/n please i’m worried about you. i care for you so so much

There’s a tug at your heartstring at his text, but then you feel another tug, one that’s more stronger, more desperate. It’s almost as if the final nail to the coffin had been hammered. You crumple the piece of paper in your hand aggressively before flailing it somewhere across your apartment. There’s a darkness that seems to loom right over you, goosebumps dancing up and down your skin as you sit yourself down at the edge of your bed.

One last ding from your phone.

[10:47pm | dumbass 🛹] i’m coming over, okay? stay there for me, y/n i’ll be there in 5 mins

You stare at the screen of your phone, the words blurry through the tears that won’t stop raging down your face. You can barely process Chan’s messages. You know he’s worried. You know he’s trying to be there for you, but the weight of failure seems to crush your body like a boulder, and you aren’t even sure if you have the willpower to face him. 

You can’t let him see you like this. You can’t allow him to see this weak, vulnerable, and ugly part of you. You can’t. 

Time seems to tick by slowly as you pace around your room, but at every angle, all you can see is your scattered textbooks, the countless notes you’ve taken that never seemed to stick into your brain like it was meant to. All you see is the so-called effort that kicked you right back to this point. Your mind races with a million thoughts, each one a reminder of how much you’ve failed, how much you’ve fallen short of the finish line. The clock ticks mercilessly, and before you even realise it, Chan is at your door.

You freeze.

The knocks are insistent. Suddenly, the thought of Chan allows you to exhale a deep breath; the first, real one. 

“Y/N? Open the door, please,” Chan urges, voice muffled through the door. 

You could only stand there, staring at the door as if it could open by itself. Your heart is pounding even faster, your mind screaming at you to do something. You can just yell back that you’re fine𑁋that there’s nothing to worry about, but the truth is that you don’t fucking know what’s wrong with you.

“Y/N, please… I’m not going anywhere. Just… let me in.”

The pure softness to his voice seeps through the door and hits you square in the chest, and something inside your cracks. You know you should let him in, but your failure feels so raw, so final, that it’s hard to imagine someone, especially someone like Chan, still wanting to be around you.

And yet, he’s here, attempting to reach you.

Taking a deep breath, you wipe away your tears, and against every thought in your mind telling you to retreat, you reach out and open the door.

On the other side, Chan stands with an arm leaning against the doorframe, his dark hair tousled and messy from the wind, his breathing rapid and fast like he’s just run from the other side of the world just to get to you. The thought only deepens the cut even farther. 

“Y/N…” His voice falters immediately at the sight of your face: puffy, reddened eyes, your body shaking like the world is crumbling right at your feet. 

His heart lurches at the sight, jaw tightening slightly as his instincts to protect you, to lash out at whatever did this to you, flare up. He doesn't even hesitate. Without another word, Chan steps forward, his arms wrapping around you in an instant, pulling you against his chest. You don’t do anything but fall right into his grasp, and it’s almost as if you fit perfectly in his hold. Like the space was always meant for you. 

You allow yourself to believe it for just a moment. 

“Shit, you’re cold and shaking,” Chan mutters under his breath, tightening his hold around you a little bit more, but you already know the chill comes from somewhere else𑁋somewhere deeper that you know he can’t fix just like that. 

For the first time in what feels like forever, you exhale a breath that doesn’t feel like it’s cutting you from the inside out, your fingers digging desperately into the fabric of his hoodie. You feel the heat radiating off him, the comfort of being in his arms, but a sinking feeling grows heavier in your chest. You don’t deserve this. Not his warmth, not his care, not his worry. You can’t let him in, not like this. 

But for a moment, just for a moment, you do.

“It’s okay,” he murmurs, his breath hitting the temple of your head. “I’ve got you.”

You swallow a breath at that.

You shouldn’t let him do this. You shouldn’t let yourself melt into him like this, shouldn’t let yourself believe that this is where you belong. Because it isn’t.

Because you know better.

Because you know this warmth is only temporary.

Because you know the second you let yourself rely on him, really rely on him, it’ll all come crashing down.

Slowly, the grip you have on his hoodie loosens, and you start to push yourself off him.

At first, Chan doesn’t notice. His hold on you remains firm, as if he thinks you’re just shifting, adjusting. But then your hands push against his chest𑁋just barely at first; it’s a hesitant, silent plea for distance.

He stiffens.

His hold loosens, just slightly, but his arms don’t drop completely. 

“Y/N?” The way he calls out your name comes out in a mere echo, like his presence is far away, even when it isn’t. Even when he’s just right there in front of you. 

You don’t answer. You just push a little harder. I can’t let myself love you like this. 

And that’s when he lets go. The cold is swift to settle back over your skin, the safety of his warmth disappearing in an instant. Chan looks like he wants to reach for you again, a twitch to his arms that doesn’t go unnoticed, but he doesn’t. He waits.

And that’s somehow worse.

You take a step back, putting more distance where there shouldn’t be any. “You should go.”

Chan flinches like you’ve slapped him, his eyes widening at your words, clearly taken aback, his expression completely faltering. He stays completely still in his spot. 

“What?” He croaks out, his voice cracking weakly. “You can’t just𑁋”

“You don’t have to do this,” You say, forcing the words out even as they feel like shards of glass in your throat. “You don’t have to take care of me.”

“Why won’t you just𑁋” He stops himself, exhaling sharply before lowering his voice. “Why won’t you just let me be here for you?”

“Because it’s not fucking fair, Chan.”

“Bullshit,” he hisses out, but his voice is not angry, just desperate, hurt. “I don’t give a damn about fairness, Y/N. What’s not fair? That I care for you? That I want to be here when you need me? That I…”

“I’m not your responsibility!”

“...I’ve loved you for so fucking long it’s physically killing me inside?”

The truth spills from his lips like a flood he can no longer hold back. Silence swallows the room entirely, your feet sinking into the floor like quicksand. Your breath catches in your throat, and for a moment, the world around you comes to a halt. The tension stirring in the air has enough power to crush you all at once. 

You shut your eyes, willing yourself to feel nothing, willing yourself to pretend like his words didn’t just stab you straight through the heart. 

But they do.

Because you love him. God, you love him so much.

But you can’t give in.

Because if you do, you’ll shatter. And if you shatter, he’ll be the one trying to pick up the pieces.

“You need to leave,” You deadpan, forcing the words out even if they cut through your throat like a knife.

But Chan only stands his ground, and takes a few steps towards you until he’s close enough that you could feel his familiar warmth again. Your hands twitch at your sides as he stands right before you, and for a singular second, you steal a glance down at his lips. 

“Don’t do that,” he urges, leaning in a little more, the edge of your bed from behind pressing into the back of your knees. “Don’t act like this doesn’t mean anything to you.”

Maybe he’s close enough to catch the subtle shakiness to your breath, to see the way your eyelashes imperceptibility flutter, to see the way your lips part ever so slightly. And maybe, just maybe, he’s close enough to make you forget𑁋for a fleeting, dizzying moment𑁋why you’ve spent so long trying to push him away.

If you gave the world one more second, his mouth would be on yours. One more second, and you’d finally know what it feels like to kiss the boy you’ve loved for as long as you can remember.

Yet like a punch to the gut, reality slams into you. 

You swallow hard. “It doesn’t.”

The lie tastes like poison on your tongue.

Chan lets out a broken laugh, shaking his head as if he couldn’t believe you. “You’re a shitty liar, you know that?” His voice comes out hoarse and rough. “You can tell me whatever the hell you want, but I know you, Y/N. I know… I know that you feel something, too.”

You bite down on your lip so hard you swear you could taste blood. You don’t respond. You can’t.

“So just say it,” he presses on desperately, his hands clenched into fists at his side. “Say it, and I’ll go. Say it, and I’ll stay. Look at me in the eyes and tell me I’m wrong. Tell me you don’t love me. God dammit, just give me something, Y/N, please.” 

The way his voice becomes soft and pleading breaks something in you. Right now, you’re staring at the boy who has always been there for you, who has always known you better than you know yourself. The boy who is giving you a chance. A singular chance to pull him back. A singular chance to confess that you’ve loved him since before you knew what the hell the word love even meant. 

And that same boy is staring at you like you’re his whole world, like you’re the only thing keeping everything from falling apart. You want to tell him the truth. You want to throw yourself into his arms and let him hold you together into eternity when you feel like you’re crumbling apart. But you can’t.

Because one day, he’ll wake up and realise that loving you is exhausting. That being around you is suffocating. That he deserves someone who isn’t this broken, utter mess of a failure. 

So you do the only thing you can. You force yourself to break him before he can break you.

“Go home, Chan.”

“No,” he resists firmly, yet a pinch of shakiness to his voice. “Not until you say it… Not until you tell me that you love me too.”

“I don’t love you, Chan.” 

Lie.

Lie.

Lie.

Silence.

You see the exact second the words hit. The exact moment his heart breaks.

You catch the way his body visibly deflates, the way the colour drains out of his face. Every fibre of his form tenses, and Chan swears to himself that he can’t breathe, as if your words completely knocked the wind out of him, tearing his heart out of his chest and right down to the ground. He’s still staring at you, searching your rigid face𑁋for hope, for any hint of regret, for something at this fucking point𑁋but he doesn’t find anything. His lips part slightly as if he was about to say something, but nothing comes out. 

And then slowly, finally, he gives a nod.

“Right,” Chan says quietly, and his words are barren, empty. “Okay.”

He takes a slow step back, then another. And you almost call out to him, almost take it all back, almost tell him the truth𑁋that you love him more than anything, that you’ve loved him since you were kids, that pushing him away is the hardest thing you’ve ever had to do.

But you just clench your fists at your side. Chan stands at your doorway.

Then he turns back to look at you, his hand right on your doorknob, and you can’t read his face, yet you feel the way his eyes are piercing right through you. He pauses. He’s waiting. 

“Goodnight, Y/N,” is the last thing he tells you before crossing onto the other side. 

The second the door clicks shut behind him, your legs give out beneath you. Your entire body trembles as you press a cold hand to your mouth, a loud sob spilling out of you before you could stop the dam from breaking. 

Because you love him.

And you just let him go.

The burning sensation of alcohol runs down Chan’s throat, the bitter taste of beer stinging his tongue.

He finds himself out of breath, standing at the very edge of the half-pipe with his skateboard gripped tightly in his hands. He’s been here for what feels like hours, but the night air is still too cold to shake off the sting in his chest. Skating is the only way he could cope with all the pain, the confusion, the longing, with everything that’s been lingering on his mind every night.

“Dude, are you just going to skate until you die?” Vernon’s voice punches through his thoughts, the boy sitting splat on the pavement, an unlit joint at the tip of his mouth. 

Chan doesn’t even acknowledge the question at first, his eyes boring holes through the concrete beneath his feet. Then, with a leap of faith, he places a foot on the skateboard and pushes himself down the ramp. The evening breeze catches in his hair as he concentrates on getting to the other side of the half-pipe, the wheels screeching loudly against the pavement as he flies through the air. 

Just for a few seconds, he wills himself to not think about you, but when he lands on the other side of the ramp with a hard thud, the feelings all come rushing back. He slows down, rolling in a few mindless circles before strolling back up to where Vernon is. He flicks his skateboard on his foot, letting it rest against his knee as he takes another deep breath. 

“Chan𑁋”

“I’m fine.”

“You’re not fine,” Vernon pesters, concern edging his voice. “You can’t just keep skating away from this, man.” 

“I’ve been in love with her for years, don’t you get it?” Chan jabs his skateboard into the ground, frustrating coating his words. “She’s everything to me and she just… she just let me go. I left because that’s what she wanted. It fucking sucks.”

Vernon lights the joint between his lips and leans back on his palms, exhaling a trail of smoke into the air that disappears into the dead of night. He watches as Chan swallows another swig of beer and clumsily plops himself down on the ground right next to him, letting his skateboard roll away a few inches before pulling it back with his foot. The only sounds that interrupt the heavy silence are the nearby chirps of crickets and the clicks from Vernon absentmindedly fiddling with the lighter between his fingers. 

I don’t love you, Chan, are the words that have been replaying like a broken record in Chan’s mind ever since that night. And now here he is, at the fucking skatepark in the dead of night, trying to outskate a heartbreak that clings to him like a second skin.

Chan’s eyes drift up towards the darkened sky, a contemplative sigh leaving him.

“I don’t think I’ll be able to stop, you know?”

Vernon lifts a brow. “Stop what?”

“Loving her,” Chan finishes, tapping his fingers against the can of beer. “It’s crazy how it’s always been easy to love her. Maybe even easier than breathing sometimes.” 

Vernon’s eyes flicker from the glowing tip of his joint to Chan’s solemn face. “Sounds like you’re in deep.”

This earns a bitter laugh from Chan. “You’re not helping, dude.”

“Don’t stop loving her then,” Vernon mutters like it was the most simple thing in the world. “But don’t let it eat you alive either.”

Chan scoffs, shaking his head. “Easier said than done.”

A beat of silence passes. 

“Listen, when I first started skating, I used to wipe out all the time. Like, bad. I’d eat shit and bust my ass so hard I thought I’d never get back up again.” Vernon pauses, taking another long-winded drag. “But I did, because that’s just how it works, man. You fall, you get hurt, you get back up.”

Briefly, Chan casts a glance down to his hands, taking note of the fading scars on his knuckles from all the times he’s taken falls throughout his life, all the times he’s hit the pavement and gotten back up again.

And he thinks about you.

And he thinks about you, wondering: how many times have you fallen without anyone there to catch you?

He thinks about the way your hands trembled that night, the way you practically crumbled in his hold, the way your eyes looked so exhausted, so defeated. He thinks about the way your voice cracked when you told him to go, how you looked at him like he was both the thing you wanted most and the thing you couldn’t bear to hold onto.

Chan swirls the can of beer in his hands, taking one last swig before slamming the can on the pavement with a loud clink, the lingering metallic taste mixing in with his bittersweet thoughts. 

He should have stayed. Should have fought harder. Should have told you that even if you pushed him away, even if you tried to convince yourself that you didn’t need him, he wasn’t going anywhere, because no matter which direction he goes, the path always leads back to you. 

Because that’s what love is, isn’t it? It’s staying even when someone tells you to leave. It’s holding on even when they don’t have the strength to do it themselves.

He thinks about you again. About how you looked at him with that same damn expression you had the night your parents got into this big fight back during your freshman year of high school, the night you broke up with your first boyfriend during junior year who was an absolute dickhead to you, the night you first told him you didn’t believe in happy endings.

“Shit,” Chan breathes out frustratingly. “What the hell do I do now?” 

Vernon shrugs, flicking the ash off his joint onto the ground until it dissolves into nothing. “Figure out if you’re willing to fall again.”

Chan lets out a dry laugh, shaking his head. “Yeah? And what if I hit the pavement even harder this time?”

“Then you’ll get back up,” Vernon says casually, with his cool, calm, and collected demeanour that’s almost irritating, even if the younger boy knows that he’s right. “Just like you always do.”

A plastic-wrapped sandwich is placed on the bedside table beside you, but you don't make a move to even acknowledge it. You know you should eat, you know you should do a lot of things, but your limbs feel like lead, and the thought of food makes you want to gag.

“Y/N? You need to eat.”

The worried tone of Jeonghan’s voice rings out from behind you, yet you could only find yourself sprawled atop one of the beds in the on-call room, your back turned towards the door and your eyes staring hazily into the dull, sterile hideous walls of the hospital. 

There’s a defeated sigh that you hear come from Jeonghan, the noise of the hospital fading away when the door closes shut. Another presence enters into the room𑁋Joshua𑁋and you could only shut your tired eyes close as you mentally prepare yourself for them to attempt to dig you out of your hole once again.

But you’re beyond caring at this point. You can’t remember the last time you had a full night of sleep or felt anything other than the overwhelming deadweight of exhaustion and isolation pressing down on you. The only thing that seems to matter now is just getting through the damn day, making it to the next hour, then the next, until the cycle starts all over again.

The faint shuffle of footsteps signals Joshua’s approach, and despite how worn out you are, you can’t help but tense up slightly. You don’t want to explain yourself anymore. You don’t have the energy to.

“Y/N, at least drink some water,” Joshua assures, and you hear the snap of a water bottle opening and being placed on the bedside table right next to you. 

You don’t reply at first, your gaze still fixed on the blank wall. You’re so tired, but somehow, sleep feels impossible. You feel your chest tighten, the heaviness of everything pressing down on you. The hospital. The clinical hours. The endless patient charts. The constant rush to keep up, to not fall behind. But beneath it all, another thing has been gnawing at you𑁋the night you pushed away the only person who could keep you from completely drowning.

Chan. 

Thinking of his name alone is enough to send a wave of guilt crashing over the dam in your mind, and you bury your body even further within the sheets of the bed, willing yourself not to think about the way his face fell that night, the way his hands clenched into fists like he was holding himself back from reaching out to you. 

You hurt him. You told him to leave. You told him you didn’t want him. You saw it in his eyes. And perhaps that’s what makes it worse𑁋knowing that you did it on purpose.

For a few minutes, Jeonghan and Joshua don’t say anything else. They’re not leaving; of course, they aren’t. The two of them have been hovering around you like ghosts for the past two weeks just watching, waiting for you to crack open enough to let them in. But some wounds don’t heal with a sandwich and a bottle of water. Some wounds don’t heal at all.

Then finally, a voice cuts through the thick silence.

“This isn’t healthy, Y/N. You can’t keep doing this to yourself,” Jeonghan rebukes, sitting himself at the edge of the bed.

Your jaw tightens, flipping your body on the bed to finally face them. “Doing what?”

“This,” Jeonghan points out. “Locking yourself away, pretending like you’re fine when you’re not.”

“I don’t need a lecture,” You mumble flatly.

Joshua exhales sharply, crossing his arms as he leans against the bedside table. “We’re not here to lecture you. We’re here because we care. And you can’t keep wasting yourself away like this. It’s not healthy.”

Something inside you flinches, but you swallow it down, forcing yourself to remain still. You’ve gotten good at that lately. They’re right, of course. You know that they’re right.

A bitter laugh leaves you. “I’m still here, aren’t I?”

Joshua’s face softens, and he crouches down so that he’s level with you. “Being here and actually living are two different things.”

His words make you pull the sheets tighter around yourself, as if that will somehow shield you from their concern, from the way they’re looking at you like you’re slipping right through their fingers. You catch a glimpse of the unopened sandwich and water bottle standing on the bedside table, the sight making your stomach twist, and for a brief second, you consider reaching for it𑁋just to ease the worry etched into their faces.

But before you could make any decision, the overhead intercom jolts you to life. 

“Code blue, third floor east wing. Code blue, third floor east wing.”

The words send a chill down your spine, and your body reacts before your mind can catch up. In an instant, you’re throwing the sheets off, shoving past Joshua and Jeonghan as you bolt out the door.

A patient is crashing. There’s no room for hesitation. No room for exhaustion.

Your feet pound relentlessly against the linoleum floor as you barrel down the hall, your body moving on autopilot as you dash down the hallway. The rush of adrenaline keeps pushing you forward. A part of you senses that Joshua and Jeonghan are right behind you, but you barely register their presence as you weave past other nurses and patients, making a beeline toward the east wing.

And then𑁋just as you round the corner, just as nurses and doctors rush in from all different directions, the sound of their voices mixing with the frantic beeping of monitors𑁋the world tilts.

Your vision blurs, black spots dancing in the corner of your eyes, parts of your body growing numb. 

And then… nothing. 

The last thing you hear before the world fades to black is the sound of Jeonghan frantically calling out your name. Your knees buckle, and suddenly, the cold, unforgiving hospital floor is rushing up to meet you.

“Is this like, what, our second time meeting ever?”

Chan shoots his gaze over to Jeonghan, who was still dressed in his scrubs and walking towards him with his arms crossed together. Chan leans his back against the wall behind him, his skateboard tucked securely under his arm. He steals a quick glance at the closed door right in front of him, and his chest aches knowing that you’re right behind it. 

Shifting his weight from one foot to the other, he tightens his grip on his skateboard when Jeonghan stands right next to him. He barely knows the guy, but there’s something in Jeonghan’s gaze that makes it feel like he’s already sized Chan up.

His jaw tightens at the urge to barge into your room. But what would that accomplish? What would he even say? Would you even want to see him?

“Third,” he mutters, keeping his eyes trained on the door. “If we count the time we had a staring contest last week in the parking lot.”

Jeonghan scoffs, a smirk tugging at the corner of his lips. “I still haven’t ruled it out.”

Chan exhales sharply through his nose, the faintest hint of a laugh escaping before his expression hardens again. He wants to be angry at Jeonghan, at Joshua, at anyone who’s been standing between him and you these past few weeks. But the hard truth is that he’s not angry at them. He’s angry at himself, specifically. Because while they were there𑁋staying, fighting for you𑁋he wasn’t.

“Did she ever tell you?” he asks Jeonghan.

Jeonghan lets out a contemplative hum. “Tell me what?” 

“If she ever wants to see me again.”

Jeonghan stares at the younger boy for a moment. He leans against the wall as well, letting his uncrossed arms fall back to his side, stuffing his hands in the pockets of his scrubs.

“Do you really need her to say it?” Jeonghan asks, the question hanging in the air. “I think you already know the answer.”

And fuck, that stings.

Chan swallows at that. He feels restless, like his body is demanding him to move, to do something, anything𑁋kickflip down the hallway, punch a hole through a wall, slap reality into himself, burst into your room to shake you awake and demand to know why the hell you keep doing this to yourself. But he knows none of those things will change anything.

Minutes later, the door to your room opens, and out comes a disheveled-looking Joshua. 

“She’s knocked out,” he says while stepping up to Chan and Jeonghan. “Got a minor concussion from the collapse, but the doctor says she should be okay once she rests for a little while.”

Guilt gnaws at Chan even more. Taking a leap of faith, he takes a step up.

“Can I go in?” he hesitantly asks.

Joshua’s eyes flicker towards Jeonghan, the two of them exchanging a knowing look between one another. 

“Make it quick,” Jeonghan tells him. “We’ll cover you.” 

Chan doesn’t need any more encouragement than that. He brushes past Jeonghan and Joshua, pushing open the door to your room with a bit too much force, the quiet click of the latch echoing throughout the quietness. His grip tightens around his skateboard, his heart hammering against his ribs as he lays his eyes on you for the first time in weeks.

And God, you look wrecked. 

He’s greeted with the steady beep of the heart monitor. The hospital blanket is draped up to your chest, your body curled within like you’re trying to disappear. Even in sleep, you don’t look anywhere close to peaceful. Your brows are furrowed, lips parted like you’re caught in some action-packed dream you can’t escape from.

Chan rests his skateboard down against the wall, silently pulling up a chair beside your bed and sinking into it. He doesn’t reach for your hand, at least not yet, even though he wants to. He doesn’t dare.

Because what right does he have? 

His fingers twitch where they rest against his knee, resisting the urge to grab onto your hand. You look so much different from the last time he saw you. Your face looks drained of colour, the hollows beneath your eyes painted dark from exhaustion. Your chest rises and falls steadily, and an IV stands intimidatingly at the side supplying fluids into your body. 

For weeks, he’s been running through every possible scenario in his head𑁋what he would say, how he would say it, what he would do if you push him away again. But now that he’s here, staring at the way your fingers weakly clutch at the sheets, all those words fall apart in his throat. 

Rubbing a hand over his face, he leans a bit forward, forearms braced against his thigh.

“You really know how to scare the shit out of people, huh?” 

A humourless chuckle leaves him, but it’s quick to fade away when he catches sight of your fragile form again.

Silence. You don’t stir or react. But Chan keeps talking anyway, because gosh, he doesn’t know what else to do. 

“I wanted to be mad at you,” he admits quietly, gaze flitting down to the floor for a moment before he forces himself to look back up. “I wanted to be so fucking mad because you told me to leave, and I…” His voice falters, shaking slightly as his breath hitches. “I actually listened. I’m so fucking stupid.” 

Still no response from you. 

“You don’t even know, do you?” he mutters. “How much everyone’s been losing their minds over you. Jeonghan has been glaring at me like he wants to kill me, which, to be fair, he might actually want.” A scoff leaves his mouth, shaking his head. “Your other friend Joshua won’t even look at me half the time. Vernon is probably done with my shit. Soonyoung is having his own existential crisis. And me? I’ve… I’ve just been trying to figure out if you meant it that night. When you told me to leave.” 

His hands clench themselves into fists against his lap, the same way they had that very night. Memories hit him like a wave as he remembers the harsh adamancy to your voice, the way you stood there like you had already made peace with hurting him. 

But then his eyes drift over to your hand and his breath catches in his throat. Without thinking, he reaches over to brush his hand over yours. His heart skips at the subtle warmth of connection, even through your cold skin. The pulse in his neck quickens at the touch. You still don’t move.

Slowly, he closes his fingers around yours, not expecting much. It’s tentative, almost apologetic, and it hits him at how much he’s wanted to do this𑁋to hold your hand and feel the comfort that came solely from you. 

“You’re not invincible,” Chan whispers under his breath. “No one is. It’s not a weakness to let someone love you. To let me love you.” 

A small, helpless laugh escapes him at the sudden confession, but it’s not like he could go about his days without telling you at least. He shifts in the chair, but his hand refuses to leave yours; if only, they tighten just a little bit more, his thumb gently caressing over your knuckle. 

“Fuck,” he murmurs as his gaze rakes over you once more, the corners of his lips quivering upwards. “I could love you for the rest of my life.” 

The room returns to its deathly quietness. Nothing to let him know that you’re hearing him. Nothing that would assure him that he isn’t just speaking into the void. Nothing but the rhythmic beep of the heart monitor and the faint hum of the hospital outside your room. Chan simply stays like that, his fingers resting lightly against yours, waiting. Hoping. Promising to stay here for as long as he can. 

And then𑁋so slight he almost misses it𑁋your fingers twitch against his.

You find yourself running. 

It’s three in the morning, you’re dressed in your sleep clothes and stumbling out of your apartment with a pair of slippers. You were given very specific instructions by Jeonghan, Joshua, and your clinical instructors to rest for a few days after your collapse, but after being spammed with messages from Vernon that Chan had injured himself from an accident while skateboarding, your feet seemed to make the decision before your mind could process it. 

So now, here you are, pushing open the door to your building and bolting out into the quiet, empty streets like a woman possessed out of her damn mind. Your frantic breaths fog into the air, the cold nipping at your skin as you dash off in a desperate sprint all the way to Chan’s apartment. 

Vernon’s texts had been frustratingly vague𑁋just a series of frantic messages about Chan taking a bad fall at the skatepark, about blood and bruises and the possibility of a broken wrist. The words had been enough to send your already fragile heart spiraling, and now, the only thing driving you forward is the need to see him. Why would Chan do something so reckless?

But deep down, you already know the answer, don’t you? Chan has always been reckless, not because he doesn’t care, but because he does. Too much.

You hardly remember the last time you ran this fast, and your lungs burn as you push forward out of pure desperation, slipper-clad feet slapping against the pavement. Every breath you take feels suffocating, an aching pressure squeezing into your ribs, but you can’t stop. Not until you see him. Not until you know he’s okay.

By the time you reach Chan’s apartment complex, you don’t even hesitate to burst through the doors. For a minute, you contemplate taking the elevator, but that would mean wasting the few extra seconds you could use to head straight to his place. 

One flight of stairs. Two flights of stairs. Three flights of stairs. You nearly trip on the last step as you shove open the door to his floor and make a straight beeline toward his place. When you land at the doorstep, you lift a fist and pound a few times on the door. 

The seconds pass torturously long before the door swings open, and you’re greeted with Vernon.

“Where is he?” You ask him demandingly, letting out breathless pants. 

Vernon appears almost shocked at your presence before he steps aside to let you in. “He’s in his room. I got a first-aid kit on the kitchen count𑁋”

You don’t waste anymore time than that, pushing past Vernon and into the apartment. Stomping all the way to Chan’s door, you raise another fist up and pound against the wood, loud and insistently. 

“Chan!”

Silence.

You knock again, harder this time. “Chan, open the door!”

Still nothing.

Frustration and worry boil over all your thoughts, and without thinking, you hectically twist the doorknob. Locked still. Of course. 

“Lee Chan, if you don’t open this goddamn door right now, I swear to𑁋”

The lock clicks.

Your breath catches when the door slowly opens, revealing Chan standing under the dim lighting of his room, and your gaze sweeps over him closely. His right wrist is wrapped in some sort of sloppy, rushed, makeshift plaster, a bruise painted at the corner of his jaw, and there’s a nasty scrape running down his forearm. His skateboard sits abandoned against the frame of his bed, and from the looks of it, one of the wheels is barely hanging on.

He looks tired. More than that𑁋he looks completely shocked to see you. Something tightens in your chest.

Chan opens his mouth. “What are you𑁋”

“Are you insane?” The words spill out before you can stop them, your voice shaking. “What the hell were you thinking?”

Chan’s eyes widen at your words, startled. “I-It’s just a sprain, it’s not that bad.”

“Not that bad?” You goad, motioning over his figure. “Vernon made it seem like you broke half your bones!”

Chan shoots a glare over your shoulder to where Vernon was looming idly in the background. The boy only shrugs with his arms hanging in the air innocently.

“I panicked, alright? Sue me,” Vernon admits shamelessly, before disappearing around the corner and back into his room.

You release a heavy sigh, running a frustrated hand through your hair. You head back into the kitchen area to retrieve the first-aid kit before storming past Chan and into his bedroom.

Before Chan could say anything, you point to his bed. “Sit down.” 

Chan doesn’t budge.

Your expression darkens. “Chan.”

When he catches sight of the desperate look on your face, he knows that resisting even more would be basically useless. He finally relents, placing himself at the edge of the bed as you quietly begin to rummage through the first-aid kit for antiseptic wipes and bandages. 

The silence that follows is thick and heavy, tense in a way neither of you have the courage break and instead just let settle awkwardly. You bend down in front of him, carefully unwrapping his poorly done plaster. The scrape on his forearm is worse than you thought𑁋angry and red, still oozing slightly at the edges.

“You’re an idiot,” You mumble while carefully dabbing the antiseptic wipe against his warm skin, causing him to jerk slightly, a hiss leaving his lips. “Stay still.”

Chan silently watches as you clean his scrape, gazing over the worried lines etched on your features as you lean in closer, his muscles twitching from your gentle touch. For some time, neither of you speak, and you cautiously grab his hand. It’s only when you start wrapping the fresh plaster around his wrist that he finally breaks the silence. You definitely need to take him to the hospital after this to get a proper splint. 

“You’re supposed to be resting,” he states quietly. “You literally got a concussion, like, three days ago.”

You purse your lips together into a thin line as you glance over the bandage to make sure it’s secure and firm. “I know.”

When you step back from him slightly, your eyes land on the bruise to the corner of his jaw, and one of your eyebrows shoots up suspiciously. The bruise doesn’t appear that fresh. Chan can tell that you caught onto him. 

“Where else are you hurt?” You ask with a pointed look. 

At first, Chan hesitates, yet he could only shrink like a snail seeking into its shell under the serious expression painted on your face. His eyes drop down to the floor in guilt, and you watch as he shifts cautiously, reaching with one hand to clutch the ends of his wrinkled shirt before pulling up over his head. 

Your heart stutters at the sight, and you can’t help but drink in his bare, topless form. You capture the entirety of the dragon tattoo that’s snaking up his arm and curling over his shoulder, the head of the dragon resting at the base of his neck, beneath the line of his trapezius muscle. The dark and bold lines making up the scales and claws are almost glistening under the faint lighting, contrasting heavily with his pale skin. You’ve never had the chance to appreciate the beauty of the art painted over his skin, at least not this up close. His toned chest and visible lines of his abs causes your throat to dry up and sends heat creeping up your neck. 

But your admiration is quick to diminish when his muscles flex under the strain of the movement, and you spot another glimpse of a scrape to his collarbone, as well as a small cut on the superficial skin of his shoulder that’s hidden quite well from his tattoo. Without thinking, you let a finger delicately caress around the area of the one on his shoulder, and Chan visibly tenses up from that. 

All you can do is simply stare, your heart clutching inside your chest. 

“Chan…” You call his name so softly.

Chan bites the inside of his cheek. “It’s not as bad as it looks.”

You lightly shove him in the shoulder. “That’s a load of bullshit.”

A wry chuckle leaves him, and it seems to lift a bit of tension in the room. “Yeah, maybe.” 

Only giving a shake of your head, you reach out hesitantly, letting your fingers caress over his skin before you can stop yourself. Chan flinches from your touch, but he doesn’t pull away; instead, he traces your every movement as you carefully inspect the minor wounds painted over his body. Anytime your fingertips ghost over his skin, shivers run up and down his spine, but he forces himself to remain still. Just for you. 

You’re being impossibly gentle as you grab another antiseptic wipe to clean the scrape to his collarbone, his Adam’s apple bobbing from your tenderness. He has to suck in a breath when you lean in even closer, swearing he could feel your warmth radiating onto him𑁋it’s comforting and terrifying all at once. 

There’s something different in the way you look at him, as if you’re trying to commit to memory every new mark on his body, as if you’re desperately searching for more wounds he might be hiding from you. And maybe he is.

“You ran all the way here, didn’t you?” he asks, cutting through the silence. 

Your fingers still for a second before you wearily sigh, firmly pressing down a band-aid over the scrape on his collarbone. “Yeah.”

His lips part slightly, like he wants to say something, but then he just laughs softly, shaking his head. “You’re an idiot too, you know that?”

You roll your eyes, snatching another band-aid and routinely moving onto the cut on his shoulder. “Takes one to know one.”

This time, you stand up from the floor and sit down right next to him on the bed, undoing the wrapping from the band-aid and carefully applying it over the cut to his shoulder. You can’t get yourself to look at him as you press a tiny bit of pressure over his skin to ensure the band-aid sticks, but you feel his own gaze lingering on you, burning a hole right through your heart. It’s almost like a touch itself from him. 

As you pull away from him, you lift your eyes to meet his, and for a singular millisecond, his focus drops down to your mouth before looking back up to your face again. Then, all he gives you is a faint, almost teasing smile. You nearly give in from just that.

“High school, freshman year. Sophomore year for you,” he suddenly says. “Last week of school. Friday.”

You lift a puzzled brow. “What?”

An almost dreamy look crosses his features. “That’s when I first knew I started having a stupid crush on you.”

Your stomach lurches from his words. Time seems to come to a halt as a wave of memories wash over you from that particular day. 

“Remember? It was my very first skateboarding competition, and I was an absolute nervous wreck after fucking up my boardslide. You were there, cheering me on even though you had no idea what you were watching.” He laughs faintly to the memory, rubbing the back of his neck sheepishly with his uninjured hand. “But then you smiled at me, and somehow, everything felt okay.”

You do remember. You remember that day very well. You remember being late to his competition because you had to attend the last student council of the year meeting back at school, yet you caught him just in the middle of his performance𑁋a performance that didn’t go entirely well. He had fallen, just like now, and you recall the way his face was flushed with embarrassment when he struggled to stand back up. But then he shot a quick glance your way, and you couldn’t help but loudly cheer him on, despite the pensive looks on other people in the crowd, and his face lit up immediately just from that alone. 

Then the thought harshly slams into you. Lee Chan has been in love with you for more than ten years.

Chan shifts awkwardly in his position, his injured hand resting in his lap as he continues to hold a steady gaze on you. 

“Kinda embarrassing, right?” he mutters with an uneasy chuckle, shaking his head. “Holding onto something like that for so long. Even when I tried to tell myself that it was all stupid hormonal shit, I could never get you out of my head.” 

You still don’t respond, only the pounding of your heart answering for you that you’re sure as hell Chan could hear. For the past many years, you knew that you’ve been holding onto something for him too. But ever since you’ve indebted yourself to the consequences of medical school, with the burnout, the pressure, the exhaustion𑁋it made you feel like you had no right to hold onto love.

So you pushed those feelings away; the same way you had pushed him away. 

But now, here he is. Still here. Looking at you like you hung the stars in the sky.

And it breaks you.

You turn away, staring down at the floor, curling your fingers against the sheets of his bed. “I’m a mess, Chan.”

“I don’t care.” His response is immediate, firm.

Your breath stutters. “I pushed you away.”

“I know.”

“I hurt you.”

“I know that, too.”

“So why…” Your voice trails off curtly as you regain your thoughts. “So why are you still here?”

“Because I’m stubborn,” he says with a shameless smirk, a glint of fondness in his eyes, before his face softens once again. “Because you’re my best friend, my favourite person; because I’ve loved you since we were kids; because I’ve always known your heart was the one I wanted to carry, even if it’s heavy. Your pain is mine to hold, too. It doesn’t scare me.”

Your mouth falls open, but the words get stuck in your throat, like they’re too fragile to speak, too big to fit. You don’t even realise how close Chan is to you until you feel his warm breath fan against your cheek, his presence so close you could almost taste it. 

His face hovers near yours, and your pulse quickens in response. His gaze flickers down to your lips, just mere inches from yours, the softness of his features tugging at your heartstrings. The world seems to slow down, and your mind races𑁋why is it so hard to just breathe?

And yet, you don’t pull away. 

Then, just as he leans in a tiny bit more, his lips barely a breath away from yours, he pauses, and it’s almost as if your beauty punches him in the gut for the very first time again. He sees everything𑁋the weariness that plagues your face, the glassiness to your eyes, the way you sneak a glance down to his mouth as well. He forces himself to swallow a lump in his throat. 

You still don’t pull away. 

“God,” he mutters softly under his breath, voice full of pure, unadulterated awe. “You’re beautiful.”

Your stomach twists violently at his words, completely knocking the wind out of your lungs.

“Chan?” 

He blinks up at you, waiting.

“Have you ever been scared of… crossing that line?” 

Chan blinks at your question, and for a minute or two, he doesn’t answer. Instead, he searches over your face, the corners of his mouth tugging upward.

“Terrified out of my goddamn mind, actually,” he corrects with amusement. “But now… I do know that when I cross that line, I wouldn’t… I wouldn’t want to go back.” 

Amongst the heaviness in the air, those words almost single-handedly dissolve the barrier between you. Before you can second-guess yourself, before doubt can sink its claws into you again, you shoot one last sure glance down at his lips and lean in to finally close the distance between the two of you.

Chan lets out a groan at the sudden contact, your mouth bumping against his lip ring, but he throws that discomfort out the window.

It’s barely anything at first. Your breath catches against his warm and slightly chapped lips, but it’s enough. Enough for him to take it as permission, enough for him to finally cross that line with you. His lips meet yours softly and tentatively, like he’s afraid you might pull away. But when you don’t𑁋when you press just a little closer, letting your fingers curl against his bare shoulder𑁋he deepens the kiss, exhaling shakily into your mouth, his uninjured hand coming to pull you closer by your waist. 

He tastes like something sweet and a little dangerous, like honey laced with fire.

Chan kisses you like he’s been waiting for this opportunity his entire life, and to be fair, he did wait that long. His eyes flutter to a close as he lets nothing but feeling take over, as if he’s memorised the shape of your lips in his head a million times over but only now gets to experience how soft and perfect they really are. How much he wants to kiss you even more. 

Your fingertips drag lightly, carefully, over his bare skin, tracing the markings of the large dragon tattoo down his arm. He shivers and his muscles tense under your touch, a quiet, barely audible groan slipping from him, making his grip on your waist tighten. His thumb brushes over the fabric of your shirt, pressing just hard enough to make you gasp into his mouth. He has to fight his restraint to fully consume you, like he wants to brand this moment down into his very bones. 

“Fuck,” he curses, voice muffled against your mouth. “I knew it.”

Your body burns at his touch. A second hardly passes as you could breathe out, “Knew what?”

“That if I ever kissed you, I wouldn’t want to stop,” he rasps hoarsely, his breath shallow as his lips brush against yours again like he’s not quite ready to pull away, merely determined to make up for all the lost time and finally taste what he’s been holding back. “I’m so weak for you, baby.”

Chan has waited ten years for this. He isn’t going to waste a single second. 

A shudder runs through you from the pet name and the way his voice sounds so low and full of longing. His hands slowly yet delicately drift under the hem of your shirt, and he inhales the little noises you can’t quite hold back. You feel his calloused fingertips from all his years of skateboarding meet the skin of your waist𑁋not pushing, just touching, worshipping. Your hand drifts to caress the contours of his back, drawing over the smooth, defined lines of his muscles beneath the ink of where his Aquarius tattoo is imprinted on his spine.

“I’m addicted to you,” he says in between kisses, his weight pressing down on you as your back falls against the bed. “I should’ve kissed you years ago.” 

His lips move against yours sweetly, intoxicatingly. There’s a quiet moan that leaves your mouth, barely audible yet enough for Chan to feel it, and it sends a rush of desire coursing through him. But he doesn’t rush it. He knows how long he’s waited for this moment, how long he’s dreamt of it. And now that it’s finally happening, he’s cherishing every second like it’s his last day on earth, willing himself to memorise every subtle shift of your facial expression, every breathless sound you make, every brief contact of your skin on his. 

You. 

That’s all his mind is screaming at him.

You, you, you.

“Tell me to stop,” he whispers against your lips, but his grip on your waist tightens like he’s begging you won’t.

You don’t.

Your fingers dig desperately into his shoulders, feeling the rising tension in his muscles, and you’re suddenly aware of the effect you have over him, the effect you’ve always had over him. He’s practically losing himself in you. His injured hand twitches at his side, somewhat frustrated at the thought that he can’t hold you in the way he wants to. But his other hand drifts a tiny bit more under your shirt. 

You sigh into his mouth, and Chan swears he’s never heard a sound more intoxicating than that.

“You’re not real,” he mumbles, and you feel him smile against you. “You can’t be real.” 

The chuckle you let out at that quickly dissipates when you feel his mouth trail to the corner of your jaw. Then his breath meets the pulse point by your ears, and he plants a soft, affectionate kiss at that spot. You melt into the bed just by that.

“For years,” he continues breathlessly, lips slowly ghosting over the shell of your ear. “I’ve been patient. So fucking patient. I swear to God, baby, I’ll give you everything.”

His words make you dizzy, like you’re floating𑁋weightless, like your body has been set ablaze from the inside and out. 

When he pulls away after some time, his breathing uneven and heavy, his half-lidded gaze meets yours.

“Are you okay?” he asks quietly, worriedly, studying over your nervous expression.

You swallow hard against the dryness in your throat, still feeling the tingle at your lips from the kiss or kisses. You sit up in his bed slightly.

“Yeah, I’m…” You lower your eyes in a pit of shyness. “I’m okay. Are you?”

A sheepish grin blooms on his face. “Oh, I’m good. I’m grand. Half-busted clearly still, but…”

You lightly flick him on the head. “You’re supposed to be resting, dummy.”

“And you’re supposed to be resting too, idiot,” he retorts playfully, but then his face falls into nothing but affection. “And kissing me.”

The two of you let out a series of giggles at that. Your hands rests unsurely on bare skin of his chest and shoulder𑁋hardly realising how they got there in the first place. You’re both tangled in this delicate new dynamic, and yet, in a way, it feels so natural. Everything has changed, and now you find yourself standing right at the edge of something beautiful and uncertain, but still worth falling for. 

Then, before you could kiss him again, a cough interrupts the two of you. You both look towards the doorway, and there’s Vernon standing there with his arms crossed.

“Alright, not to kill the mood, but before y’all start breaking the bed or whatever, at least close the door first,” he says with an impish smirk.

Chan grumbles annoyingly, burying his head in the crook of your neck. “Seriously, dude?”

“Hey, I just wanted to check if you two needed anything,” Vernon shrugs innocently. “Didn’t mean to walk on y’all eating each other’s faces. But for the record, fucking finally.” 

“Whatever, bye, Vernon!” Chan staggers off the bed to shut the door in the boy’s face, groaning something under his breath before plopping down right beside you.

The laugh you’ve been suppressing tumbles out of you all at once, a sense of relief and giddiness taking over. Chan looks over at you with a sheepish grin, chuckling along with you, his fingers gently brushing against the lines of your palm as you both try to calm your laughter.

“Chan?” 

“Yeah?” His face lights up when you call his name. Cute. 

“I love you.”

The utter vulnerability in the crack of your voice makes his heart lurch. Chan stares at you, as if he’s afraid that you might vanish if he blinks. But when he does blink, you’re still here in front of him. And when you blink, he’s simply smiling at you. It’s the same smile he wore when you were kids, the kind that could outshine all the stars in the sky, the one that made you feel like you could take on the world. Only now, it feels different. It feels like home. 

He’s been knocking on this door for years, and you’ve finally let him in.

“I love you too,” he mumbles quietly, leaning back to tenderly press his forehead against yours. “Fuck, you have no idea how long I’ve been waiting to hear that.”

That line between friendship and love? Yeah. Erased. 

There’s no going back, it seems. But for the first time in a long time, you’re beginning to look forward.

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[taeyongdoyoung]

treat you better

summary: getting invited to your ex's wedding sucks. but going there with your fake boyfriend makes it so much better... pairing: dino x reader genre: angst, best friends+fake dating to lovers, fluff, smut warnings: swearing, mentions of alcohol, past relationship, cheating, shitty ex, confidence issues, dino is slightly younger than reader+calls her noona, confessions, kissing, consensual filming, female masturbation, praise, unprotected sex, cockwarming, choking author's note: the title is inspired by treat you better and the plot is influenced by my reading of the songs boyfriend and the only exception word count: 2.2k

You're gonna need another bottle of soju to process what you just heard.

"Let me do it for you," your best friend Dino suggests.

"What?" you gasp in shock.

"Let me be your fake boyfriend. Take me to your ex's wedding as your plus one. I bet he's gonna be sooo mad he missed out on you. You keep complaining that you're gonna feel pathetic to show up alone, so…" he keeps speaking and you are too stunned to react normally.

So, you just laugh.

"What's so funny?" Dino frowns.

"He's never gonna buy that," you shake your head.

"Why not?" your friend is genuinely confused.

"I never date younger guys. Literally everyone knows that. It's like…my rule."

"I'm not that much younger!" Dino argues. "And isn't that kinda prejudiced?"

"It's nothing personal," you explain. "I just had this really bad experience and…"

"You can't seriously swear off all younger guys just because of one shitty guy," he insists.

"Hey, why are you getting so riled up?" your brows furrow in suspicion. "It's not like we're dating for real."

"I just feel like I need to defend the honour of…younger guys," Dino huffs, avoiding your gaze.

Cute, you think to yourself.

"You are the only exception," you gently push his arm with your own.

"So, you'll do it? You'll introduce me as your boyfriend to your shitty ex's wedding?"

Oh, shit. You're probably gonna regret agreeing to this in the morning. But your pride can't take another hit. Being with your ex for five years only to find out he's been cheating and is now marrying the girl he cheated with a mere month after your break-up completely shattered any confidence you had. So, when Dino suggests that, as wild as it sounds, you can't resist but take him up on his offer. What do you have to lose?

The wedding sucks just as much as you thought. You get a couple of pitiful stares from the people who know you and the groom were a couple. You try to ignore them and their unwelcome comments. And do your best to focus on Dino who was so kind to suggest coming with you.

"Thanks for doing this," you whisper. "I know it can't be easy."

"Are you kidding? Free food and I get to be around the prettiest girl? What's easier than that?" Dino chuckles.

"I don't get it," you reply, "What's in it for you?"

Dino shrugs.

"Just want you to be happy. Although…these people don't deserve you in their lives."

"You're right," you admit with a sigh. "Although it's gonna take me some time to build up my confidence."

"I'll be with you for every step of the way," he promises calmly.

You are about to express your gratitude when you notice your ex walking up towards you two. What the fuck?

"What am I supposed to say?" you hiss in Dino's ear.

"I don't know, he's your ex, not mine," your fake boyfriend rolls his eyes in annoyance.

"Y/N! Thanks for…uh, coming to my wedding," your ex blurts out awkwardly. "It can't be easy," he unknowingly repeats your words.

"On the contrary. It's the easiest thing in the world," you respond nonchalantly. "Congratulations, by the way."

"Um, thank you. I just didn't expect you to…"

"To bring a date?" you grin, the picture of innocence.

"Ah, yeah, that…Listen, can I have a word with you? In private?" your ex asks. Oh, the audacity of this fucker!

"Whatever you have to say, you can say in front of my boyfriend," you smile politely. "We don't have any secrets from each other. Unlike some people…"

At those words, your ex freezes in place. The gears in his brain seem to start working and looking for a way out of this conversation. Well, he brought it upon himself.

"Totally, noona and I are always honest with each other," Dino chirps adorably. "Right, noona?"

Oh, God. What a sweetheart.

"Absolutely, Channie," you giggle, arm in arm with your best friend.

"It just seems odd," your ex still can't let this go. "How long have you been…seeing him?"

"I don't see how that's any of your concern," you reply coldly.

"I thought you didn't date younger guys," your ex points out.

"And I thought you weren't a lying piece of shit. I guess people change," you keep smiling despite it all. "Enjoy your wedding."

With that, you take Dino's hand and lead the way towards the door. You've had enough of this garbage. You realize you don't even care about what your ex or his friends think of you anymore. You just needed to do this…for yourself. And now, you feel free.

🦦🦦🦦

Back at your place, you are surprised by your resilience not to cry. So what if your shitty ex got married before you? So what if he cheated? At least you're a decent human being and you have a wonderful best friend who offered to come with you. It felt so good being honest about your feelings. And the fact Dino supported you through it all? You will never forget that.

"Thank you for being there for me," you tell Dino, as you make yourself comfortable on the couch with a glass of wine in your hand.

"You’re welcome. Just stop dating shitty guys, okay?" he winks.

"Easier said than done. If you know someone decent, you should introduce them," you joke.

"Why not me?" Dino says in a concerningly serious tone.

You start laughing again. Because he has to be kidding. Right?

"Why is it so funny to you?" he pouts, feeling offended. "Is it because I’m younger? That’s bullshit and you know it."

Oh, fuck. He actually means this?!?!

"It’s not that, Channie…"

"Then, what? I can treat you better than any guy you’ve ever dated. I would never cheat on you or hurt you. Why not me?" Dino repeats desperately.

The sincerity in his voice is so striking that you are tempted to give this a try.

"Because you’re too good for me. What if I fuck things up? I won’t just be losing a partner, but my best friend. I can’t…I can’t imagine my life without you in it."

Dino grabs your hands in his eagerly.

"And what if you don’t fuck anything up? What if we’re perfect for each other? Please, just consider this. I’m not asking you to respond rightaway. Just…try to think about it with an open mind."

There’s not much to think about. Dino is an amazing, gorgeous, ridiculously sweet guy. And in the past you’ve only dated assholes who hurt you. So, you’re afraid. In your gut, you know that Dino would never harm you. But you are worried that your previous relationships damaged you so bad that you’re now the one capable of doing the hurtful things. And yet…a bigger part of you is curious, desperate, hopeful even to give this a chance.

Because you can see how honest Dino is. And because your heart has been pushing down the crush you’ve had on your best friend for far too long...

"I don’t need time to think," you confess. "I really like you, Channie. But I’m petrified by the fear of harming you and losing you."

"You won’t," Dino insists. "You’re a good person, noona. You deserve good things."

You find that hard to believe but maybe this time it’s worth taking a leap of faith.

"Can I kiss you?" he inquires gently.

Oh, wow. No one has ever asked you that. They just took what they believed was expected. You feel a sudden, but brief pain in your chest at how thoughtful Dino is. And how you’ve been settling for less.

"Of course, you can," you agree with a smile and Dino wastes no time in connecting your lips together.

You busy your hands playing with his hair, as he places his palms on both sides of your face, the action so intimate and yet quite natural. The kissing goes on for a while. You are greedily craving more but you say nothing.

"Let me take you out on a date!" Dino suggests suddenly.

"Right now?" you ask, gasping for air.

"Or tomorrow!"

There’s no way in hell you can wait that long to see him again.

"Right now is good."

"Okay. Where do you want to go?"

Huh? Yet another thing you’ve never been asked. Most of your dates had been at restaurants and cinemas. Sometimes you heard the stereotype that guys were supposed to plan the dates. But honestly? You wished someone asked your preference at least once. And now that it is finally happening, you blurt out the first thing that comes to mind.

"Do you want to go to the amusement park?" you make sure to ask Dino. Because if it isn't his cup of tea, you will feel awful about forcing your interests on him.

"That sounds fun!" he agrees, grabs your jackets and rushes outside.

Once at the amusement park, you feel like you’re living your childhood dream of an ideal first date. You go through the fast and scary rides first. After that, Dino wins an adorable otter plushie for you in one of those shooting games. Then, you have a quick break by eating hotdogs and cotton candy. And for the grand finale, you get on the Ferris wheel and enjoy the sunset view of the city.

"This was perfect," you murmur in awe, as you reach the highest point of the wheel.

Dino kisses you softly, holding your hands once more. You are in heaven.

"Now, it’s perfect," he adds.

And you can’t help but laugh again.

"What is it?" Dino wants to know.

"I’m just…happy."

"Well, get used to it. I’m planning on making you happy all the time."

🦦🦦🦦

"I don't know, Channie…" you mumble hesitantly upon hearing his surprising request.

It's been a while since you started dating and though you've already done many things to build up the trust between you two, filming something so personal is uncharted territory.

"I'd never show it to anyone," Dino vows.

"I believe you," you sigh. "But what if your phone gets stolen or something?"

"I'll password-protect it. And never, ever let someone steal my phone," his adorable eyes are so full of conviction you find yourself saying "yes".

"Should I take off my dress?" you ask nervously.

"Not yet," Dino responds as he sets up his phone. "Can you start by touching yourself for me?"

You didn't know you were so camera-shy until this moment.

"No one else is gonna see this," he promises you once again. "Just focus on me. Look into my eyes, not the camera."

You nod trustingly and open your legs for him. Spreading your folds slowly and teasing yourself with your hands, you quickly forget about the phone recording.

"You're doing so well for me, noona," Dino praises you sweetly. "Look so perfect."

"It feels so nice," you admit. "Need you, Channie."

"How do you need me?" he asks.

"Need your cock inside me," you beg. "Please?"

"Alright, sweetheart," Dino smiles and unzips his jeans with one hand, still holding the phone with the other. "Still good with this?" he makes sure.

"Yes, it's okay," you reassure him, fully confident in the fact he'd never use such footage against you.

Dino teases the tip of his cock against your pussy.

"My pretty girl," he mumbles and starts sliding in deliciously. "Fits so nicely."

"Channie…" you cry out as you watch him record each measured thrust. "Fuck me harder, I won't break."

"Oh, angel, I don't know…" Dino speaks tentatively. He's always been so kind to you, but you trust him enough to want him to lose his composure.

"I promise, I'll be fine," you hold his free hand and intertwine your fingers.

Giving you one last look of contemplation, Dino's face completely transforms. He starts taking you roughly but still delightfully. What. The. Fuck? Where has he been hiding this?

"You're taking my cock so well, noona," he grunts.

"You feel so good inside me," you gasp, overwhelmed by the sensations.

"Want to ruin you for anyone else. Wanna be with you forever," Dino admits emotionally.

Oh, sweetheart…

"Don't need anyone else, Channie. Promise, I'm all yours," you exclaim in euphoria as he paints your walls white.

Dino ends the recording and leaves the phone lying on the bed next to you.

He holds you close, still refusing to slip out, cockwarming you for a bit and sleepily playing with your hair.

"Talk me out of the toxic urge to send this to your ex," Dino mumbles into your neck.

"Don't you dare!" you scold him playfully, because you know he wouldn't do something like that.

"Just kidding. He'll never get to see you like this again. That video is for my eyes only," Dino wraps his hand around your throat lightly.

"Damn right," you agree and your eyes trail down his pretty hands. "Choke me?" you don't know where this comes from but…might as well try.

Dino chuckles and says nothing as he tightens his hold on your neck. Fuck. It feels addicting. Trusting someone that much. Knowing he has all this power over you but he would never use it to actually hurt you…

You can't help but grin, still looking into his eyes. Moments later, he loosens his grip and lifts your chin up, meeting you for a tender kiss.

"Told you I'd treat you better."

The End

[onlymingyus]

Just Better (teaser)

pairing; lee chan x f reader

genre; angst, smut, toxic, fluff

content warnings; toxic relationship, mild abuse, yelling, crying, depression, eating/drinking, smoking, jealousy, possessiveness, uncomfortable smut

smut warnings; protected sex, unprotected sex, oral (f & male giving/receiving), fingering, impact play, pussy spanking, dom!chan, sub!reader, rough sex, dirty talk/praise, big dick!chan, as always if there are things i missed let me know

w/c; 26k (full fic with Patreon Bonus) -- teaser 1.4k

song inspo; just better - a.c.e

summary; You have been friends with Lee Chan since you were in the second grade. He shouldn't be in love with you, but he is. He shouldn't be jealous of your boyfriend, but god... he is—especially when he knows he could be better.

a/n; thank you june for proofreading! i love you so much! i hope you guys enjoy this one and i do apologize for the delay in posting.

this fic will be released 10/1 to read the full fic with the bonus now, subscribe to my patreon and click here

Saturday rolled around too quickly for Chan’s liking. It wasn’t just that he knew what your plan was with this trip to the bar, but that Ian was coming along. He had been looking forward to tonight for days, and the moment he learned about Ian’s insistence to tag along, the night was ruined. Chan knew he could have told you that he didn’t want your boyfriend there, but how would that go over? So instead, Chan tugged at his jacket as he looked in the mirror, deeming himself dressed. He didn’t have high hopes for the evening. 

You, on the other hand, were over the moon. Not only were you on a mission to get Chan a date but now Ian was actually making time for you. Leaning against your dresser, you close one eye, carefully applying your eyeliner as you listen to Ian from the other room. He had shown up about an hour early but again you weren’t complaining. Getting time with him lately was like pulling teeth. You knew that your boyfriend was a popular guy. He had tons of friends and he enjoyed his job, but sometimes you wished he’d pick you over a night out with work friends or whatever it was he did. 

“You listening to me, baby?” Huffing into his words, Ian leans against the door frame to your bedroom as he watches you. You were gorgeous and tonight it seemed like you were putting in some extra effort. He was doing his best to tell him that was because of him. “That dress is pretty. It new?” 

You smile at Ian from your mirror and shift your weight to your other leg as you repeat the process on your other eye. “Yeah, I got it yesterday after work. You really like it?” 

How could he not? It was tight in all the right places and had his mind wandering as his eyes moved over your pretty legs. “Yeah, I like it. It’s a little tight.” Ian sees your smile fade slightly, but you still manage to seem unaffected by his words. “I’m just sayin’ that maybe it’s not a dress for tonight. I mean, this is about trying to find a chick for Chan, right? Why you gotta get all dolled up for him?” 

You hated when Ian did that. When he acted like there was something between you and Chan. He was jealous of your best friend and it upset you. “No—I… I’m dressed up for you, babe. I wanna look pretty for you. ‘Sides, I don’t really wanna go out looking shabby.” Pouting as you put the cap back on your eyeliner, you avoid Ian’s eyes as you whine into your words. “You want me to change?” 

God, he couldn’t stand when you were whining. You did it more often than his liking. At first it was cute, but the moment he said one thing that didn’t go in the way you wanted it to, you were whining and crying. You did a good job at making him feel like the bad guy when it wasn’t really his fault he had a life outside of you. Shaking his head, Ian moves to stand behind you, sliding his hands along your waist to pull you back against him. “Course not. You do look pretty, baby. You look too pretty, but that’s alright. Wear what you want.” 

You smile, feeling Ian’s lips against your neck, his fingers kneading into your stomach as he takes a deep breath of your perfume. Times like this you felt like a million bucks. Sure, he could make you sad, but then he’d spend time with you like this and all that sadness would fade away. “‘Kay. Thank you.” 

Humming softly against your soft skin, Ian hides how he rolls his eyes at your response. You were spoiled and it had to be his fault. Forever his bratty little baby. “Mm, anything for you, doll.” Moving back from you a bit, Ian lets his eyes move over your face in the mirror and down to your chest, where your breasts were being held up and tight by your dress, giving you mouthwatering cleavage. He should enjoy it and maybe he would if he were the one going to see it. “Maybe wear a jacket, though. Your tits are out.” 

It doesn’t surprise Chan when you and Ian show up later than planned. He had already been sitting at the bar nursing a whiskey for around half an hour before he heard your voice call his name. He isn’t able to hide his smile when you carefully move between people to make your way over to him. Chan simply sighs and opens one arm for you, letting you hug him from the side as he feels Ian’s eyes linger on you both a bit too fiercely. 

“Any luck yet?” 

Ian’s voice seems bored when he speaks to Chan, drawing his attention away from you and up to him as he takes a seat one stool away from him. At least he had left a stool for you, but the way he pulled you away from him told Chan everything he needed to know. Ian was in a mood and he wasn’t tolerating Chan tonight. How you didn’t seem to be affected by his attitude was a mystery, but Chan forces himself to smile as he shakes his head. “Nah. Ain’t been here too long.” 

Forcing himself not to roll his eyes, Ian offers Chan a tight smile instead as you sit between the two of them shrugging your jacket off. It was hot in the bar but the idea of you with all that skin showing causes the smile on Ian’s face to fall into a tight line. Though he doesn’t say anything, it seems his eyes on you are enough to have you tugging your dress up on your chest. 

Chan lets himself get a good look at you and you take his breath away. You were always stunning but he had never seen you in this dress. It was perfect on you even as you fought with the deep cut of the neck that displayed your breasts so well. If this was anyone else and a different time, you’d have him on his knees for you begging for a single chance—but life wasn’t fair, and he could feel Ian’s judging eyes. 

“Baby, let’s go dance.” 

Already slipping out of his chair, Ian reaches for your hand as you whine. You two had just got there and you were on a mission. “I—yeah, okay. Channie, come with us?” 

Chan didn’t need to see the look on Ian’s face to have him turning you down. It hurt to see that smile fade from your lips but Chan is quick to cover his own disappointment as he gestures around the bar. “Checking out prospects. You go have fun, sweetheart.” 

You glance around the bar, seeing the few pretty girls that Chan had to be referencing, before biting at your bottom lip. This was what you wanted, so why did it make your stomach hurt? “Alright. Good luck!” 

Watching Ian guide you into the middle of the small dance floor, Chan watches your smile brighten as you start to dance. He should look away and give you and Ian privacy, but instead he brings his drink to his lips and sips to cover his sigh. 

“She’s pretty. That guy steal your girl?” 

The woman’s voice is sultry as she slides onto the stool that had just been yours. Glancing to his left, Chan gives her a quick once-over before shaking his head to answer her question. “Nah. Nothin’ like that.” The woman was pretty. She was wearing a tight red dress that left little to the imagination. Her long black hair was shiny and it looked soft, but Chan feels that pit in his stomach getting larger as he even considers her. 

He had intrigued her. He was one of, if not the most, attractive guys in the bar tonight and he had his eyes on some girl dancing with an equally hot man. Yet he was telling her that the girl he had his eyes fixed on wasn’t his. Maybe he wanted her to be, or maybe he just needed someone to help him forget. “I see. I’m Gabriela.” Offering him her hand, Gabriela smiles brightly, enjoying the moment that Chan finally looks at her, turning on his stool away from the girl he couldn’t have. 

“Chan.” Despite the pit in his stomach, Chan remembers the reason you had begged him to come out tonight. He had hoped for one thing, you and him alone to just enjoy another night out, but had gotten another as Ian kissed at your neck for everyone to see. Keeping his eyes on Gabriela, Chan swallows hard and gives in to what’s easy. “What you drinkin’, gorgeous?” 

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[thedensworld]

Out The Door | l. c

Pairing: Idol Chan! x Reader!

Genre: exes au!

Type: angst, fluff

Word count: 15k

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.

End.