#dino angst

[starlightkyeom]

risk another goodbye | l.c

(where the ex-boyfriend who broke your heart shows up as your new coworker after 4 years)

pairing: lawyer!chan x lawyer!fem!reader genre: lovers to exes to coworkers to ?? | angst, fluff, smut rating: explicit, minors DNI wc: 20.1k warnings: aged up chan (he and reader are about 29), this story vaguely uses the american legal system, some flash backs/time jumps (for the lovers to exes part), they were both kinda idiots, poor communication, ambiguous relationships (reader), eating, drinking, soooo much kissing, teasing, fingering, oral sex (f. rec), nipple play, implied/kinda fade-to-black sex, that's it i think

a/n: endless thanks to @haologram for her patience with me because i really don't know why this took me so long. this is part of her amazing don't hate, litigate collab. i love you so much alta! we'll call this a happy birthday month present. thank you to my bby @joshujin for creating this amazing banner (and 6 other options because she's insane).

Your assistant knocks on the frame of your office door and pokes her head in. She’s got a concerning smile on her face that instantly makes you nervous about whatever she’s about to say. You and her had connected the second you hired her and you can read her facial expressions well. Right now, it’s giving news that’s going to make you mad. She, on the other hand, doesn’t look apologetic about the news at all. 

“Why do I feel like I’m about to hate whatever you’re about to say to me?” you ask, leaning back in your chair. 

“Because you’re good at reading me,” she offers without any apology. 

“I swear to god if you tell me that client rescheduled again, I will fling myself from the roof,” you say with a sigh, pinching the bridge of your nose. 

Taylor lingers in your doorway without losing her smile. Which is a good indicator that whatever she’s about to say isn’t that. “No, but it might be worse. So, the stairs to the roof are down the hall, second door on the left.” 

“Funny,” you bite. She comes into your office and closes the door behind her. 

“We’ve got a new hire starting on Monday,” she carries on without you asking.

“And that concerns me, why?” you ask, returning to your computer and falsely figuring she got this one wrong. The closed door seems like overkill for a new hire, but what do you know?

“Because he’s going to be in our division. Everyone is whispering about him. About how good he is at closing cases and how attractive he is,” she offers, still keeping at least something to herself.

You fix her with an unimpressed stare. “Don’t tell me you’re already drooling over another attorney that you haven’t even met yet.”

“No, I know we have a no-dating…” she starts and you roll your eyes.

“I could not possibly care any less about that. Date whoever you want,” you say without looking up at her. “But, dating an attorney is exhausting. 0/10, would not recommend.” 

“You know, I’m so interested to learn more about why you feel that way,” she says. This, finally, makes you wonder where she’s going and makes you meet her eyes again.

“It’s been a long week, Taylor, I’m going to need you to start connecting some dots,” you relent. 

“Oh, you know, I was just thinking you always talk about how you’d never date another attorney and I just think it’s so…interesting that we have someone else from your law school starting at the firm on Monday,” she says.

That’s enough to make your eyes go wide and your blood run cold. “What’s the name of the new hire? The partners never mentioned it.” 

“Lee Chan,” she says with a knowingly sympathetic look. For a second, you think you forget how to breathe. And then you’re a million miles away. 

What the actual fuck is Lee Chan doing accepting a position with your firm after all these years? What kind of game is he playing? It seems cruel to be doing this now. Or maybe you’re overthinking it. Maybe it doesn’t have anything to do with you. After all, isn’t it a bit conceited to think that Chan coming to one of the best firms in the country has anything to do with you? What you do realize is that you have a lot of unresolved emotions to get over. There are probably just as many unanswered questions.

Of course, this would all be a lot easier if the person joining your firm wasn’t the same one you still thought about. Your hypothetical one who got away. 

This definitely makes work a lot more complicated. 

Offers are starting to come in for all the 3Ls and everyone is nervous. Everyone wants to know that they’re going to have something lined up for after graduation. Everyone wants to get their top choice. It’s competitive, but so is everything else about law school so it doesn’t really feel surprising. You and Chan manage to navigate it as well as two people in a relationship during a stressful time can. Neither one of you really talks about how you both applied to some of the same places. Or how the two of you are competing for your top option. What you do talk about, though, is how you plan to navigate the potential distance. 

“What happens if we get jobs that put us on opposite sides of the country?” 

The question makes you look up sharply at your boyfriend. You’re lying on the couch with your feet in his lap, reading a book for fun. A welcome change for the law books you’re normally reading. His book sits discarded on the arm of the couch and he’s watching you intently. You mark your own page and sit up so that you can have an actual conversation. 

“I thought we were mostly applying in the same areas,” you begin, dipping that toe into the water.

He frowns for a second. Like somehow this is a test and you don’t have the right answer. “Well, we did. But, we both need to take the best options before us, right?” 

“I’m not asking you to put me above your career, Chan,” you say with exasperation. 

“What does that say about our relationship if you’re not asking that?” 

“That we both understand what’s at stake in the next few years of our lives. That we both know how important our placements are in the first year after finishing law school.” 

“Or that it’s not built to last,” he says under his breath. 

There’s no malice in the statement and you can hear it for what it is. Apprehension. Nerves. He’s worried about your future, both together and individually, as professionals. You’ve watched the way other relationships between law students have played out during your first two years at school. It’s easy to bond over shared experience. But, the reality remains. Everyone in law school is competitive or you wouldn’t be there. Everyone is at least a little bit Type A. In a field that is, theoretically, built on compromise, sometimes compromising in personal relationships is the hardest part. 

It’s not time to get quite that serious, though. Not in your eyes. You slide over on the couch so that you can cross your legs and have them press against Chan’s thigh. With one of his hands in yours, you give him a look full of feeling. 

“I love you, Chan,” you say and watch the way some of the tension melts away. Like he needs to hear that reassurance. Even though the pressure of the program should feel familiar, it’s still nice to remember that you have each other. 

“I love you, too.” 

“I know everything is kind of up in the air right now, but we’ll figure it out.” 

“But, what if that means that there’s a country’s worth of distance between us?” 

The unsaid words are plain as day behind the question. Your law school classes aren’t small, but it’s also not like university. You know everyone. Hear everything. Have too many stories of former classmates in the years ahead of you. The first year after graduating is tough. Important. There’s just over two months between graduation and sitting for the Bar exam. Then, you have to actually figure out how to practice. Depending on your area, that can mean insanely long hours as the lowly first year associate. There’s barely enough time to sleep or eat a balanced meal. Add in long distance and, well, you can see why Chan looks the way he does. 

“Can we cross that bridge if we get to it?”

“Yeah, of course,” he says, but you see some of the tension return. You run your thumb along the back of his hand you’re still holding. 

“Whatever happens, we’ll figure it out,” you assure him, speaking more to his hand because the emotions are hard. “You’re my best friend. I never thought I would feel this way. It’s like you slid into my life so quietly I didn’t realize. We’ll figure this out because we’re us.” 

“I knew you’d fall for me,” he jokes. When you look up, his eyes sparkle in that way you love. In the way that makes the worries slip away, even for just a second. 

“You’re persistent,” you concede with an eye roll. 

“Come here.” 

He pulls you into his body. You settle into his side like you have countless times before. At least for the time being, things feel like they’re going to be okay. Like you really can figure it all out as long as you have each other. The road ahead may be difficult. It may have cost countless relationships before. Maybe it’s naive, but you feel like you’ll be the ones who really can figure it out. 

Some of the initial optimism about you and Chan fades once the offers start to trickle out. Everything about your future depends on where you end up after graduating. At least, that’s how it feels when you’re in the thick of it. When you hear from your top choice and it’s the equivalent of being put on the waitlist for a university, it crushes you. It’s competitive, you know that. Yet, you felt so sure. Your summer positions and letters of recommendation are top notch. It’s also in the exact right area that you and Chan think would be perfect for post graduation. 

Of course, you have other options. You’ve worked your ass off in classes, sacrificed free time. All the while knowing that the end would justify the means. Now, you have to decide if you should wait to see if you end up getting an offer or just accept another choice. It’s everything you want and part of you thinks that it’s worth waiting. But, you also know that if you wait, you risk losing out on a guaranteed position. It’s hard to talk it out with Chan, too, because he says that he hasn’t heard from your top choice at all. You know he applied. Know that he’s an excellent option for them to hire as well. It feels cruel to talk to him about something that he wanted as well. If the positions had been reversed, you try to wonder what you would tell him. Try to wonder if you could be happy for him getting your dream position. You want to think you could. 

Ultimately, you do talk to Chan about it because he’s  your best friend and your biggest confidant. You want to know what options he has heard from and he wants to know the same as you. It makes your heart drop to know that one of the best offers he’s gotten really is across the country from your dream firm. Not that you didn’t know he applied, because you did, but he didn’t seem to think he would get it. Things feel even more real when he encourages you to not make any immediate decisions. He knows you can’t wait too long. Just thinks that it’s worth really thinking things through. Surely, people will be making their own decisions soon and maybe it means that your dream spot opens up. 

It ends up being eerily prophetic. Two days later you get a call offering you the position. You know that you should tell them you need to consider it. Know that you shouldn’t make it obvious this is what you’re waiting for. Know that you should remember you weren’t the first choice.

You don’t. 

Everything goes out the window and you accept the position right then and there. At least the person on the other end of the phone seems friendly. Not overly judgmental at your enthusiasm. It’s probably a good thing, after all. You’ll get your formal offer via email and more information closer to graduation. 

Chan has his computer on his lap when you get back to your shared apartment. It’s still a bit of a weird feeling, sharing a space with him for your last year of school. As soon as he hears the front door shut, he looks up. Sees your face and it’s like he knows. Only smiles and asks if you got it. All you have a chance to do is nod enthusiastically before he jumps up and collects you into his arms. Peppers kisses all over your face and declares that the two of you need to celebrate. Everything feels light and easy again. Like you really can take on the world. 

There’s another bump in the road when the high of getting your top choice wears off. Chan talks to you about which firms he’s gotten offers from and you realize what post graduation is going to look like. You encourage him to accept the position that puts him a plane ride away from you with a smile. With assurances that you’ll be fine, which you’re not sure either of you really believe. One thing is certain, though. Although he has options that put him closer to you and your firm, he can’t take them. Can’t even think about them. Because if he takes one of them, it’ll only be so he can stay close to you. It might seem fine at first. Maybe it seems fine forever. You just can’t take the chance it ends up causing resentment. 

So, you have the conversation you didn’t want to have earlier. Realize just how much better life is with each other than it is separate. It’s going to be tough, but people survive distance in their relationships all the time. There’s FaceTime and you can plan trips. Can even do a lot of work remotely. That’s one thing you can thank the pandemic for. And before you actually start the positions, you can be each other’s support systems while studying. The prep courses all have online options. Who better to watch your mental breakdown over studying than someone else going through the same thing? 

It all feels cautiously optimistic. It’s going to be hard, but you’ve already been together since your second semester of your first year. Going on two years already. And you have until the summer to be together every day. To iron out any of the details. To make plans for after graduation. And, most importantly, just enjoy the time where it’s easy to be by each other’s side. 

You spend your last weekend before Chan becomes unavoidable wondering how to move forward. Although you don’t work with anyone else you graduated with, the legal community is small. Everyone knows where you went to school and what year you graduated. Even your assistant is able to put it together that you know Chan. Admittedly, she does know you better than most at the firm. At times she’s kind of like a diary. Still. Nobody at the firm knows about your history.

Four years ago, at the end of your final year of law school, Lee Chan took away a future for the two of you that seemed all but certain. That’s why you avoid being anywhere that he is at all costs.

Whoever says that time heals all wounds obviously doesn’t know what they’re talking about. Dulls them, sure. Teaches you how to get on with things. Teaches you what to look for in the next relationship. You’re not sure you’re healed, though.

Proving she knows you far better than she should, your assistant guesses correctly. Chan is the reason you don’t date other attorneys. Yes, it’s an ex relationship from law school before becoming attorneys. Still, the rule applies. After all, school isn’t what caused things to fall apart. You can’t help but think about when things were still good. Full of that cautious optimism that you could face whatever comes next together. It’s funny, in hindsight, how typical it all feels now. 

As they say, though, the only way out is through. You try to keep hold of that energy as you prepare for a new week where you’ll get (re) acquainted with a new coworker. Try not to overthink that he’s going to be joining your team. Really, how else could it go? It’s not like the universe could take it easy on you and at least send him to another team. Not like you can fault him for wanting to come to a firm with so much name recognition. A firm, you remind yourself, that he also wanted four years ago.

When you wake up before your alarm, you figure you might as well do something with the nervous energy that won’t leave you alone. You don’t usually put a lot of effort into getting ready on the days you know you’ll just be in the office. It’s also the first Monday of the month, which means that the day starts with a team meeting run by your senior partner. You’ll be seeing Chan first thing in the morning. That’s definitely not the reason you take a little extra time picking out your outfit and doing your makeup, though. And definitely not the reason you woke up early.

Another positive about waking up a little earlier is that you have plenty of time to go to the good coffee shop. It’s not out of the way. It’s just popular. While you’re waiting in line, you fire off a quick text to your assistant telling her that coffee and a treat is on you, but she’ll have to wait to see what it is. You at least bring her coffee frequently, a fact that apparently makes some of the other assistants envious. Unfortunately, there’s not much you can do about the other attorneys beyond encouraging them. Taylor saves your ass on a weekly basis and you would be completely lost without her. Coffee seems like the very least you can do. 

(When you actually get to the office and find her desk, you’re regretting your decision a little. Taylor wouldn’t be the best assistant imaginable if she didn’t know you inside and out. Of course it’s too much to ask that she let you live. No. Instead, she’s roasting you for looking so nice for the monthly meeting before she even thanks you for the coffee and pastry. Doesn’t actually thank you until you’re turning around to go into your office.) 

Once it’s time for the meeting, you head over to the big conference room with Taylor since the first part is for the full staff before just the attorneys meet to catch up on the month ahead. You can feel Chan’s presence when you walk into the conference room before you see him. Or maybe it’s that you can feel a different energy. Others on the team are interested in meeting the new addition, which makes it easier to just quietly grab your seat. Taylor, thankfully, keeps her face impassive. For all the times she clowns you privately, she never does it when others could be involved. It’s part of why you love her so much. 

You can’t stop yourself from glancing over at Chan, though. He looks exactly the same and somehow entirely different. His warm eyes still light up in the same way you remember when he smiles. Older though. Maybe a little bit wiser. But, his eyes still crinkle in the same way when he laughs. He’s still got that smile that makes everyone around him want to smile. His style is still mostly the same, just more expensive. Designer suits replacing something off the rack. Yet, he does it in a subtle way. Something unassuming that makes him seem quietly confident rather than arrogant. His hair isn’t dyed anymore, which makes sense in the situation. You’re just glad to see that he hasn’t cut it too short either. 

It takes a moment to clock that he notices you looking at him. You spare him a small smile. One that would only seem forced to someone that knows you. Then, you cast your eyes down at the agenda on the pretense of finding it interesting. Ignore the way Taylor shifts from her position next to you. You can do this. There isn’t a choice. You’re going to get through this meeting and then continue to get through it all one day at a time. 

The first part of the meeting is the same as always. Nothing remarkable. Nothing worth noting. Well, except for the senior partner praising Taylor for stepping up to help with a few cases. You had already taken her out to say thank you (on the firm’s dime), so this just feels like a way to boost her confidence even more. The next month doesn’t seem to be out of the ordinary, all things considered, so the first portion of the meeting runs quickly. 

The second half is a little more difficult to get through. Once it’s only the attorneys, it’s harder to ignore Chan’s presence. Especially given that a large part of the meeting focuses on him stepping into his new case load. He’s replacing another associate, Henry, that decided to quit the legal field entirely out of the blue. Too burnt out. Not enough work-life balance. Just not his speed. It’s the usual list of reasons. He had, at least, stayed on long enough to tie up loose ends enough for the firm to find a replacement. That’s where Chan gets to come in. If he minds, he doesn’t show it. Only seems eager to prove himself. Your senior partner seems delighted. You wish that you had someone to turn to for support. 

By the time the meeting winds down, you think that you might have managed to get out relatively unscathed. You still have to work with your ex. His office is still going to be right next to yours. But, you don’t have to interact with him beyond the niceties. Then, the senior partner calls your name as everyone gathers their things and your heart sinks.

“Yes?” 

He turns to Chan with almost a fatherly smile. Of course. There’s always a familial smile when another man joins the team. You almost bite the inside of your cheek to help keep a neutral expression. To turn off the subtitles that your face comes with, as Taylor would put it. It’s a perfect mask when your boss turns back to you. 

“I hear you and Chan were in the same class,” he starts and you feel the forced smile slip into place.

“That’s right,” you say in a falsely cheery tone. 

“Why don’t you show our new ace around?” 

“Oh, I…” 

“I wouldn’t want to be a burden,” Chan interjects and throws you an unreadable look. “I’m sure everyone here is busy.” 

“Oh, nonsense. Nobody here knows Henry’s case files better than her. Those two were always putting their heads together. My best duo on the team.” the senior partner says. “His assistant will be able to get you to a point, but it’s good to have another set of eyes. What do you say?”

“Of course,” you answer after a moment. “Anything for the team.”

“Great,” he says and claps Chan on the back. “I’ll just leave the two of you to catch up.”

“So,” Chan says as soon as the door closes. Sticks his hands into his pockets and looks down. Like he’s the one who’s got the right to feel anything here. 

“Henry kept things really organized and his assistant is actually great if you want to keep her,” you say. 

“Oh, yeah. Well, I said I would.” 

“Great. Your new office is this way.” 

You walk past him without a second glance and trust that he’s following you. A moment later, he falls into step and you point out the different areas he might need. Conference rooms, a room with physical law volumes and past case law if he wants hard copies, one of the break rooms that’s closest. He nods along, but doesn’t say much. 

When you reach his office door, you push it open and indicate for him to step in before you. It’s relatively sparse since Henry moved out of it. He left behind the desk, chair, and wooden cabinet that the firm paid for, as well as his own couch and coffee table. 

“I’m sure the partners spoke to you about a budget if you’d like to replace anything,” you say, casting your eyes over the space. It feels empty, cold. Henry kept so many personal touches and reminders of life outside the office that you weren’t surprised when he shared that he was leaving. Your boss also hadn’t been lying. It’s hard to make friends at work, but Henry definitely qualified. 

“They did,” he confirms as he looks around. His eyebrows knit together and he frowns a little. “I like what’s already here, actually. It feels…”

“Functional?”

“Familiar.” 

“Oh.”  

He turns to look at you and it’s the first time you realize you’re not the only person struggling in this situation. You take a deep breath before you can meet his eyes again. 

“I, uh, I helped him pick it out,” you say and Chan raises his eyebrows. “The furniture.”

“Makes sense why it feels familiar.”

Part of him looks uncomfortable at the conversation and it takes you a minute to realize why. You’re speaking before you can even consider why it matters for him to know you were only friends. 

“His partner absolutely vetoed taking it with him when he quit. Said they didn’t need reminders of the office,” you say with a fond laugh. Watching Henry meet his partner and fall in love had been wonderful. 

Chan seems a little lighter, yet still unsure. “Sounds like he found what he was looking for.”

Your final year of law school hasn’t been easy, by any stretch. What they say is true, though. Your first year scares you to death. Second year works you to death. And third year bores you to death. So it hasn’t been easy, exactly. But, you feel like you’re sitting well with a job locked in (as long as nothing crazy happens with final grades), classes that feel more manageable, and a boyfriend that you love more than anything by your side. Every once in a while, you get a nagging feeling in the back of your mind. Like there’s something you should know or something you missed. You chalk it up to nerves about the future. As someone who likes a plan and likes to know what’s coming, it’s a little unnerving at times. Even with as prepared as you are. It’s impossible to plan for everything.

That becomes painfully obvious when you’re meeting with your advisor at the end of the year. She’s been a pillar of support for you over your time as a student. It’s been a different relationship to the ones you’ve had with previous advisors. Probably because she knows that you’re about to be an equal and treats you like one. That’s how all three years of school have been. 

Just as you’re finishing up lunch, she turns the conversation to post graduation plans. Something you’re expecting, but not quite prepared for. 

“Are you getting excited about getting into the legal world?”

“I think so,” you say. “Nervous and I hate that I’m going to be so separated from Chan, but I feel really fortunate to have gotten my top choice firm.” 

“It was incredible that he did that for you,” she says and your brow furrows. Chan has been an incredible help throughout school, but you’re not sure what he has to do with you getting an offer. Your confusion must be plain on your face because your advisor continues. “I heard about him turning them down. He found out if he turned it down, then you’d get the call next.”

“He…what? He turned down the position so I could…”

Your brain is spiraling out of control trying to process the information. A million thoughts fight for dominance at the speed of light. Why would he do something like that without even telling you? Did he think that you couldn’t get a good position without his help? Did he think you would try to talk him out of doing it? He would probably have been right about that, at least. There’s no way you could have let him turn it down if it was something he wanted as well just so that you could have it. Not only because it’s not fair to him, but also because now it feels tainted to you. Undeserved. Like something you almost want to turn down even though you can’t this late in the year. Not now when plans are in place and you don’t have a fall back option. 

Then, there’s the fact that you feel betrayed by the person you love the most in the world. Maybe that’s not fair. It’s still how you feel. He’s kept this from you for months. Told you that he didn’t get the position at all and focused on a position across the country. Didn’t even discuss what would make the most sense for the both of you as a couple. He decided something that impacted both of you. If he hadn’t turned it down, he could have accepted. Sure, part of you would have been envious. The other part of you knows you had another offer waiting that would have kept you both in the same area. It feels like the walls are collapsing in on you.

“I’m so sorry. I thought you knew…” she begins and you just shake your head. Try to blink back the tears of too much information pouring in at once.

“It’s fine. I have to go.” 

The only thought you have is to get back to your apartment to find Chan. He should be home because he’s got the afternoon off from classes and he doesn’t like staying on campus if he doesn’t have to any more than you do. Too much tension. Too much stress. 

He clocks that something’s wrong as soon as you come in the door. At first, he assumes it’s just that you’re sad about the end being so close and saying goodbye to your advisor. When he tries to offer a hug as comfort, you shrug out of it. Hurt flashes across his face and it makes your heart constrict. He’s the last person in the world you ever want to hurt. The last person in the world you ever thought would hurt you. 

He did, though. Whatever his intentions were, he hurt you and has been keeping a secret for nearly the entire school year. It throws all your trust issues right back into the forefront of your brain. One-sided conversations chase each other around. Each worse than the last. Only one thought breaks through, though. And it’s probably the wrong decision. Yet, you’re going to make it anyway.

“I can’t do this,” you say to him without meeting his eye.

“Can’t do what? Graduate? Study for the bar exam?” 

“No, this, Chan. You and me. I can’t do it.” 

It’s obviously the last thing he expects. He steps back from you like he’s been slapped. And there’s the downside of knowing someone as well as you know him. You watch as the gears turn in his brain and he cycles through a million thoughts or feelings. Feel everything along with him. 

“What?” is all he manages to say. 

“I think we’re just fooling ourselves,” you say. A lie. A total and complete lie. You’re a coward. It’s easier for you than the truth, though. Easier than giving him a chance to justify a decision he made for both of you without asking you. 

“I don’t understand…”

“We’re going to be so far apart. This first year after school, it’s so important. We’re going to be killing ourselves to make an impression. There’s no way we’re going to be able to figure out once a month weekends and working remote. I don’t even think we’ll be able to commit to regular FaceTime calls with the time difference.”

“Where is this coming from? We’ve talked about…”

“I know what we’ve talked about,” you cut through. It comes out sharper than you intend and you take a breath to steady yourself. “I know. I just also know how this could go. One of us misses a call from the other. Texts get more staggered. It’s harder to hold space for someone who’s not there while trying to make connections in a new position.”

“I’m not saying it’s going to be easy, but we love each other.”

“Is that enough?” 

It’s the second time he pulls back like he’s been slapped. If only you could tell him that you’re hurting yourself just as badly, maybe worse, than you’re hurting him. 

“I think it’s enough. We’ll never know until we try though.” 

“You took the position across the country.”

“Because you encouraged me to take it!”

“Of course I did!” you shout back, tears spilling over now. Chan goes to wipe them away before pulling his hand back. The tension hangs thick as you gather your thoughts. “I wouldn’t ever ask you to sacrifice your career or mine. I couldn’t.” 

You see it. Just for a second. Know he’s wondering about a double meaning to your words. He shakes his head. Clears the look off his face. 

“I didn’t see anything as sacrificing my career. We knew this was going to be complicated and I just figured we’d work through it together. If I’d have known the distance would be a deal breaker, I never would have accepted that job.” 

“And I never could have lived with myself if you missed that opportunity,” you say softly. It’s an impasse. You’re picking a fight on an issue you know he’ll believe because it’s easier. Cleaner. 

“It would have been my choice,” he says, eyes trying to convince you of the things he can’t say. 

“I don’t want to end up hating you, Chan. I don’t want to end up resenting you because the distance is too hard.” “So you’re going to break up with me instead?” 

The question is a little derisive and the emotion looks all wrong on his face. That’s not the soft, kind, caring face you know. But, you’re the one that put that look on his face. Maybe it’s your punishment for being too scared to have the real fight.

“I know how it sounds. I still have love in my heart for you. I just think this is what’s best for us so that we can…I don’t know, save some of this.” 

“Some of what?” 

“This. Us,” you say and he just shakes his head. 

“I don’t get you,” he admits and that hurts more than anything else. How could he feel that way after all this time? 

“I just think…” 

“I heard you,” he says sharply. And then he looks at you with another face you don’t recognize. One that’s hard and cold. “If you don’t think this is going to work, I know better than to try and change your mind. You’re one of the most stubborn people I’ve ever met…”

“I’m not stubborn.”

He smiles despite himself at that. So on brand for you. “It’s always been one of the things I loved most about you. But, because I love you as much as I do, I can’t pretend to be less than this with you. I can’t go back to some semblance of a friendship when I know what it’s like to love you and be loved by you.”

Your heart stops for a second. Even though you started this, you’re not sure you want to finish it. Can’t imagine a life that doesn’t contain Chan at all, even though you’re so hurt by him. “Are you saying it’s all or nothing?” 

“Yes.” 

The simple answer says far more than you expect. You look down so that he can’t read the conflicting emotions on your face. It doesn’t matter. He still closes the distance, finally, and puts a finger under your chin to lift it up. Wipes the tears away from your face so gently. Presses a kiss to your forehead that only makes you hurt more. For a second, you reconsider everything. 

“I don’t understand, but if this is what you want. What you really want. Then, okay. I just can’t go back to only being your friend. I need to protect my heart, too.” 

There’s nothing left to say. You just wrap your arms around Chan and consider it’ll be the last time you feel his warmth enveloping you. It’s somehow the most dramatic and least dramatic break up that you can imagine. It feels both settled and unsettled. That’s probably what happens when you don’t have the strength to have the real fight. When you pick something that’s still real without being the whole picture. 

It’s a little frustrating to watch Chan charm literally everyone in the office so quickly. Especially because his office is right next to yours and you can see the stream of people that pop in and out. Especially your coworkers who go to him to talk through cases now. Instead of you. Which is extra annoying because you’ve been here longer. Worked your ass off to prove yourself from being a junior associate to now. Whereas Chan benefits from a good reputation right off the bat. Granted, it’s not entirely the same thing. He’s new to the firm, but not the practice of law. So, it tracks that he doesn’t need to go through the same things you did joining straight out of school. The rational part of you knows he probably dealt with that at his original firm. Doesn’t make it any less annoying, though. 

Everyone just instantly likes him. And that’s not really that surprising, either, is it? In so many ways, he’s still exactly the person you knew and loved in law school. The person that could make anyone feel comfortable. The one that liked to be at the center of things. Always happiest surrounded by people. It’s no different now, which makes it hurt that much more. So much of him still feels so familiar to you years later. It makes the memories harder to keep tucked away in a little box. He’s grown, sure, like you know that you have as well. He’s still inescapably Chan, though. The time since school hasn’t hardened him. Hasn’t made him jaded. Wiser, maybe. A little more cautious in things, sure. Still upbeat despite that. When you put aside all the pain it brings back to the front, you can admit that you understand why people accept him so immediately. 

After a day filled with too many meetings and phone calls, you decide to stay late to catch up on some cases. Even though you know you can also work from home, sometimes it just feels easier to stay at the office. You know yourself. Once you settle down on your couch with your laptop and the TV in front of you, you’re far less likely to be productive. Far more likely to scroll or talk to friends or watch something. So, you close your door, put some headphones on, and get to work. 

By the time you look up again, it’s just after 8 o’clock and you’re not sure when it got so late. If not for the grumble of your stomach, you may have just kept working. As it is, you consider if there’s anything in the break room that can hold you over. You’re so close to feeling caught up that it feels like a shame to go home and break the flow. You stretch out your limbs and stand to go on what feels like a pointless mission. There’s so rarely anything worthwhile in the breakroom because it gets snatched up immediately. What you’re not expecting, though, is to open the door to your office and nearly run into a very surprised looking Chan. 

His eyes go wide and he steps back, hand falling to his side. It seems like he was about to knock on your door. The surprise of not being alone in the office turns into surprise at seeing him outside of your office. There’s a bag in his other hand that looks like some kind of takeout. You pull your headphones off your head and the silence of the office washes over you. That same silence stretches awkwardly between you and your ex. 

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to scare you,” he starts. 

“It’s fine. I didn’t realize anyone else was still here,” you say. Awkward. It’s so awkward and stilted between the two of you now. 

“Ah, yeah, I still feel like I’m trying to get a handle on some of these cases,” he says. He rubs the back of his neck with his free hand. It’s a stark contrast to the confident Chan you know and see around the office. “I saw your light on under your door.”

“I was just catching up on some cases. It’s always something,” you say and he chuckles a little in agreement. 

He holds up the bag of food and you finally realize it’s from a place around the corner that you love. “I figured you probably hadn’t eaten either and there’s nothing good in the break room.” 

“That’s where I was headed.”

“I ordered something for you when I was ordering for myself and I was just gonna drop it off so I didn’t bother you…”

You sigh in resignation and step to the side to make room in the doorway. “Come on in. We can eat together.” 

“Really? I don’t want to…”

“It’s fine,” you say and cut it off before he can make it more awkward. Can’t fully resist making a joke. “I know how much you hate to eat alone, anyway.” 

“Which is very reasonable,” he retorts and you roll your eyes. He sits down at the small table you have and you put your headphones on your desk. Then you settle down at the table with him.

“This place is good.” 

That makes him look up from his task of pulling containers out of his bag. Seems to surprise him a little. “You eat here?” 

“Not all the time. It’s just close so I’ll order it sometimes for lunch or if I’m staying late.”

“Huh. I’ve only had it once so far, but figures it’s a place you like,” he says and chuckles. It puts you a little on edge, though.

“What does that mean?” you ask, more bite than you intend. He looks like a deer in headlights for a minute and you remember being 1Ls together. Fight the urge to apologize. 

“Oh, just, nothing,” he says and quickly regains his composure. “I just meant…never mind.” 

“No, sorry,” you say. Let the tension go from your shoulders. “It’s just that this is…”

“Hard?” 

“And a bit weird, yeah,” 

“We work together now and I get it’s weird. I’m not going to bring personal stuff into work, but I also can’t pretend I didn’t know you better than anyone in the world when it’s after hours like this and we’re the last two here,” he says and you look down into your lap. 

“I didn’t realize everyone else had already left,” you say because it’s easier than what’s on your mind. 

“Seems like we’re the only hard workers,” he jokes and you roll your eyes. At least it feels like you can look up again to take in the food.

“What did you order, anyway?” 

In response, Chan pushes some of the food over to you. Of course, it’s one of your go-to orders on the menu. Something you’re not sure you can admit to the ex sitting across from you. Some things really don’t change. 

“If you don’t want that, I also got…”

“No, it’s…exactly what I usually get.” 

You pull the food towards you, realizing that you are kind of starving now that you’re sitting down to eat something. Once again, Chan seems to follow your lead. Lets you set the pace and tone. The two of you eat for several minutes in silence that doesn’t feel that comfortable. Once upon a time, it would have felt as natural as breathing. Now, for all the ways he’s the same, he’s also a stranger to you. When you meet his eye, you wonder if he’s thinking all the same things as you. Wonder if he’s thinking about your relationship and when it all fell apart. Wonder why he came to this firm when he probably could have gone anywhere. Wonder how you’re going to get through all of this. 

“We can’t keep acting like we don’t know each other,” he says softly. So much for the silence. 

“I’m not acting like I don’t know you, Chan,” you say. Tired. This whole thing takes up entirely too much space in your brain. 

“No?” 

“Of course not. Everyone knows we went to the same school. I’m not pretending we didn’t know each other. I’m just pretending we weren’t…”

“In a relationship?” 

Same old Chan, you think. There’s just something about him that always cuts through everything to the point. Which, of course, makes a good lawyer. But, he also manages it in a way that doesn’t sound arrogant. Makes it sound like he just cares about the answer. 

“I guess, yeah,” you admit. “I don’t really need the partners clued into my personal life like that.” 

“Is that the reason?” 

There’s something unreadable on his face. Something you can’t place no matter how hard you try. Maybe it’s a hardness. A sense of the walls going up. It feels foreign when he still looks so much like the person you loved. 

“I don’t really want people to know that the person who broke my heart now has the office next to me. So, yeah, I’d say it’s the reason,” you say and watch the shock take over his face. Maybe it’s too honest. Maybe you shouldn’t…

“The person who broke your heart?” he asks and it stops your spiral short.

“Yes?” 

“I broke your heart?” 

“That’s what I said.” 

“That’s some bullshit revisionist history you’ve got going on there.” 

That brings you up short as well. Revisionist history? For saying he broke your heart? It occurs to you, then, that you didn’t ever give him the real reason. Surely, though, after all this time he must know. Must have worked it all out. He’s always been one of the smartest people you know. 

“I’m not sure how…” you start.

“You broke my heart. That’s how I remember it. And I’m still here trying to follow your lead and bringing dinner because I know you forget to eat when you get too focused,” he says and your eyes widen. 

“I am sorry that I broke it off so suddenly back then. I guess I just figured after all this time that you’d…”

“Be over it?” 

“Have figured out why I really broke up with you.” 

Now it’s his turn to look a little surprised. You hate it though because it makes him look younger. Reminds you of the person you fell in love with. “You could have talked to me about whatever was going on.” 

“Funny, I could say the same of you.”

“We talked about everything.”

“Yeah, I thought so too,” you say and hate that it still comes out sounding bitter.

“What are you talking about?” 

For his part, he does look confused. Does genuinely seem like he’s not sure what you mean. You’re not sure if that makes it better or worse. Probably worse, you think. Maybe he doesn’t dwell on the relationship the way you do. Or maybe he didn’t know you as well as you thought to be able to work out your thought process. Maybe you just should have had the real fight.

Enough. It’s been long enough. One of you needs to bridge this gap and it’s long past time for a candid conversation. Even if nothing else changes, the two of you need to clear the air. “I thought we talked about everything. I thought things were good.”

“They were,” he insists. “It came totally out of the blue when you…”

“Did you think I would never find out?” you ask suddenly, cutting across him. You look around the office and take in all the signs of your hard work over the past four years. Before he can answer, another thought escapes. “I thought this firm was everything I wanted back then.” 

“I know,” he says softly and you look back at him. 

“How could you do that without talking to me? How could you think I wouldn’t find out?” you ask and see the realization hit him. Watch the moment that his whole body slackens. Watch the way his mouth opens and closes. The way he frowns in thought. The way he leans back in his chair like he’s buying time to figure out what to say. There was a time, years ago, that he would just say something right away. This new, more thoughtful version of him is a sign that you’re both older now. 

“What was I supposed to say? You would have tried to talk me out of doing it,” he says as if that’s a valid reason.

“Of course I would have!” 

“See?” 

“How is that a ‘see’ moment?” 

“Because it was your dream position and you wouldn’t have let me make this decision if you had known.”

You frown. Take a beat to collect your thoughts. If you’re having this conversation, it needs to be right. You need to say the things you should have said back then. It takes you a moment to gather your thoughts, during which Chan is, thankfully, silent. 

“I know I wanted it, but you wanted it too. It shouldn’t have been something you decided without me,” you say and hold up your hand when he opens his mouth. He falls silent again. “It was a conversation. If you still decided to give up the offer, then that would be your decision. I still deserved to know, though. I had other options I was nearly as excited about close by. You didn’t.” 

Chan waits for a moment. Probably to see if you’re done speaking. Or possibly to weigh his next words. “Are you telling me that you would have let me give this firm up if I had told you?”

“I don’t know,” you say with a shrug. It’s honest, at least. “I just know you can’t make decisions like that on your own. We were supposed to be a team. Then to just get blindsided with the information at the end of the year…”

“Yeah, how did you find out?” he asks and you give him a withering stare. He throws up his hands. “Sorry, I’m just curious.” 

“My advisor mentioned it in our meeting and that was another whole level of feeling betrayed because there were all these people who apparently knew. Who thought that I knew.” 

“I am sorry for causing you to feel betrayed,” he says after a moment. 

“It was just…a lot,” you admit. “Like, I felt like you didn’t trust me. Then, I felt like you thought I couldn’t get in here without a leg up from you. And I felt like our relationship wasn’t that important because by giving up this offer, you took one that took you clear across the country.”

“I don’t think there was a right answer to that, honestly,” he says and you raise your eyebrows. “Even if I had talked to you, I’m not sure if there was any right answer. If I took the position and you took one of your backups, I would worry you resented me for getting it over you. If I still ended up turning it down, I’d worry you wouldn’t feel like you could enjoy deserving it. Or we would still break up because of the distance.” 

“I guess that’s a fair point,” you concede. 

“I am sorry,” he reiterates. “I didn’t stop to consider how you would feel if you found out. I just wanted you to have everything you deserved.” 

“I appreciate that,” you start. Take a deep breath because you know you have something to say as well. “I’m sorry, too. I was so hurt that I never stopped to consider that I was also hurting you by not talking to you.” 

“We kind of fucked that one up, huh?” he asks and you chuckle.

“We really did,” you agree. 

“So, friends?” he asks, eyes hopeful. You roll your eyes again, though there’s less irritation behind it now.

“Don’t push it.” 

Things mostly feel easier after clearing the air with Chan. Outwardly, nothing really seems that different apart from the two of you working together more. Then again, most of the firm doesn’t know you’re also exes. Taylor notices the shift in interaction, of course, but doesn’t comment on it beyond giving you a look when she clocks that you’re being nicer. It’ll probably be one of those things that she keeps in her back pocket until the right time. A complete demon and yet you know there’s nobody better out there. 

The following weeks pass in kind of a blur. Work carries on. Cases move forward. It’s actually kind of nice to be on speaking terms with Chan again because he’s an incredible sounding board. One that knows how your brain works. One that can point out the flaws in your thought process without you ever voicing them because he’s seen you work through countless case studies before. And one that’s equally willing to reassure you when you’re already on the right track with handling a case. It’s not that you really question it often. Sometimes, one little detail throws the entire plan off and it can be difficult to tell if that detail actually matters or if it’s just something to downplay. 

That’s when other attorneys on the team start to notice what they assume is a growing friendship with you and Chan. Without knowing the history, it looks like the two of you bond quickly. Sure, most reason it away. Assume that you must have at least hung out sometimes going to the same school. A couple wonder if there’s something else going on. Something Taylor assures you that she shuts down quickly. According to her, it comes from a couple of the other assistants and paralegals that find him attractive. Can’t fault them for something that is obvious and, objectively, true. You still have eyes even if you’re trying to navigate a friendship with your ex in very unusual circumstances. 

The man in question pops his head into your office one Friday afternoon. You’re expecting the usual case question. Although, sometimes he does switch it up and say something just entirely off the board. Every few days he seems to just come up with something ridiculous to ask you to catch you off guard. 

“Are you going to the happy hour after work?” he asks. Apparently, today it isn’t either of the usual suspects. It makes you look up from your computer. “Joshua just asked if I wanted to come and he said you’re usually hit or miss.”

“Of course he did,” you say with a shake of your head. Joshua is the team lead for your group and probably on track to be a partner down the line. Despite that, he’s still incredibly easy to be around. The kind of guy you probably wouldn’t realize is an attorney without knowing. He’s also perpetually trying to get everyone out together to unwind outside of work. Thankfully, he also keeps everything within the team and never repeats it to the partners. Too good for a place like this, you think. “No, I’m not going. Not this time.”

“Oh is it…is it lame?” Chan asks after he steps into your office so he can drop his voice. 

“What?” you ask, surprise evident. “No, not at all. I really like Joshua. He just loves to gossip within the team when I don’t show up for the happy hour.” 

“Ah,” Chan says and smiles. He looks behind him and then drops his voice again. “So, it’s safe to go, then?”

“Oh, definitely,” you say softly in return. “Honestly, you can trust going whenever he invites you because he’s intentional about it.” 

“Good to know,” Chan says and straightens back up. “Why aren’t you going then?”

“Oh, uh,” you say. Hesitate. The actual reason is that you’re going on a date. Is that something you share with your ex, though? Probably, if you’re trying to navigate a friendship. It’s not like he’s waiting for you to give him another chance. You’re coworkers and working back to some kind of friendship. It’s the kind of thing you would share with Joshua if he asks. 

“Sorry, I wasn’t trying to pry.”

You shake it off and put on a smile. “No, it’s fine. I just have a date tonight.”

“Ah,” Chan says and it sounds different from the earlier one. That face that was once an open book is unreadable now. Then, a bright smile. “First date?”

“Uh, no, actually. We’ve been out a few times,” you say and Chan nods along. You’re not sure why you carry on. That’s really all he needs to know. “It’s tough with our schedules, though, you know?”

“Yeah, dating is hard. I haven’t been on a date in ages,” he says and then seems to cringe a little. Maybe a little unsure why he’s sharing that with you of all people. 

“Maybe you’ll meet someone at happy hour,” you say awkwardly. Chan looks at you for a moment to process the last comment and you want to kick yourself.

“You never know,” he says with a falsely bright smile and a shrug. “Maybe I’ll see you at it next time.”

“Yeah, for sure,” you agree. 

Just like that, he’s out of your office and you want to crawl under your desk to die. No such luck when Taylor walks in and shuts the door behind her under the guise of talking through the upcoming schedule. It’s not unusual. In fact, it’s something you do multiple times a week. It’s not her reasoning this time, though. This time, she informs you that she heard the entire conversation with Chan (because she was intentionally eavesdropping outside the door). Naturally, she shares her thoughts after hearing you call her a demon for the hundredth time. 

Then, because the universe is fair, Joshua pops his head into your office just after Taylor leaves to mention happy hour. It’s a small comfort that he doesn’t know you have a date because it means that Chan isn’t talking about it. But, you have to share the date news with Joshua as well and deal with all his teasing over it. At least it’s good natured. Joshua seems to accept this excuse for not going without missing a beat. Even wishes you luck and commiserates that dating sucks. It really reinforces why you think he’s such a good guy. 

After that interruption, the rest of the day thankfully passes without any other awkward moments. It feels like a small victory that you wrap up your day without falling through a hole in your office waiting to swallow you (and any ensuing embarrassment). Briefly, you consider popping your head into Chan’s office as you’re locking up your own. Can see his door is still open, meaning he probably hasn’t left for the happy hour yet. But, Joshua comes around the corner with his signature smile and you settle for calling out a generic wish for a good weekend. Once he gets a little closer, you jokingly tell him to behave himself at happy hour and not to get the team too drunk. Because things aren’t entirely fair, Chan appears in his doorway during this and gives you another smile. You tell them to have fun again and make as quick a departure as possible without it being more awkward. 

Once you leave the office, you know you cannot focus on anything going on there. Cannot consider the happy hour or who’s going to be there. It’s hard enough to date as it is and the last thing you need is to let yourself get distracted from a genuinely good person. Parker’s a nurse in pediatrics and he actually cares about kids. Doesn’t get hung up the way some doctors seem to with some kind of God complex. All he wants is to help kids feel healthy and safe. And more than that, he actually cares about people. Wants everyone to have the same access to basic human rights like food, housing, education, safe conditions, opportunities, etc etc etc. He listens when you speak and actively seeks out your opinion. If this is how he approaches you after only a handful of dates, you wonder what he’ll be like down the line? 

Even though Parker’s schedule can be crazy, it feels like he’s intentional when he sees you. Keeps his phone tucked away and gives you his full focus. Only a true work emergency could interrupt your time, something he stresses as a non-negotiable for him. How can you know if it’s something serious if you don’t give it a chance? Each new date shows that he does actually listen and tries to put a little of each of you into the plans. And you love his philosophy of not going out to dinner on the first date because it can force awkward conversations or even worse silences. By the time the second date comes around and he takes you to dinner, it does feel so much easier. Parker seems like he checks off all the boxes on the list you insist doesn’t actually exist. 

There’s only one problem. Well, can you call it a problem if you’re not sure what the problem actually is? 

Parker is perfect both on paper and seemingly in person. A great match for you. Someone who respects you and everything that you want. Someone who makes you laugh and is considerate and kind and smart and insanely attractive. Yet, despite all the reasons you know that he’s perfect, you still feel like something is missing. There’s something that’s just…not there. He’s not the guy you settle for. Nobody who dates him could ever consider it settling. 

So why does that feel like what you’re doing?

By the time you end up back at work on Monday, you’ve mostly put any weirdness from the end of the previous week behind you. It’s amazing what a good therapy session (read: brunch with your closest friends) on a Sunday can do. You’re just feeling a little off having your ex working on the other side of your office wall. It’s to be expected, really. Everything is going to be fine. Your relationship with Parker will keep growing. Seeing Chan will get easier. You repeat it to yourself all the way to work and believe it by the time you get there. You walk into your office and offer smiles on your way. 

This is going to be a good week. 

Or, is it? You consider a lot of things for the upcoming week. Your team lead coming into your office in the first hour of new week doesn’t make the list. Yet, there he is. Looking as put together as always. Eyes alight with some kind of concealed mischief. The kind he only lets those he actually trusts see. That sight actually makes you relax back into your chair. Which is likely the opposite of a normal reaction. But you know it means that he’s here to gossip. Probably, at least. Definitely not to talk about work. 

“You missed a fun happy hour,” he says and you nearly snort. Of course. 

When it’s early in the day (and on a Monday, no less), it’s safe enough to chat. People are so worried about getting the week started that they don’t bother with other people’s conversations. Well, people other than Taylor. But, you trust her and so Joshua does, too.

“You say that every time,” you point out. Because he does.

“This was different.”

He says that every time, too. You don’t need to point it out. Instead, you just play along. It feels like the least you can do for a lead you actually like. “Okay, I’ll bite. Why was it different?”

“Chan, obviously. I cannot believe I haven’t invited him out yet! Why didn’t you tell me?” he asks. Gives you a look of mock betrayal and you actually let out a small snort while trying to cover your laugh. 

“Tell you what, exactly?”

“That he’s a magnet for attention. He’s so attractive that they just couldn’t stay away.”

It makes your heart constrict for a moment to hear that. You don’t give yourself time to think about why. Not in front of Joshua. You like him a lot, but you’re not ready to talk about that. And he will definitely notice something is up. So you do the only thing that you can think of to disarm him. 

“Joshua,” you say, fixing him with a look, “you are an incredibly attractive guy that people can’t stay away from.”

It works. At least enough to cover you for a moment. For all his confidence, he does get shy when you give him compliments. Maybe because he knows you don’t give them out as easily. Or because he knows that you mean it. You’re not prepared for the pout that follows, though you should be.

“Not attractive enough for you to come to happy hour more often, apparently,” he says and you actually roll your eyes. 

“I was on a date,” you remind him and he puts a hand to his heart.

“And not with me. You wound me.”

“This is harassment. I’m going to call HR.”

“And say what? Marjorie loves me.” 

He’s got you there. She does love him. Everyone loves him, honestly. It’s kind of hard not to with that easy air about him. It’s more impressive knowing how cutthroat he can be on a case. 

“You know, Joshua, it kind of sounds like you were just looking for a wingman,” you say and he shrugs, that sparkle back in his eyes.

“Maybe I was,” he admits and leans in. “I don’t think we paid for any drinks after the first one.” 

“Do you mean to tell me that you let those poor women buy you drinks?” you ask incredulously.

“Why not?” 

“Joshua, I know what you make!” 

“Now what kind of a feminist would I be if I told those women how to spend their money?” 

“Unbelievable,” you say through a laugh. He laughs along with you before settling down.

“I did actually try to cover it, but they insisted,” he says and you smile along. You know, even without him telling you. That’s just the kind of person he is. 

“Maybe I will have to come to the next one. See you in your element,” you say, though the idea fills you with mixed emotions. 

“It was nice to get to know Chan, though,” he says after a moment. “I was a little surprised that he didn’t strike up a conversation with anyone. But, I guess we were doing a lot of talking.” 

“It’s good for you to get to know a new member of the team,” you say noncommittally. 

Joshua looks around and you know that look well. It worries you for a moment. When he determines the coast is, evidently, clear, he leans in and drops his voice. “He actually told me he had a serious girlfriend from law school that took him a long time to get over. That they broke up just before graduating. It seems like he regrets whatever happened. Did you know her?” 

At least it’s easy to mask your reaction here because he gives you the perfect out. “Joshua, you are so nosey.” 

It doesn’t determine in the slightest. He’s unabashed. “Come on, do you? You were in the same class. You must know who he meant.”

“Sure, I know who he meant,” you say with as much neutrality as you can manage. “The school wasn’t that big. But, I’m not telling you. That’s his business. And it’s been 4 years since we graduated. I’m sure it was just the alcohol talking.” 

“I don’t know,” Joshua says, more contemplative for a moment. “It seemed like he’d been thinking about her recently.”

You only hum in response and make a show of looking back at your computer when the ding from Teams lets you know that you have a new message. You roll your eyes. “I swear to god.”

“That looks promising,” he says with an amused chuckle before rising to his feet. He turns back to you at the door. “Were you friends?” 

“Hm?” you ask, tearing your eyes away from the screen to look back up at him.

“You and Chan. I know you were in the same graduating class, but were you friends?” 

The answer comes quicker than you expect. And comes out sounding neutral, to your surprise. “I’m not sure if friends is quite the right word.”

It’s not a lie. Not exactly. You and Chan were a lot of things to each other, friends certainly being one such thing. But, to say that you were only friends doesn’t feel honest, either. 

“Ah, well, glad you seem to be working together now. Don’t forget, we’re doing a team lunch tomorrow so make sure you have your order in before you leave tonight.”

“Got it,” you say and he waves before heading back to his own office. 

Another two weeks pass at work. Things don’t feel quite the same as they did with Chan after having that dinner and talking. You’re still getting along well, for the most part. It’s just that he keeps it more professional. Doesn’t act like he knows your mind quite as well. Instead, he gets closer to other members of the team again. It shouldn’t irritate you and yet…

When Joshua tells you that he’s going to kidnap you so you don’t miss the next happy hour, you just agree without issue. 

Which is how you end up sitting at a hightop in the bar area with Joshua, watching how some of the other team members interact. It’s actually kind of nice, being out like this. Something you don’t want to admit to Joshua, though he can likely see it on your face. You follow his gaze and see Chan standing at the bar getting another round of drinks with a gorgeous woman trying to get his attention. Try not to let it twist your stomach. Of course, you know that he dates. He should date. But, it’s very different to see someone actively hitting on him.

“See what I mean?” Joshua asks, unnecessarily calling your attention to Chan. 

“He’s charismatic,” you say, voice surprisingly even.

“I need him as a wingman.”

“You know what probably isn’t helping you?”

Joshua turns back to you and raises an eyebrow. “What’s that?”

“Sitting here with me. People might get the wrong idea,” you say and smile as he barks out a laugh. 

“We both know you’re way out of my league,” he says and you laugh harder. “What? You are?”

“Oh, please,” you say between laughs. “How many times have we gone through this?” 

“One more doesn’t hurt,” he says, that demonic twinkle in his eyes. 

“You wear me out,” you say.

“I could if you’d let me.” 

“Stop!” 

“I know, I know,” he says, throwing up his hands. “I know the rule.”

“Oh, yes, that’s the only reason,” you retort sarcastically, but you’re smiling. 

Nobody else can get away with saying shit like that to you. At least, nobody else that you work with. Joshua gets special privileges, though. Which, unfortunately, he knows all too well. It’s mostly because you know he doesn’t mean it, not really. Maybe, on some level, you would both consider it in another life. Not this one. The two of you work so well as friends and there just isn’t anything more there. No spark. No interest. An appreciation that you’re both attractive. Because, yes, you have eyes and he’s definitely gorgeous. That’s where it ends. 

Chan approaches the table, balancing drinks carefully in his hands, and sets them down before either of you notice. When you do, you give him a smile. 

“What did I just walk into?” he asks cautiously. Joshua turns to him with that winning smile. 

“Oh, just me teasing her,” he says. “I saw you over there getting hit on and had to point out that this one here is way out of my league.”

Your cheeks flush a little. It’s not that you don’t want Chan to realize the way you and Joshua tease each other. It’s just that, well, you don’t want your ex seeing you interact like that with someone else you both work with. It’s awkward. Chan, for his part, seems to feel more awkward about the first comment. Interesting.

“Ah, she wasn’t…” he starts and Joshua cuts him off.

“Man, I saw her. She would have left with you right then and there,” Joshua says. 

Awkward. It’s so awkward. Chan slides back into his seat with the two of you and shrugs. 

“I’m not interested,” Chan says. 

“I know last time you said…” Joshua starts.

“Well, what about you?” Chan cuts across.

“I was just saying that!” you agree. “He’s never going to get any numbers if he’s just sitting here with me.” 

“That’s why I said she was out of my league,” Joshua shares with Chan. 

“She’s right, though,” Chan says with a shrug. 

“Eh, I don’t really come out looking to get numbers, anyway,” he says and you laugh at the surprise on Chan’s face.

“What do you come out for, then?” 

You and Joshua share a look before you both start laughing. You’re the first to regain your composure. “The chaos.” 

“Nice,” Chan says with a snort.

“Consider yourself lucky. He doesn’t let everyone in so quickly,” you tease.

“No, that’s true,” Joshua agrees easily and then his eyes catch on something. “Oh, hang on. I’ll be right back!”

And then he’s gone. Just like that. Just like so many other times. It feels a little awkward, even with the help of some liquid courage. You’re not really used to being around Chan yet. Not sure if you ever will be. 

“Is he always like that with you?” Chan asks after a moment when it becomes clear that Joshua isn’t going to rush back.

“Like what?” 

“I don’t know. Saying things like you’re out of his league.” 

You laugh and then realize Chan is at least partly serious. It makes you pull up a little short. “Yeah, pretty much. He doesn’t mean anything by it, so it doesn’t really bother me.”

“Are you sure he doesn’t mean anything by it?”

You fix your ex with an unimpressed stare that makes him throw up his hands in defense. “Yeah, Chan, I’m sure he doesn’t. We’re just friends, as much as  you can be working together like this.”

“That makes sense,” Chan says and takes a sip of his drink. “He does seem like the kind of person that you’d be friends with.”

From anyone else, that might sound a little passive aggressive. Or like it means something else. You know what he means, though. Joshua is exactly your kind of friend. Serious when he needs to be, chaotic all other times. It just flows easily. Never feels like work. And somehow, Chan making that observation, makes things feel a little less awkward. At least for the time being. 

The night descends further into chaos, in a way that it doesn’t usually when you go out for happy hour. Maybe that’s because happy hour turns into apps. Which turns into more drinks. Which turns into more apps. It even includes a change of scenery from one place to the next when you realize that you all might need to put a little more food into your stomachs. By then, only Joshua, Chan, and you are left. Which actually feels kind of nice. Somehow having Joshua has an unknowing third wheel makes any remaining awkwardness with Chan melt away. Of course, it could also be the alcohol and the light atmosphere. 

Eventually, you do all realize that you need to head home and start the process of paying your bills. When you and Chan both go to pull out your phones to order Ubers, Joshua gives you a quizzical look. One you’re not sure you like. Thankfully, he clarifies immediately.

“Why wouldn’t you both just share one?” he asks and your eyes go cartoon character levels of wide. 

“Uh,” Chan says and gives you a look.

“You live in the same building,” Joshua carries on and that only confuses you more.

“No we don’t,” you contradict like it’s the silliest thing in the world.

“Yes, you do,” he insists. “Chan told me where he lived last week when we went to happy hour. Skyline Grove?”

“Oh,” you both say at the same time like it’s brand new information.

“I haven’t run into you around,” you say and Chan shrugs. “Weird.”

“It’s a nice building,” Chan says.

“And massive. I should’ve mentioned it, but I figured you’d realize,” he says. “Anyway. Why waste money when you’re going to the same place?”

It’s such a simple suggestion and yet it sends your stomach lurching all the same. The two of you look at each other for a moment, but this is a crossroads. It doesn’t make any sense at all to say no. You and Chan are going to the same place. Of course, you could lie and say you’re actually going somewhere else. Except happy hour went way longer than expected and it’s clear you don’t have other plans. You’re just…not really sure you wanna be alone in a car with Chan when you’re a little buzzed.

“This one’s on me, then?” Chan asks, giving you a surprisingly nonchalant look. 

“What a gentleman,” Joshua says and claps Chan on the shoulder. He pulls out his own phone. “That’s usually my title.”

“Because you gave it to yourself,”  you mutter, putting your phone away.

“I heard that.”

“I meant you to.”

Thankfully, the Ubers come quickly. Chan opens the door and lets you slide in before him. Something that Joshua doesn’t seem to notice since he’s getting into his own car. You settle into one side of the car and try not to look over to the side next to you. Don’t realize that Chan is having just as much of an internal struggle as you are. 

“I didn’t realize we lived in the same building,” he says after the silence starts to feel too heavy.

“I guess I shouldn’t be surprised. It’s one of the nicest places in the area,” you say.

“And there was one of those corner units available. The views are so nice,” he says and you laugh.

“Up on the 18th floor?” you ask and watch the way his brows furrow. 

“Yeah…”

“They offered it to me when the last tenant decided not to renew because I’d mentioned wanting to possibly move to a higher floor. But, I’m all settled now,” you say. Then, like you can’t help yourself, you tell him where you live. “I’m in that same unit but on the 10th floor.” 

“Well, we always did have similar taste in apartments,” he says with an ironic laugh. 

“Guess so,” you say. 

“Thanks,” he says suddenly and you turn to look at him. His face is mostly in shadow with it being so dark outside, but your brain fills in the blanks without even realizing it. 

“For what?”

“Not making it weird to just share a car.”

“Oh, well, we’re going to the same place.” 

“Does he know?” 

“Who?” 

Chan sighs and fully turns his head towards you. You can read the look in his eyes even in the low light. Or maybe it’s just another thing you remember. “Joshua. Does he know about…”

“No,” you say immediately. “No, Chan, nobody at the office does. Well, apart from my assistant, but she guessed. Joshua isn’t so cruel that he would do that if he knew.”

“Yeah, sorry, I didn’t mean…”

“No, I know you didn’t…”

It’s awkward again. Thankfully, you’re nearly at the apartment building now. It’s also nice that the Uber driver doesn’t comment on the situation. He’s probably seen worse in the city on a Friday night, though. Once he pulls over in front of the building, Chan opens the door and slides out. Holds it open for you to do the same so that you don’t have to get out on the side with traffic.

You’re not really sure what to do now. So, you step forward to scan into the building and hold the door for Chan behind you. The two of you make your way to the elevators in silence. It’s a little surprising to find the lobby so quiet on a Friday night. But, people are probably either waiting until it’s a little later to go out or already wherever they plan to be. It’s that weird in between time. That means that it’s just the two of you in the elevator. Chan presses your floor and then his own. When the door opens, you turn to him and try to find the words. He only smiles.

“See you at work on Monday,” he says and you only nod before heading out. Don’t look back to see the way he watches your back down the hallway. 

The whole night just feels a little surreal from the safety of your apartment. You toe off your shoes and set your things down on the table by the door. Only grab your phone and head into the kitchen. Even though you know you should just grab a glass of water, you also pour a small glass of wine. A lot of your buzz has worn off and all you can think about is the car ride. Or the way that Chan looked all night. Or the way that women just seemed to flock to him. Not that the last bit should matter when you’re seeing someone. 

Parker. You need to think about Parker. Maybe even check to see if you have any messages from him. Not that you owe him a play-by-play of your whereabouts. It’s one of the things you like about him. That and the freedom that he agrees to so easily. You both have the same philosophy when it comes to dating in your late 20s. Don’t put pressure or labels on something when you’re only a few dates in. But, also don’t leave things lingering without an actual conversation. You know you’re probably getting close to that point of needing to talk. Which is fine, he’s great.

So, why is your brain still wandering back to the way Chan looked at the bar? The way his shirt looked a little tight in places or the way his pants fit. He’s always had a good fashion sense, but…

No. You cannot do this to yourself or you’ll drive yourself crazy. This is a door that needs to stay firmly shut. You’re considering if you should pour yourself a bigger glass of wine when there’s a knock at the door. It at least serves to pull you out of whatever dangerous path your brain wants to go down.

You get up, set the wine glass down on the table, and walk slowly to the door. Forget to check who it is through the peephole before just opening the door. A mistake, obviously, because there he is. The man you can’t seem to get off your mind. The one you know you can’t revisit the past with. He’s wearing a t-shirt and sweat pants. Like he couldn’t wait to change after getting home.

“Sorry, I just…” he starts and the rational part of your brain shuts down completely.

No thoughts, just desires, as you reach forward and grab him by the shirt. Pull him over the threshold and against your body. Surprise flashes over his face for the briefest moment before he collects you against his chest and kisses you. Hard. Desperate. Like you can’t remember him ever kissing you before. You nip at his lower lip and he responds by squeezing your ass. Distantly, you register that your door is still open. It seems Chan also realizes it because he crowds further into your space and uses his foot to close the door behind him. Doesn’t break the kiss, though. 

It isn’t even really clear which one of the two of you is in control. That, at least, feels normal. Familiar. Even though everything else feels new. He spins the two of you around and backs you up into the door. Claims your mouth as his own over and over. Each kiss more demanding than the last. You slide your hands up under the hem of his shirt and run your hands up his back. Appreciate the way he shivers under your touch. It’s so easy to fall back into this pattern. To remember all the things that drive him crazy. 

Seems like it’s just as easy for him to remember. He uses one hand to anchor your hip against the door behind you while he pulls away from your lips. Trails his mouth along your jaw. Tilts your head back with his free hand to give himself better access to your neck. Presses further into you so that he can reach just the right spots there. The ones that make you moan just from the contact. You seek purchase the only place you can: on his body. Digging the tips of your finger into where you hold onto him. 

“Chan,” you whine out when he moves down to your collarbone and moves your shirt out of the way.

“Mmmm?” he hums into your skin without stopping. 

“This is a terrible idea,” you mumble. Gasp as he reaches for the hem of your shirt.

“Probably,” he agrees, still keeping his lips against your skin. He pulls back to look at you for a moment, pupils dark with desire. His hands are on the hem of your shirt and the question is plain as day in his eyes. “Do you want to stop?”

He’s not asking if you want him to stop. He’s just asking if you want to stop. Because he knows that this is as much on you as on him. Maybe more. You shake your head and move your hands over your head.

“Are you sure?” 

“Yes,” you say softly.

Then, he’s pulling your shirt over your head and unfastening your bra. Casts both to the side without a care. And you know that you should move somewhere else, but you’re not sure you can. Not when Chan dips his head to leave sloppy kisses across your collarbones. Not when he kisses down the valley between your boobs. Not when he swirls his tongue around your nipple. Your entire brain goes a little fuzzy. Some things never change. Chan still seems just as obsessed with your chest now as when you dated in law school. And you’re happy to let him give you all of his attention. He can be so singularly focused. In times like this, you certainly don’t mind. 

It gets to be too much. You need something more. Makes you pull him back and appreciate the confusion on his face for approximately 2 seconds before you pull his shirt over his head. Not everything about him looks exactly the same. He’s always been someone who took pride in staying in shape. This new, more mature Chan is something different. When he tries to step back and pick up where he left off, you hold him at arm’s length with a hand gently splayed over his chest. Want to just drink him in.

“You can look at me later. I want you now,” he says, voice low and full of desire. 

“Should we go further into my apartment, or…?” you start to ask and he shakes his head before you even finish.

“Later,” he says and reaches for your pants. Unbuttons them while he kisses you again. Slower this time. More deliberate. He’s kissing you with purpose. He pulls your pants and panties down in one motion and you step out. Pull his mouth back to yours so that you don’t have to think. 

He pulls back again and you pout at him. Doesn’t he know that you don’t want all this in between time? You give him a look that he doesn’t immediately answer, prompting you to ask. “What?”

“Turn around,” he says. 

It’s a familiar dynamic between the two of you. A constant push and pull about who gets to be in control. You would give in and then he would and it went on. This feels like falling back into that old pattern. Yet, you agree without questioning it. Just turn around against your front fucking door, like some desperate, horny college student. Feel him slot his body against your back. Feel that he’s hardening. Definitely not hard yet, but you can feel the way he pokes into your ass. Chan brushes your hair over one shoulder and kisses behind your ear. Works down to your pulse point and sucks your skin between his teeth. Thankfully, you don’t have to tell him to be careful. He just is. 

And then you see what he’s doing. Get how desperate he is for you. He pushes your legs apart as he continues kissing down your neck. Presses his fingers into your mouth and you suck on them without thinking. Swirl your tongue around his fingers and earn a satisfied hum in response. It vibrates against your skin. Chan winds his hand down your body and between your legs. Presses his spit slick fingers into your entrance. 

“Chan, fuck,” you hiss when he presses his first finger in. 

“So wet for me, sweetheart,” he whispers into your skin. “Did you miss my fingers?” 

“Mmmm, I…” you start, only to moan when he starts pumping into you. Hooks his fingers just the way he remembers you liking it.

“Did you miss this?” he asks, free hand roaming up your body to take one of your boobs into his hand again. Squeezes it a little roughly as he keeps pumping his finger into you.

“You’re a shit,” you manage to hiss out through a moan.

“I’m not sure I heard you,” he says and presses a second finger into you. Alternates between scissoring his fingers inside you and picking up the pace. 

“Fuck,” you moan out. He jerks his hips into your ass and you feel that he’s getting harder. You’re not the only one losing yourself here. “God your fingers!”

“That’s what I thought,” he whispers, right into your ear. Moving his lips from your neck just for a moment. You miss the feel of his lips on your skin. 

“Oh my god,” you whine and then he does the worst thing imaginable. He pulls his fingers out. You whip your head around to look at him over the shoulder. “What the fuck?”

“Easy, sweetheart, turn around again for me,” he says. Soft and sweet. Totally at odds with the fire burning in his eyes.

You comply even though you don’t want to. You were so close to coming all over his fingers and you don’t want to lose that. The disappointment is short-lived. He drops to his knees in front of you. Right in your hallway. With your back pressing into your front door. He hooks one of your legs over his shoulder and looks up at you. Presses his tongue flat against your core and you might actually cum just from that. Nobody should be allowed to look that good. That sinful. It’s too much. And that’s before he actually licks into your cunt for the first time.

It’s enough to have you throw your head back against your door. Not too hard, though. Chan doesn’t waste his time. Doesn’t tease you anymore. Just focuses on fucking his tongue into your waiting pussy like he’s been waiting for this chance for years. Uses a finger to tease your clit and hums appreciatively in response to each moan. There’s so little for you to anchor yourself to in this position. Not that you really care. It’s impossible to stay standing, but it would be unimaginably worse to have him stop. Not right now. Not when you’re this close. When Chan brings a finger back up, you’re gone. 

“Chan, fuck, no, I’m gonna - fuck!” you shout out as you feel that coil about to snap. He doesn’t stop. Doesn’t even slow down. If anything, he picks up the pace. Does everything that he can to push you over the edge. It doesn’t take long before you’re coming all over his face. He laps it all up. Doesn’t waste any of it. Just works you through your high and pushes you just past. 

He’s not completely demonic, though. He does pull back. Gently helps you get your leg off his shoulder and back on the floor. Slowly picks himself up to slot against your body again. Grabs at your hips possessively to pull you into him. Kisses you fiercely and you taste yourself on his tongue. It’s not nearly enough. Not by a long shot. You pull back without creating any space.

“Come on,” you say, finally pushing him a little away from you so that you can step away from the door, “let’s go take this to the bed.” 

And it’s easy to fall back into these patterns, too. Easy to grab his hand and pull him into your apartment. Easy to push him back onto your bed after stripping off his remaining clothes. Easy to wrap your fingers around his cock and look at him just the way he likes. Easy to remember just how much he loves your mouth wrapped around him. Easy to bring him just to the edge before pulling off. Easy to see the desire mixed with adoration when you climb on top of him to ride him. Hard and fast. Too needy for anything else. 

It’s just so easy to carry on until the early hours of the morning, until you’re both spent, in the dark of your apartment. 

Things always feel a little different in the light of day. After a late night, a much later one than anticipated, it’s well into the morning before you wake up. You’re kind of groggy and your body is sore. Tentatively, you start to stretch, only to realize there’s an arm around your stomach. It’s then that you register the feel of a body behind you. Of course Chan is still there. And of course you remember everything from the night before. There’s just a part of you that figured he might have left before you woke up. The steady sounds of his breathing bathe over you. It’s such a familiar sound and it almost feels comforting, just for a moment. At least, until you really stop to think about what all of this might mean. 

Gently, you pick up his hand and slide out of your bed. Somehow manage to not wake Chan up. Tiptoe over to the door and slide out of the bedroom. You take a moment to lean back against your closed bedroom door to collect your thoughts. It’s fine. This is all fine. You can definitely figure it all out. Not if you keep standing against the door, though. So, you quietly head into the kitchen. Put on a pot of coffee and retrieve your phone from the living room. 

You’re in the midst of scrolling, totally lost in your world, when arms wind around your middle. It startles you for a second before you remind yourself it’s just Chan. He presses a kiss to the side of your face when you turn it slightly. Still makes you feel a little tense. Something he doesn’t seem to pick up on given that he doesn’t move his arms.

“Morning,” he says, voice still thick with sleep. 

“Morning,” you repeat. He kisses you again and then untangles himself from you so that he can step around you. 

“So, should we dive right in, or…?” he asks.

“At least let me have some coffee first,” you say, only a little exasperation. 

“Ah, right. I forgot,” he says and then drops his voice with a smirk. “Doesn’t seem like I forgot much else.”

“I will throw you out,” you threaten. 

Chan throws up his hands in surrender, but the look on his face tells you that he’s not sorry. Not really, at least. A moment later, the coffee maker beeps. You reach for a couple of mugs and Chan goes into your refrigerator to get milk and creamer. You pour two mugs and he finishes them off, exactly the way each of you likes. Without another word, you both head into the living room and sit down on the couch. He lets you take a couple of sips before broaching the conversation again.

“So, now that we have coffee,” he starts and you sigh.

“I guess I can’t avoid it,” you agree.

“Avoid it?” he asks, brow furrowing. “Do you regret it?”

“Oh, no, Chan,” you say softly and reach out to him. “No, of course I don’t. It’s just…”

“Just?”

“Complicated.” 

“It doesn’t have to be,” Chan offers and you search his face. For a moment, he’s just the boy you fell in love with in law school. Open and honest and impossibly easy to read. That makes it a little more frightening, though. 

“I think the hardest part for me is that you believe that,” you say carefully. Watch the way his face morphs before returning to something more neutral. 

“I mean, why wouldn’t I believe it?” he asks. 

You’re not even sure how to answer that. There’s so many reasons. You’re exes. You work together. For the most part, nobody you work with knows Chan is your ex. There are still a lot of unresolved feelings, clearly. You’re technically seeing someone, though not exclusively. It is the easiest direction to go in, though.

“I’m still seeing someone,” you point out and his face falls a little.

“Oh, I just kind of thought…”

“I mean don’t get me wrong. It’s casual. We’re not, like, committed. But, still…”

“Well, if it’s not even serious, then I don’t really see the issue.”

“There are a lot of issues, Chan. We’re just…us. I’m only just getting to know you again.”

“I guess I just kinda figured…” he starts and frowns. 

“Figured what?” 

“I figured that…I don’t know. I figured when you pulled me in and kissed me last night it might mean that you want the same thing as I do,” he says. Your eyes go a little wide at the admission.

“And what is it that you want?” you ask. Chan gives you a look that you’re not quite used to anymore. One that says you’re a step or two behind and he’s just waiting for you to catch up. 

“You,” he says simply and then sighs. Runs a hand through his hair. “It’s always been you. It’s always going to be you. It hasn’t worked with anyone else in the last four years because I just can’t get over you. And then this…”

“Chan…”

He shakes his head and stands up. A little sad. Maybe a little defeated. A little resigned. “I’ve said what I need to say. I know you well enough to know that we’re not in the same place. So, I don’t know. I guess figure out where you are and let me know.”

“Chan, please, just give me…” you start and he shakes his head. 

“I’m not an idiot. I know we’ve got a lot of things to talk about if we’re going to try again. But, I can’t sit here and act like I don’t love you or last night didn’t mean something different to me. I can’t,” he says, voice wavering ever so slightly. 

“Last night meant something to me, too, I’m just…”

“I get it. I’ll see you at work on Monday,” he says and heads off towards your front door without another word. All you can manage to do is sit in the awkward silence that settles around you in his absence. Well, fuck.

You have a lot of things to think about. What to do about Chan. What to do about Parker. That should probably be the first thing that you address, honestly. It’s not serious, but you also don’t want to waste his time. If you can fall back into bed with your ex so easily, then you probably don’t see forever with him. Something you probably already knew, on some level. 

It’s all too much and so you do the only thing that any reasonable person can: call your best friend to go out to brunch. At least he can give you so much needed perspective. And from someone whose love life is significantly less messy than yours. 

After lunch, and at least partially hearing out your bestie’s advice, you do go ahead and break things off with Parker. Your friend suggests it because, according to him, at least, you’re not over Chan. You decide to go ahead and do it because it seems clear that you and Parker are on different pages. Like the truly great guy that he is, he just accepts it. Appreciates you letting him know and not continuing on if you don’t feel like you’re on the same page. Honestly, he’s the perfect guy for someone, but definitely not for you. All you feel after the conversation is relief. You don’t feel any clearer about Chan, though. Which you point out to your friend, who only seems to think it’s you avoiding it. Whatever. 

Your biggest issue is that you’re not sure if Chan is serious. Not sure if you can let your walls down to let him in again. It just all seems kind of sudden to you. After near radio silence for four years, he’s not only back in your life, but at your firm as well. He’s quietly slipping into areas where it’s a little hard to ignore him. Your friend points out that leaving a good job to come to the exact firm you work at doesn’t exactly seem sudden. It doesn’t seem like this is just all on some whim. It also doesn’t seem like it’s driven by you having another relationship, especially given how casual it was. And, sure, it’s scary to take a leap like this. Even scarier when it’s someone you used to know so intimately. Doesn’t that make it kind of worth it, too? 

What you don’t admit to your friend, though he can obviously tell, is that you’re scared. Chan is that one person. The one always somewhere in the back of your mind, even when you don’t realize it. Possibly even your one that got away, if you could stop being too stubborn to admit it. In those quiet moments, you also kind of thought of him as your right person at the wrong time. Which is exactly the type of person you should give a second chance to. Things are different now. You’re both older. More established in your careers. Maybe even both able to admit making mistakes. 

It’s scary. Giving Chan a chance means risking breaking your heart all over again. And how do you go about picking up the pieces this time?

“Did you and Chan get home okay?” Joshua asks, plopping into his chosen chair across from you in your office on Monday morning. Your brain short circuits for a minute trying to catch up. Does he know what happened? Could he? Thankfully, he mistakes your confusion for being too deep in case prep. “Did you already put the happy hour behind you? I can’t believe you didn’t know you lived in the same building.” 

“Oh, yeah,” you say and give a light laugh. Turn back to your computer. “Yeah, it’s crazy. We got home fine, though.” 

“Where is he this morning?” he asks and you give him a look.

“How should I know?”

Joshua gives you a kind of knowing look that you definitely do not like. It looks like he’s up to something and you’re not sure you want to know what it is. “You live in the same building. I just figured you’d start carpooling now.” 

You roll your eyes, hoping that’s all he’s going for. “You’re annoying.”

“I just like it when my team all gets along.”

“We’re not going to get along if you don’t leave me the fuck alone.” 

“Is that any time to talk to your boss?”

“You’re not really my boss.” 

“This is a hostile work environment,” he says and stands up, pretending to be serious. He almost pulls it off too.

“This is my office,” you point out. 

“Fine, I’ll go bother someone else,” he says and walks towards the door.

“You could also work on your cases,” you call after him. 

You know that he’s only like this because it’s a quiet day in the office. The partners are all out, either on vacation or at offsite meetings. It’s that time of year when people try to get little breaks in before things pick up again. It’s also one of your favorite times of year because it’s quieter. Maybe Chan is doing the same thing. Against your better judgment, you click over to the shared calendar and see the first half of his day is blocked off. It makes you panic until you notice that it’s an existing meeting. Something on the schedule from before he even started at the firm. 

Then, Joshua sends a text to the team’s group chat (the one without the partners), saying that he hopes Chan feels better soon. It’s clear from the message that they talked privately and that Chan is going to be working from home the rest of the day. Something that Joshua suggests since it is quiet in the office. And, really, there isn’t much that you can’t do at home unless you have in-person client meetings or have to go to court. Everyone sends their well wishes and you include your own so that nothing looks suspicious. Your mind wanders, though. Is he really not feeling well? Or is it because of you? It seems kind of conceited to think that you could have that level of impact on him. Still, you worry. Realize that you care more than you thought.

By the time you leave the office, surprisingly on time, you know what you want to do. At least in part. You swing by a pho place that you love and pick up a couple of bowls to go along with some appetizers. All the things that you remember Chan liking from when you were in school. By the time you make it to his door, you’re questioning if this is really a good idea. Maybe he really doesn’t feel well. Maybe he doesn’t want to see you. Or maybe he’s not even home. Before you can send yourself down another mental spiral, you knock on his door. Almost hope that he’s not home. 

Then he opens the door and your heart stutters a little. 

He’s not this adorably confused look on his face when he sees you. A mix of disbelief and something else. He’s got his glasses on and his hair is a little messy. Like maybe he might’ve been laying in bed. It should not be doing something to you the way that it is. For all you know, he might really be sick and you’re making it weird. His eyes travel down to the bag in your hand. Finally, he clears his throat.

“What are you doing here?” 

You hold up the bag like some kind of peace offering. “I brought pho. Thought you might need something to eat if you’re sick.”

He snorts lightly. Rolls his eyes, yet there isn’t much heat behind it. “I’m not sick. I just didn’t want to come in and see you yet.”

“Oh.”

“Come on in,” he says after a moment. Another sigh. Like he can’t really believe what he’s saying. You have the good sense to look a little sheepish as you slip in behind him. Set the food down for a moment to toe off your shoes and then follow him into the kitchen.

The two of you are quiet as you move around each other to get the food ready. Though he doesn’t say anything about you staying to eat with him, he pulls out utensils and gets you something to drink from the fridge. Warms up your bowl first before doing the same to his own. Helps you set his little table so that the two of you can sit down to eat. Can’t totally help the appreciative look on his face when he opens his bowl and the smell hits him. 

“I’m sorry, Chan,” you say when the silence starts to feel like too much.

“That could be about a lot of things,” he says, eyes meeting you hesitantly. 

“That’s fair,” you concede. Set down your spoon and give him your full attention. “I’m sorry for Saturday morning. I could have handled that so much differently.” 

“I could’ve handled it a lot better, too,” he says after a beat. “Or, you know, not thrown it all on you that way.”

“Did you mean it?” you ask, pushing around the remaining contents of your meal to avoid looking up at him. He pauses long enough that you look up. And it’s just…Chan. Soft smile that makes you want to smile back. Gentle eyes. Open face. The person you remember loving more than anything in the world. 

“That it’s always going to be you?” he asks and you nod. “Yes, I did.” 

“I’m not sure what to do with that,” you admit. 

“Why don’t you just start with how it made you feel?” 

“Scared?” you venture and sigh. “Nervous. A little tense. Excited. Homesick.”

That makes him laugh. “Homesick?”

You chew on your bottom lip for a moment. “You always felt like home. And then you said that and it was just…I don’t know. I missed the feeling of you being my home.” 

“I’ve missed it too. Every day for the last four years.”

“Chan,” you say and laugh affectionately. “I know you have not been just pining after me for years.”

“And if I have?” 

“That might be scarier.”

“Why?” 

It takes you a minute to formulate your reasoning. “What if it doesn’t work? What if we’re just risking ending up in the same place again? What if I can’t live up to the version in your head? And now we work together…”

There it is again. Chan. Your Chan. The way he looks at you makes you think you could fly if you tried. “What if it does work? Are you really going to tell me you’re too scared to take the chance and get everything we’ve ever wanted? Where’s the girl I fell in love with in law school? She wasn’t afraid of anything.”

“Of course I was,” you disagree, smiling so fondly. 

“It’s okay. I’ll hold your hand if you get scared this time,” he says. Confident. Sure. ready to take the leap yet again. 

And it’s not the same. Not really. You’ve both had four years to think about everything that happened then and everything that might happen now. To figure out what you want and what you don’t. To figure out how to have the hardest conversations. To take risks because you’re not students anymore. To take a second chance. How often in life do people really get those? Do you really want to turn it down because you’re scared? Do you really want to wonder?

“I just…” you start and he shakes his head. Rises out of his seat and holds his hand out to you. 

“Let’s just try something. Without the happy hour or anything else,” he says and you give him a look. But, you want to trust him too. You nod.

Chan closes the remaining space between you. Runs a finger along your forehead to brush a hair off your face. Meets your eyes and there’s this look of intense vulnerability there. Like he means that he can be brave enough for both of you. At least for now. And then he pulls you into him and kisses you. Sweet. Soft. Searching. The kind of kiss that two friends might share if they’re trying to see if there are deeper feelings there. Or maybe it’s the kind of kiss that tests where each of you is now. 

Whatever the case, you feel it. Almost instantly. You wind your arms around his neck and pull yourself tighter against him. Deepen the kiss and take the lead. Let your tongue tangle with his. Grasp at him to erase any space. He hums into your mouth as he holds you close. You break the kiss long enough to guide the two of you back to his couch. Urge him to sit down and immediately straddle his lap. Chan looks a little smug as you settle and he grabs your hips. A little like he’s getting exactly what he wants. You might be too, though. You lean in to kiss him again and he meets you hungrily. Not just letting you set the pace, but actively chasing it with you. Chan’s hands grip your hips tightly as you roll against him. Feel the way he groans at the friction. 

Honestly, you kind of want to fuck him right here on the couch and don’t even know if you can wait. Would too, if not for the doorbell suddenly ringing through the apartment. You give him a look and find he’s just as confused as you are. Clearly not expecting anyone. 

“Will you…” he starts as you shift to get off him.

“Are you expecting anyone?” you ask and he shakes his head. 

“Just give me a minute. I’m going to go into the bathroom,” he says. 

It’s your turn to nod. You try and smooth down your clothes. Take a couple breaths. As soon as you see him get to the bathroom, you move towards his front door. Mentally prepare to make some excuse to whoever it is. Nothing prepares you for the person on the other side.

“Oh, hi.” 

Your brain immediately short circuits because what the actual fuck is Joshua doing on the other side of the door looking at you like that. Suddenly, you’re wishing that you had checked your appearance in a mirror before answering. 

“Joshua.”

“I was coming by to see Chan,” he says and looks at the door. “I’m pretty sure this is his apartment and not yours.”

“No, yeah, it is. I just stopped by to bring him some food since he was sick,” you say and Joshua looks entirely unconvinced.

“Right,” he says, drawing out the word. 

“He’s just in the bathroom if you want…”

“I was just bringing by some case files that weren’t scanned yet in case he wanted to work from home again tomorrow,” Joshua says and holds out the folders.

“Did you want to come in?” 

“No, why don’t you just give them to him?” Joshua asks. That smug smile makes you want to burrow into the floor and die. 

“Look, Joshua,” you start and take a deep breath. “It’s just…well, I said some things after happy hour that I shouldn’t have and I just wanted…”

Joshua holds up a hand. “You don’t owe me an explanation for why you’re here. There’s no rule against hanging out.”

“Right, but…”

“You might owe me an explanation for why you didn’t tell me that you were, you know…”

“Coming over?”

The look he gives you says that he knows a lot more than you realize. Thankfully, a moment later he puts you out of your misery. “That you were the ex he couldn’t get over.”

Your jaw drops open. You’re usually so much better at maintaining composure. Then again, that’s not really true when you’re close to someone, is it?

“I don’t…” 

He waves you off. “There’s been a million signs for someone that knows you as well as I do. Be careful and for once in your life, don’t worry about the damn rules.”

“Thanks, Joshua,” you say earnestly. He gives you his real smile. That one that’s soft and kind and reserved for people he also cares about.

“Work from home tomorrow. I’ll see you Wednesday,” he says and turns to leave before you can respond. After a moment, you walk back in to find Chan peeking out from the bathroom.

“Who was it?” he asks and steps towards you.

“Well, I guess that cat’s out of the bag,” you say with an uneasy chuckle.

“What do you…?” 

You hold up the files that Joshua brought by. “That was Joshua dropping these off in case you wanted to work from home again tomorrow.”

“Oh, shit.”

“Yeah.”

“Are you…upset that he knows?” 

You study Chan’s face for a moment. Realize that he is just letting you set the expectations. Set the tone and the speed and everything else. “No.” 

“So?” 

“If you can forgive me for not responding in the best way the other morning, then I guess we try again?” 

The smile that breaks across his face nearly takes your breath away. So soft. Genuine. Full of affection. Like he’s in his first year of law school again. All bright eyed and full of optimism. A second later, he closes the space between you and pulls you into his body. Peppers kisses all over your face, making you laugh in a way you haven’t in years. 

“Wait,” he says, pulling back. You frown at him. “You did break it off with that guy, right?”

Of all the things to ask right then, you cannot believe this is what he asks. It pulls another genuine laugh out of you. Makes you swat at his arm. “Yes, you idiot.”

“When?”

“What?”

“When did you do it?” 

For some reason, the question makes you hesitate. Do you admit how deep in this you already are? “Saturday.”

That pulls him up short. “Then why…?”

“I was scared, Chan. And I didn’t want to break off whatever it was with him just because of you. If I’m being honest, it’s been a while coming,” you say and sheepishly look away. Take a breath and meet his eyes again. Time to be brave. “I knew it was wrong after that date I went on. The one that I missed happy hour for?”

“So I wasn’t crazy,” he says triumphantly. 

“I mean, you are, but not for that reason,” you say and earn your own swat. “I don’t know, I was just on the date and something wasn’t clicking. It wasn’t…”

“Wasn’t so perfect?” Chan asks, a little smug.

“No, he really is perfect. On paper, at least. But, he’s not you. And you’re all my heart seems to want now that you’re back in my life,” you admit. Brave. Keep being brave.

“You could have had me way earlier,” he says. The barest pout makes an appearance. 

You shake your head. “I’m not sure it would’ve worked then. I needed to grow. To realize what I wanted and what I didn’t. I think we both needed it.”

“Maybe,” he concedes and then looks over at you again. “Can I go back to kissing you?”

“Oh my god,” you exclaim. It’s so like him to break up a heavier moment with something light. Still, you do want to kiss him. 

It’s nothing like a few nights prior. No frenzy, no desperation. The kiss starts straight off being deep and intense. The kind of kiss that makes you wonder why you ever bothered dating anyone else in the world. The kind that claims you, body and soul. The kind that seals promises into your lips. The kind where you could agree to absolutely anything and know it still would be okay. 

Maybe it had to fall apart before so that it could work now. Maybe it’s not so scary to try and figure it all out.

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[daechwitatamic]

Not So Loud || LC

banner by @itaeewon <3

Not So Loud lee chan x afab reader || fluff smut baby angst || f2l, only one bed trope NSFW - minors DNI

Summary: You've been in love with Lee Chan for almost two years, despite his rejection seven months ago. When you're impossibly coupled up on a friendcation, you're determined not to make it everyone else's problem. Of course, you weren't expecting to have to room with him, and you certainly weren't expecting only one bed...

wc: 16.6k

warnings: language, recreational drinking, sooo much pining, baby misunderstandings, kissing, breast play, oral (f receiving), fingering (f receiving), piv sex (no protection mentioned either way), reader on top, mentions of shower sex

request by @eoieopda:

yes my fearless leader you may have even two crumbs of lee dino getting laid at the beach, i hope you enjoy every single second of it <3

“This,” you sigh blissfully, “is the happiest I may ever be.”

The sun is shining. Upbeat pop music runs like an undercurrent below the sound of the highway from the stereo of your best friend’s junky, decade-old sedan. Your iced coffee - light and sweet, but not too much of either - tastes like heaven. And the best part, the part that makes this day the best even if you didn’t have iced coffee or sunshine or Ruby or happy music, is that you’re less than an hour away from the beachfront house you and your friends have rented for the next five days.

All six of you had collectively been saving up for a full year and a half to make this happen, and there were times during the wait when it seemed like it would never come together between scheduling and money and rental availability. But now you’re here, racing down the highway to keep up with the flow of traffic, the ocean beckoning you closer.

“Now, now,” Ruby, the aforementioned best friend, scolds lightly. “What about your wedding day?”

You blow a raspberry. “What wedding day?” you shoot back sourly, but then you take another sip of caffeinated, iced perfection and your mood buoys immediately. It’s gonna take a lot to keep you down, today. Still, you rationalize, “I can’t even get to a third date.”

It was true. Your last third date had been almost two years ago. Since then, everything fizzled after one or two. Embarrassing. Something only Ruby - and, by proxy, her boyfriend Mingyu - would know about you.

“Because you compare them all to Chan,” Ruby says sagely.

The beams of sunlight are glaring. The pop music grates on your nerves, too boppy and much too happy. You set your coffee in the cup holder, your hand suddenly smarting from the bite of cold.

Coincidental to the third date thing, you’ve been in love with Lee Chan for almost two years. Another embarrassing Ruby-and-thus-Mingyu-only tidbit.

“Stooo-ooppp,” you whine. “If you’re going to spend the whole time making it weird about him, I’m going to find a way back home! I will walk there, just try me!”

“Now, now,” she says again, mildly. Your dramatics are nothing new to her. “I’ll behave. But I keep telling you - it would be significantly less weird if you’d just tell him you have a thing for him.”

You narrow your eyes at her. A thing.

An every problem I’ve ever had melts away and my soul floats three feet above my body every time your smile crosses your face kind of thing. A hearing your laugh makes me laugh even if I didn’t hear the joke kind of thing. A finding your gaze across a loud room makes me feel like no one else is there but us kind of thing.

A he doesn’t feel the same way, and he never will kind of thing. He made that super clear, about seven months ago.

And it gets worse.

You’ve had a week to accept your fate on this trip - a week since she’d called to tell you that the original rental had fallen through. To tell you that the replacement place is almost better (closer to the beach! a huge deck! a private pool!) except for the number of rooms. That since the other four people attending are made up of two couples, you and Chan would have to share a room.

(“The rooms are huge,” she’d assured you. “And the third room’s got bunk-beds! I bet will Chan will let you have top bunk if you want it - he’s a nice guy.”

You didn’t say, even though it is very true, that bunk-beds are really only a selling point if you are ten years old. But there were more important arguments to make. “I know he’s a nice guy,” you’d bit out. “He’s the nicest fucking guy I’ve ever met in my life, actually!” Hence the thing.

She’d paused and then pointed out, “You’ve met Seokmin, though.”

And, yeah, maybe on paper Seokmin is nicer but looking at his smile doesn’t feel like being filled with sunshine, so the point is moot.)

Anyway. You’ve had time to accept the fact that you have to share a room with the guy you’ve been in love with for over a year and a half. You’ve had time to accept that he might hear you snore, will see that you’re messy, that you’ll have to get changed in the bathroom for the whole trip, that you’ll have to get really good at pretending not to moon over him every time he speaks.

“I think,” you tell Ruby mildly, “that telling him that I want to lick his body from top to bottom and then get married might actually make things more weird.”

“I would just like to say,” Ruby’s boyfriend Mingyu pipes up from the backseat, his voice weary and long-suffering, “that this is an incredibly uncomfortable conversation for me.”

In your defense, you’d thought he was asleep.

Ruby descends on him like a swarm of locusts. “Don’t you think she should tell him she’s in love with him?”

“I actually do,” Mingyu says, covering his eyes with his hands as if he can’t bear to see what a disaster you are. “But I would heavily advise against mentioning the licking. Or the marriage.”

“It’s hyperbole,” you defend, flapping a hand in his direction. But, yeah, noted.

Excitement bubbles in your stomach, despite the rooming situation, when Ruby flicks on her turn signal and moves to exit the highway. Already, the smell of the air through the open windows has turned salty, and the thick tree-line along the highway has given way to cloudless blue sky and the occasional palm tree. It had been almost hazy when you’d set off at the crack of dawn (Mingyu had taken the back seat so he could stretch out and sleep a little longer) but now the sunrise has burned away all of that haze and given way to a perfect morning.

It takes only minutes for Ruby to navigate through the small, coastal town and to a row of vacation homes. You lose yourself in a daydream of waking up to take coffee on a sunlit balcony, listening to waves crash in time below you. In your daydream, across the balcony someone stretches their arms above their head, a sliver of belly peeking out for only a second, then turns to give you a sleepy smile, thinly-wired glasses perched on his nose.

Someone.

You shake yourself free of the fantasy; part of you feels like Ruby can read your mind, like she’s seconds away from calling you out for placing Chan in your seaside fantasy life.

Ruby, however, is too focused on finding the house to read your mind, and she slows the car and turns into a driveway, chirping, “We’re here!”

You all start grabbing luggage to carry in; the sun feels amazing on your skin, the sea breeze cool almost to the point of chilly and so salty it makes your nose twitch. You three aren’t even done emptying your car when you’re startled by a beep-beep-beepbeep-beep from the road behind you.

“That’s Soonyoung,” Mingyu says without even turning to look.

He’s right - it is. The second car, which carries Soonyoung, his girlfriend Lara, and Chan, pulls into the driveway next to you.

Chan greets you with a wide, happy grin (that, yes, makes you feel full of sunshine, whatever) and a quick, one-armed hug as he comes around the front of the parked car. Your moronic heart lifts, stupidly hopeful - until Soonyoung does the same thing. Your heart deflates again with the reminder that they’re just like this - nice, affectionate with their friends. It doesn’t mean anything. Chan’s attention to you is just as platonic as Soonyoung’s - which is to say, entirely.

You all manage to gather the luggage from both cars, and Mingyu follows the rental app’s directions to work the keypad at the front door. You all ooh and ahh as you step inside - the place is roomy, well-lit from sliding glass doors and windows that face the ocean, and decorated with (what else?) a kitschy, nautical theme.

You kick off your flip-flops onto a mat with an anchor on it (per the theme), and follow the others further into the house.

You head straight back through the house - the living room gives way into a dining room that ends with the sliding-glass doors. In tandem with Ruby, you press your face to the glass of the door and peer outside. You’re delighted to see that the ocean is right there, beckoning you to come play. Gulls swoop and call, loud enough that you can hear their cries from inside. Further down the beach you can see colorful umbrellas and tents that other beachgoers have set up. Below the deck, you can see just a strip of the private pool.

You pull yourself away from the back door and head into the adjoining kitchen, where Lara is standing at an open cupboard, examining its contents.

“We’re going to need to do a grocery run,” she muses, looking over at you. “I think all Soonyoung packed was ramen and soju.”

“What else could we possibly need?” he jokes from down the hall, his voice echoing.

“Coffee,” you say immediately.

“Beer,” Mingyu says seriously.

“Meat? Vegetables? Stuff for breakfast? Something to drink that isn’t alcohol?” Lara suggests.

“Who invited the Capricorn?” Soonyoung (the person who invited the Capricorn) grouses.

“Without me,” she tells him seriously, though the corner of her mouth twitches, “you’d be malnourished at best, and at worst? Dead.”

“Probably true,” you say, giving her a conspiratorial nod, and then you hear Ruby call your name from upstairs. Her voice sounds strained, and a little alarm bell goes off inside your head.

“Yes?” you answer loudly, hoping your voice will carry up to her.

“Can you come up here for a minute?” she calls down to you. Yes, there is definitely an edge to her voice that you don’t like. “Now?”

“Oh jeez,” you mutter, starting to make your way towards the stairs at the front of the house. You take the stairs quickly, calling Ruby’s name as you navigate the unfamiliar house.

She and Chan are both standing in the hallway, open doors all around them. Their faces mirror each other - disbelief, anxiety.

“What?” you ask, a little breathless both from the stairs and from anticipation. “What’s wrong?”

“There’s, uh,” Ruby stammers. It’s very unlike her to lose her confidence, and the unease in your gut churns again.

“What?” you say again, and when she doesn’t answer, you turn to Chan, who looks stricken. “What is it?”

“No bunk beds,” he manages, finishing Ruby’s sentence and gesturing to the room behind him.

You’re pressing forward without making the decision to move, without answering either of them, crowding Chan’s space so you’re chest to chest, peering over his shoulder. His hands hover near your elbows, like you might overbalance and he’s ready to steady you.

The room behind him is huge - as Ruby promised - complete with an ensuite bathroom and the balcony straight out of your daydream in the car. It also, as Chan pointed out, does not have bunk-beds. Instead, one king-sized bed is centered against the far wall, flanked by wicker nightstands with lamps on each and an old-school radio alarm clock on one.

You say nothing - you just back out of Chan’s personal space and swivel, heading for the other doors. Surely that was just the wrong room - one meant for one of the couples. Surely they just didn’t look hard enough, didn’t check the other doors, didn’t find the room with two beds that you’d been promised.

You find a full bathroom, a linen closet, one door that remains locked, and - to your dismay - two identical bedrooms, neither of which hosts more than one single bed.

Realization trickles through you slowly, building up higher and higher as you check the doors a second, and then a third, time. Ruby and Chan stay frozen in place in the dimly lit hallway, watching your frantic, pointless searching.

“Oh, my God,” you say hollowly. Then, turning, you narrow your eyes. “Ruby,” you growl. “You promised. Where is my top bunk?!”

“I don’t know!” she squeaks. “The listing said four beds!”

“Call them,” you demand flatly.

Beside Ruby, Chan’s eyebrows scrunch as he frowns. He says your name quietly, holding up a hand as if to calm you. “We don’t need to move houses,” he says gently. “I’ll take a couch. It’s not a big deal.”

You feel yourself shaking your head immediately. “I will feel like shit if you spend your vacation sleeping on the couch because of me,” you tell him.

He and Ruby exchange a long look (something that you don’t like very much, but no one is asking you) and then she tentatively says, “Could we work it out later? Maybe one of the couches pulls out into a bed or something? Or do you really want me to try and get us a different rental? This is already our second one, I’m not sure there are even other options still available…” She trails off, eyes wide.

You sigh, eyeing the ceiling above you as if it has answers. “Fine,” you say, because you can’t stand the thought of being the one who’s causing problems, ever the people-pleaser. “We’ll figure it out later.”

You head back down the hall, tromping down the stairs in silence to get your luggage.

Chan tries to take one of your bags for you, but you shrug him off and he lets you. You follow him back up the stairs, to the large room you’d looked at a few minutes ago. You both stand in the middle of it, looking around. You’re unsure if you should even unpack in here if there’s a chance you’ll end up moving to the couches.

“It’ll be okay,” Chan says, and it startles you out of your thoughts so badly that you flinch.

“Mhm,” you manage, because you don’t want to lie to him by agreeing.

“Hey,” he says, a little insistently, and you look up at him. He’s looking at you openly, his expression an impossible mix of concern and optimism. It disarms you immediately, in a way nothing else ever has.

There’s something always so earnest about Chan, one of your favorite things about him, and you can’t help but believe him when he continues to speak. “It will. We can, like, take turns with the bed or something. It’s not that big of a deal. Don’t let this ruin your trip. Okay?”

You nod silently, thinking about this. He’s right - there’ll be a solution. “Okay,” you say, managing to give him a little smile. “You’re right.”

The grin he gives you is mischievous. “I usually am,” he quips - and you love that about him, too: the way he’s playfully cocky, something ironic in the way he displays it, like you’re all in on the joke and he’s happily his own punchline. He disappears into the hallway, where you hear him heading down the stairs.

You wait for the tornado of butterflies in your belly to calm back down and then you look around the room. You finally decide to just leave your bags in a pile near the dresser, and head back down to find the others.

Everyone is standing around the kitchen table, where it seems like a grocery list is being split into Things That Can versus Things That Cannot be bought at the local liquor store.

“We can take one car and handle the drinks,” Mingyu is saying as you walk up and lean your chin on Ruby’s shoulder from behind. She absently reaches up to give your head an affectionate pat as you both listen. “Then the grocery team can take the second car, and whoever is handling the rental office can just walk.”

“Rental office?” you ask. “What for?”

“Just to grab our passes for the beach,” Lara answers you. “They’re like little tags. It’s part of what we paid for.”

“The rental’s under your name,” Soonyoung reminds her, “so we should probably handle that.”

“Yah, you just want the easy task,” Mingyu complains.

Soonyoung grins, guilty as charged not at all sorry about it. He grabs for Lara’s hand and heads for the front door. “If we aren’t here when you get back, we’ll leave your passes on the table!” he calls, and then the door slams shut.

“Asshole,” Mingyu grumbles affectionately.

The four of you look at each other in the resulting quiet. Then, Ruby asks, “Anything you want to add to our list?”

You lean further around her to read her phone screen, scanning what drinks had already been requested.

“Nope,” you tell her. “I’m good with that. Does this mean I’m on the grocery team?”

Chan looks up from his phone when you ask this, waiting to hear the answer.

Ruby and Mingyu meet gazes, seeming to have a silent conversation. Then, she gives you a sheepish look, almost a grimace. “Yeah - sorry, but I kind of wanted to go with Gyu on the drinks run, if that’s okay?”

You’ve been best friends with Ruby for a long time. You know her in and out, and you know this: she’s not like this, not sweet and apologetic. If it was just you two, she’d just say what she wanted. The act is for a reason.

You blink at her, trying to figure it out. “Of course it’s okay,” you say slowly. “If you and Mingyu are handling the drink run, then I’ll handle groceries with Chan.”

Ah. That was Ruby’s game - she paired you with Chan on purpose.

Meddler. Pain in the ass. Angel. Light of your life. She contains multitudes.

His eyes drop back to his phone. “You don’t have to,” he says, not looking at you. “If you want to go with them or catch up with Lara then I can handle it by myself.”

You frown. “It’s not really a one person job,” you observe. “And I don’t mind - really.”

“So it’s decided!” Ruby says brightly, moving to rest her hand on her boyfriend’s forearm. “We should beat you back, but we’ll wait for you guys so we can help unload the car.”

“Thanks,” you say, meaning it. For everything.

Ruby and Mingyu head out, and you meander closer to Chan. You’re not alone together very often - you’re pretty much always in a group setting.

You’d met through Ruby and Mingyu, years ago. You and Ruby were a very packaged deal, and Mingyu had a crew of friends that filtered in and out of your social events like they kept a scheduled rotation. When Soonyoung had settled into a serious relationship with Lara, the two of them became pretty permanent fixtures with Ruby and Mingyu, and Chan usually went where Soonyoung did. So then you were six.

How perfectly even. How serendipitous. How nearly fated.

If only he saw it that way.

But he doesn’t, he’s made that clear. It was Lara’s fault, actually. That night is burned into your brain, an unpleasant memory custom-made to slither into your brain when you’re trying to sleep before a big day.

The six of you had been bar-hopping on a Saturday night about seven months ago. It had been cool - late autumn teasing winter, and you’d been shivering as the six of you rowdily made your way up the block to your next stop. Laughing at something Soonyoung had said, Chan had reached around your shoulders sloppily, pulling you tight against him.

“Cold?” he’d asked you, as you tried to keep walking - a challenge because of both the alcohol in your system and the alarm bells going off in your head over his hand on your arm.

“Definitely chilly,” you’d managed to reply, looking up at him sideways. His profile was sharper than you’d realized before, and it sent a wave down your core, sinking like a weight through your stomach and into your lower belly and he grinned down at you.

You never wanted him to let go. Never, for the rest of your lives.

“You two are cute,” Lara had said drunkenly, the words a little slurred, as she leaned heavily on Soonyoung. You’d flushed, a little embarrassed, but Chan’s reaction had mortified you. His eyes had widened and he’d gone so far as to retract his arm from around you as quick as lightning, moving sideways to put inches between you again.

It left you frozen, a block of ice.

“No - we’re - we’re only friends,” he had said emphatically, and Lara had apologized, her hand over her mouth. Then, Ruby had tripped on the sidewalk and ripped the knees of her jeans, and the whole incident was forgotten.

Not by you, though. Never by you. This was the moment that floated up like the ghost of Christmas past whenever Ruby urged you to confess to Chan, which was more frequent than you’d like. The rush of cold in the absence of his arm, the way he’d stuttered in his hurry to refute the misunderstanding.

Message received, Lee Chan. Loud and fucking clear.

Didn’t change a thing about how you feel, though.

Presently, you try to push this out of your head - the fact that there’s no social buffer between you, no Ruby or Soonyoung to hide behind - before it can trip you up. “What’s on the list?” you ask. He hands you his phone, lets you scroll through everything he’d typed up.

“Okay,” you say, handing it back. “I’m ready when you are.”

“Yeah,” he says, a little absently, then starts patting at his pockets, eyes scanning the tabletop. “Yeah, I’m ready. Aish, Lee Chan, where did you put the keys?”

“They’re by the door,” you offer, remembering the small table you’d all dropped them on as you came in.

He shoots you a grateful smile. “Thanks. Let’s go?”

You nod, grabbing your sunglasses from the table and following him to the driveway out front.

It’s less than ten minutes to the nearest grocery, not even enough time for three whole songs to play through the car’s stereo, half-drowned by the roar of wind and sea through the open windows. Chan grins sideways at you as he parks, running a hand through his messy hair before unbuckling and stepping out of the car. You shake yourself from your daze and hurry to follow.

“What’s the game plan?” you ask, as you step out of the summer sun and into the fluorescents and air conditioning. Your skin prickles instantly upon the change. “Divide and conquer?”

He pulls out his phone and brings the list up. “I’d rather just stick together,” he says, looking at you sideways, his voice a bit thin - like he’s nervous you’ll reject the plan. “If that’s okay?”

“Of course,” you say, shrugging easily.. “I’m just following you. I’m the assistant. You’re in charge.”

Something flashes across his face - a shooting star of an expression, gone before you’re sure you saw it - and then he’s pushing the cart into the produce section, calling over his shoulder for you to go grab some peaches.

You wind your way together through the store. Each time he stops the cart, you each dart after something else from the nearby shelves then reconvene to look at the list again, shoulders pressed together as you squint at the small font.

It thrills you each time that he doesn’t pull away, each time that he doesn’t hurry to put space between you again as he had back in November.

Don’t make it weird, you beg yourself as you load a few cases of soda into the cart. Keep it in check.

A few rows over, the cart a third of the way full, you pause at a row of sauces. You step back, scanning the labels, then drop into a crouch to read those on the bottom shelf. Chan drops beside you, his knee gently bumping yours as he reaches for one of the jars, bringing it closer to scan the label.

“This one’s my favorite,” he says, and there’s something low in his voice that makes you look over at him. Your fingers overlap his for a second as you take the jar from him, turning it over so you can see which one it is. The moment feels staticky, charged with something.

You chicken out, shuffle back on your heels so your knees no longer touch. “It is a good one,” you agree, putting it back in his hand and pressing your palms to your knees as you rise again. “Get a few - I think Ruby likes that one too.”

He nods, looking away again, dutifully reaching to grab a second jar. You move on to the next aisle in silence. You almost feel like his energy seems… disappointed. But that wouldn’t make sense at all.

Turning the corner to the first row of freezers, you feel your body react instantly to the cold and you immediately fold in around yourself, goosebumps rising up your arms.

“Oh, it’s cold,” you complain. “Let’s hurry. Please.”

Chan doesn’t respond, but you can feel his eyes sweep over you, heavy, before he starts pushing the cart past you at, yes, a quicker speed. You shiver once, violently, before you hurry after him.

When you’re done, stepping outside into the sunlight feels like being released - like leaving school on the last day before summer break, like leaving work before a vacation, like stepping outside for the first time after rain has kept you inside for days on end. You let it warm you, happy, as you help Chan load the bags into the car.

You drive the few minutes back to the house in silence. As Chan makes the last turn, you wonder out loud, “Do you think Ruby and Mingyu finished before us?”

“Definitely,” Chan says, and he’s right - as the house comes into view, you can see that the second car is already parked.

True to their word, Ruby and Mingyu greet you at the door to help carry everything in and put it away.

“Lara grabbed us a spot down on the beach,” Ruby informs you, as you both stand at the back of the car, scanning for the lighter bags. “As soon as we’re ready we can head down.”

You let out a happy sigh. “I think an afternoon at the beach will cure me.”

“Nothing will cure you,” she deadpans, then literally stops mid-stride to correct herself. “Actually, something could. And it’s here, and available, and sharing your room.”

“I hate you a lot!” you tell her brightly, pushing past her with an armful of groceries and heading into the relative dark of the house, praying Chan hadn’t overheard her bullshit.

You hurry through the rest - getting the groceries away, getting changed for the beach, throwing the things you need to bring into a tote. Downstairs, the others wait for you by the back door. Chan is wearing Mingyu’s dumb-ass sunglasses and is clearly in the middle of an old-man bit, his voice reedy and sarcastic. Ruby cackles as Mingyu shoves Chan’s shoulder playfully, reaching to get his eyewear back. You can’t help the wave of affection you feel for them, your goofy friends.

You all step out into the sand, eyes adjusting to the sun. You follow Mingyu’s shadow on the ground as he makes his way towards the spot Soonyoung and Lara saved for you. You drop your tote in the sand and help Ruby spread out a blanket, using your shoes and bags to hold down the corners. Mingyu and Chan settle a small cooler off to one side, filled to the brim with ice and drinks.

You pull your cover-up over your head and toss it in the direction of your tote bag and stretch out, closing your eyes happily and letting your body relax under the warmth of the sun, the sound of breaking waves rhythmic and soothing. You’re startled by the sound of music and open your eyes again to find Ruby setting up a bluetooth speaker near the cooler. She looks at you sheepishly and hurries to lower the volume.

“Sorry,” she giggles. “Didn’t mean it to start so loud.”

To your left, Chan is pulling his white t-shirt over his head. Your eyes widen and you look away as fast as you can, catching Ruby react exactly the same, her eyes comically large.

You both turn your backs to the boys, and she mouths at you, what the fuck?

What the fuck is right. You’re used to being around Mingyu, who has an admittedly perfect body, and even Soonyoung is shockingly cut under those baggy t-shirts and cropped hoodies he sports. Chan’s always been the little one, the most normal, the most obtainable in his regular-ness.

Something’s changed since the last time you were all swimming together. He’d always had a nice body, but this…

You close your eyes against the bright summer sun, as if you can block out the curve of his pecs, the shadowed lines hinting at abs. None of those had been there last summer.

That motherfucker. First, he rejects you, then he gets hotter? You hope he gets eaten by a shark today.

You push yourself to stand.

“Where are you going?” Ruby hisses.

“I need a beer,” you tell her flatly. “Actually, maybe ten beers.”

“I’m not holding your hair today,” she warns you flatly, and you flip her off and make your way to the cooler. It’s going to be a long day.

You manage to get a few hours of peace and sanity by laying out with Ruby and Lara, just enjoying the music and occasional chitchat. Further down the beach, the guys run around with a volleyball but no net, making their own asinine rules.

“I still say you should tell him,” Ruby grumbles, after catching you watching Chan from behind your sunglasses for the ninth time, and you shoot her a warning look. But the damage is done - Lara latches on, her eyes sharp.

“Him… Chan?” she guesses. You feel your face heat.

“I’m that obvious, huh?” you murmur reproachfully.

“I mean,” she says uncertainly, looking to Ruby as if for backup, “I think you both are? If it helps?”

“Both?” you repeat flatly. “I wish.”

She exchanges a look with Ruby again, a silent conversation that you aren’t part of.

“He’s not into me,” you say, easy, like the words don’t cut at you. The salty air hits the wounds and makes them sting. “He’s been clear about that.”

Ruby’s brow furrows; you’ve never actually articulated this in front of her before.

“He has?” she asks, her voice suddenly gentle and almost sorrowful. “You never told me-”

“You were there,” you protest, then look over at the guys to make sure they hadn’t stopped yelling and running. “You both were, actually. That night when you tore your knee open outside of Ivy and Ivory?”

“Yeah,” Lara says slowly, her eyes on you, “I remember that night. That was… kind of the first time I thought he had a thing for you? Like, I know it was a while ago, but -”

“A thing for me?” you echo, working hard to keep your voice quiet. “When you called us out he was so horrified he couldn’t even touch me - he acted like it burned him -”

“Honey, no,” she says seriously, leaning forward. She looks incredulous at your perspective.

“Bestie,” Ruby says, giving you a please believe me, your best friend, who would never lead you astray look. “He was terrified that you’d get spooked.”

You press your mostly-empty beer can to your chin, eyes narrowing. “Explain.”

“He wasn’t embarrassed at the idea of being coupled with you,” Lara whispers, her eyes on the guys, whose game has drifted only minutely closer to your blanket. “It was one of those like, shut up or you’ll scare her away moments. He wanted to kill me.”

“Literally, if he’d had a cartoon thought bubble, it would have said shhhh, not so loud!” Ruby adds. She peers at you. “Did you really take it like that this whole time? You thought it was a rejection?”

“He practically pushed me into traffic!” you hiss defensively, and both girls explode into laughter.

“That is not what happened,” Lara insists, and then heads to the cooler, leaving you, Ruby, and your very confused thoughts.

You look at her. She looks at you.

“I thought you knew,” she says finally, holding up her hands in mock innocence. “I had no idea you took it that way.”

You can’t respond - the boys return at this exact moment, Mingyu flops dramatically next to Ruby, panting heavily, sweat running down his face.

“Jagiya,” he gasps like he’s dying. “Water. Please.”

Ruby rolls her eyes, but a water bottle lands next to Mingyu’s head before she can get up. You turn towards the cooler and see Soonyoung standing with his hands on his knees, also panting, while Chan digs around for presumably another water bottle.

“You need anything out of here?” he asks you over his shoulder.

You shake your head. “Thanks, though.”

You rise, brushing errant sand from the backs of your thighs, squinting at the water. The waves are breaking evenly, and there’s room to tread further out past the breaking point. “I think I’m gonna go in,” you announce to whoever is listening.

Lara shakes her head, reaching one hand up to tug at Soonyoung, obviously wanting him to sit by her. Ruby flaps her hand at you as if to tell you go on. She’s never been a big swimmer, more of a giant unicorn floatie kind of girl.

You stop when you’re ankle-deep, letting a few waves break and rush over the tops of your feet, adjusting to the temperature. You start to wade in, the water rushing around your shins, when you hear your name called breathlessly behind you.

Chan jogs up, his hair pushed back, a thin silver chain bouncing against his collarbones. You look away before you can get caught. Ruby and Lara’s words race through your brain. Have you been wrong about him this whole time? Have you misread every signal over the last three years, viewed it through the wrong lens?

“You can’t leave me alone with them,” he complains, face twisting in exaggerated suffering.

You laugh. “Can’t stand being the fifth wheel, huh?”

He shakes his head, smiling, still trying to catch his breath from volleyball and then the jog over here.

“You coming in?” you ask him. “I was gonna go out and tread for a while.”

He nods. “You don’t mind if I join?”

You look at him appraisingly, new information starting to process inside your mind, shifting the rules you’d followed for months. The sea air makes you bold. “You?” you say. “I would never mind.”

You don’t wait to see his reaction; you step further into the water, hitting just above your knees when you reach the spot where the waves are breaking. You stumble a little as a wave hits your thighs, and Chan’s hand finds your elbow, firm but unassuming, helping you steady yourself again.

When you reach waist-deep water, you eye the spot just ahead where the waves reach their tallest point as they gather on their way to shore.

“We’re gonna have to go under that,” you tell Chan. He actually looks nervous, which makes you laugh. “Want me to hold your hand?”

The smile he sends you is both self-deprecating and relieved, like he can’t believe his answer is yes, but yes, and he’s so glad you asked.

“Come on,” you say, laughing again. You hold out your hand and he takes it, and when the next ocean swell rises before you like a mighty wall you hold your breath and tug him under. It’s an act of faith, dipping below the roaring ocean, hoping you time it right. You keep his fingers tight between yours and let your body sink.

You surface on the other side, in an area of relative calm. Beside you, Chan wipes at his face with his spare hand, which makes you realize you’re still holding the other. You release it gently, treading water easily. Chan can probably just touch sand if he stretches.

You tread together quietly for a few minutes, less than six inches apart. The sun glints off the water around you, dancing and sparkling as the water moves. You wish you could ask him about that night, years ago, confirm Lara and Ruby’s interpretation of the events. You could - you just aren’t brave enough.

You look at him, familiar and beautiful and - until today - unobtainable. What if you swam closer, what if you pressed yourself close and kissed him, right here in the ocean?

If it ruined everything, you could just let yourself drown. And if it didn’t… well, you could let yourself drown a different way, then.

You chicken out. You chat about inconsequential things instead - his upcoming trip with his family, a work project you’d recently wrapped up that you’d been talking about for months, what the plan will be for dinner when you all get tired of the sunshine.

It’s easy to talk to Chan - it always has been. He’s quick with a joke or a bit, but always open and earnest. He watches you quietly when you talk, accentuates his stories with his hands when it’s his turn. Eventually, Ruby joins you. Mingyu stands at the edge of the water, one hand shielding his eyes, watching her go.

“He’s not coming in?” you ask.

She rolls her eyes. “Doesn’t want to get his hair wet. God, the water feels great. Anyway, we’re thinking of heading in soon, to get showers and stuff before we figure out dinner?”

“Sounds good,” Chan says.

“I’ll be right in,” you say, and beneath the water you grab at Ruby’s hand. Stay.

Chan gives you both a wave goodbye and heads towards the beach. You both watch as he steps onto land, approaches Mingyu, and shakes like a dog, spraying water all over his friend. You can hear Mingyu’s shout of protest even from here, and Ruby’s maniacal laughter echoes around you.

“How’s it going?” she asks you slyly, when she’s finished laughing at her man. Like she knows the answer already.

“Nice of you to ask!” you cry. “Actually! I’m kind of having a meltdown! Because for nearly eight months I thought he’d told me unequivocally, irrevocably no, and now I am finding out that he… I don’t even know. What does it mean? That was ages ago, surely even if he felt something then…”

“Only one way to find out,” Ruby says, way too sensibly.

“That’s not helpful,” you grumble.

“It is helpful, it’s just not easy,” she says sagely. You splash a handful of water towards her head and she shrieks, swimming further away from you.

“That’s enough of you,” you tell her, and start heading in towards the sand.

Back at the blanket, the boys and Lara have mostly packed up. You pull your rolled up towel out of your tote and dry off briskly. When everyone is accounted for, you all collect your things and head back up the walkway towards the house.

You put everything away - leftover drinks in the fridge, wet towels in the washing machine, etc - and the couples disappear into their rooms, doors closing and locking up and down the hallway.

Which just leaves you and Chan.

You follow him to the end of the hall and into the large room you’ll be somehow sharing. He turns on one of the bedside lamps and stops to plug his phone in, then looks over at you.

“You wanna shower?” he asks, tossing his phone lightly onto the bed. You can only stare at him, short-circuiting, until he clarifies. “Do you want to go first?”

“Oh,” you utter, quickly trying to recover. “Yeah, if you don’t mind?”

He waves his hand graciously towards the dark bathroom, as if to say, be my guest.

Showering turns into a reprieve - a locked door between you allowing you to jumpstart your brain again as you feel the hot water remove all the hidden bits of sand clinging to your legs and back.

While Chan takes his turn after you, you escape outside with a cold soda from the fridge. The beach beyond your rental’s deck is still pretty busy, but the crowd has thinned a bit since you all packed up. The sun descends behind the house, which means the sunrise tomorrow morning will come over the beach.

Mingyu seems to be preparing the grill, and Ruby bustles around, bringing out ingredients and setting them close to the grill. On one of the cushioned benches, Lara drapes her legs over Soonyoung’s legs and talks with him quietly, both of them giggling.

Since it seems like your help isn’t needed anywhere - you’ll help set the table when the food is almost ready, as is your usual job as a non-cook - you sit with your cold drink and watch the waves break, lost in thought.

Lara and Ruby seemed so sure that you’d misread Chan that autumn night. There’s a small part of you that’s still doubtful, but at the end of the day you do trust their judgement. So, assuming they’re right, Chan had been interested in you. That was over six months ago, though. It doesn’t mean anything now except that… well… if he was interested in you once, there’s a possibility he could be again. Or still.

Your move, it seems, is to figure out if that’s the case. Chan hasn’t done anything recently to indicate that he’s disinterested, but he also hasn’t done anything to indicate that he is. He - like you - has played it very safe. It isn’t until now that you’ve questioned if it’s because he actually sees you platonically, or if he thinks that’s what you want.

One of you is going to have to push the boundary, to test the waters.

When Chan emerges from the house, freshly showered and hair falling over his forehead nearly to his eyes, you look up from where you’re sitting and watch him thoughtfully. He pauses at the grill to ask Mingyu something, then passes by the mess of limbs that is Soonyoung and Lara, then drops onto the seat next to you.

“Mingyu says it’ll be another twenty minutes or so until everything’s done,” he informs you.

“Guess I should get the plates and stuff,” you sigh, leaning forward to set your drink on the table.

“I can help you,” he offers, and follows you inside, where you both open cabinets and drawers in the unfamiliar kitchen until you find everything you need.

He heads outside ahead of you, his hands loaded with utensils and condiments, and you pause, watching his dark silhouette against the evening sunlight. Your heart tumbles, and you jerk back into motion, following him into the light.

You all stay on the back deck until well after sunset. As the sky sinks into deeper and deeper blues, you rise and plug in the string of lights that weave through the beams above the deck, casting everyone in a nearly-orange glow. Mingyu sets up the tabletop fire pit, but you end up chilly anyway as night takes hold.

You shiver once, and you notice Chan looking sideways at you.

“Cold?” he asks, and the wave of deja vu you get is almost dizzying.

You shake your head instinctively, more against the memory than actually answering the question. “I’m fine,” you say, even though you do have goosebumps rising along your arms.

He gets up anyway, heading into the unlit house without a word. You rise a beat later and head across the deck.

Ruby calls your name like a question, and in answer you point at the cooler tucked behind the grill, where you’d all stashed beer and water bottles. She gives a quick “ah” of understanding.

“You need one?” you ask her, as you shuffle behind the grill and pull on the cooler’s lid.

“I’ll take a beer,” Mingyu answers for her, and you dig through the bottles and cans until you find his preferred brand, reaching to pass it to him over Soonyoung’s head. Then you turn back and look at your options, trying to decide if you want a can of spiked seltzer or if you want to go inside and mix something a little harder.

While you’re deciding, the glass door to your left slides open, and Chan steps quietly back onto the deck. He’s in a baby blue hoodie that he hadn’t been wearing before, and he carries a bundle of dark material in his hands.

“Here,” he says quietly, holding it out to you. “It felt weird to dig through your luggage, so I grabbed one of mine.”

You take his offering silently, fighting a tiny smile. “Thanks,” you say, equally quiet, like you’ve both agreed you want to keep this moment between you, not call the attention of the others. You shake the dark hoodie out and pull it over your head, slipping your arms into the sleeves and fixing the hood so it’s not inside-out. The hem falls almost past your shorts, and the sleeves reach past your fingers.

Chan bends to grab a beer from the cooler, then heads back to where he was sitting before. You reach for your own drink, settling on a seltzer after all, and when you turn to head back to your spot you can’t help but notice him watching you through the flickering fire pit, something unreadable on his face.

“You good?” you ask him as you settle back into your spot.

“Yeah,” he says, but there’s something tight in his voice that makes the goosebumps rise on your arms again despite the new layer of warmth you’re wearing. That smells like him. You tug on the edges of the sleeves to pull the shoulders tighter and curl up on your chair, tucking your legs into the baggy material and locking back into the conversation.

The night moves slowly, the constellations rotating centimeter by centimeter above you, everything made comfortably fuzzy by the drinks and the firelight. Sometime before midnight, Ruby suggests a walk along the beach.

You go in bare feet, the cool wood of the deck stairs giving way to sand as soft as silk. Mingyu and Ruby take the lead, the rest of you trailing behind. At some point - long after the house disappears from view - Lara stops, pointing up at the moon - a sliver above the undulating sea.

The four of you stop and look for a minute. Down the beach, you can hear Ruby and Mingyu but they’re out of sight in the dark.

“We should probably catch up with them,” you say, looking in the direction of their disembodied voices.

“I think we’re gonna head back to the house, actually,” Lara says, looking up at Soonyoung to gauge if he agrees. “We’ll leave the back door unlocked for you all?”

They say their goodbyes and head back hand in hand, leaving you alone with Chan and that sliver of moon. For a minute, the night seems to expand around you, growing bigger and bigger and leaving the two of you so small within it. Chan looks at you silently, as if he’s waiting for something, one side of his mouth quirked into an almost-smile that makes your stomach swim with the desire to cause a real smile, to push that little almost into something fully-formed.

Then, Ruby calls your names loudly from further up the beach, and the spell is broken.

“Guess we better catch up,” Chan says wryly. You both turn and start walking in silence, nearly shoulder to shoulder. As you walk, the back of your hand brushes the back of his just once, and your entire body prickles at the contact. You almost shift away, give him a little more space, but something urges you to hold the line. You want to see what he will do.

You keep walking, close enough that you can hear him breathing, hear the sand slide each time he takes a step. The back of his hands brushes yours again, warm. He doesn’t react, so neither do you.

You carry on, knuckles occasionally bumping his, until you find Ruby and Mingyu. They’re standing watching the moon, Mingyu wrapped around Ruby’s back like a giant, love-sick koala.

“Where’re Soonyoung and Lara?” Ruby asks, when she notices you.

“They headed back,” you say, stopping a few feet away.

“We should, too,” Ruby muses, eyes on the moon. “But it’s so pretty here.”

“It is,” Chan murmurs from beside you and you glance sideways at him, trying to read him. He’s staring out at the dark sea, the stars flickering in and out above it, giving you his profile. Ruby’s eyes flick to you, one eyebrow quirked. You look away, not wanting to get caught in this silent conversation, but you can feel the heat on your face, the smile tugging at your mouth.

The house is dark when you all return, and you let yourselves back in quietly, just in case Soonyoung and Lara are actually sleeping. You bid Ruby and Mingyu goodnight in whispers and head to the end of the hall. Chan closes the door and you flick on the bedside lamp, casting a low yellow light through the room.

Wordlessly, Chan begins to rummage through his suitcase, transferring items to a small pile - a pair of loose shorts, a toothbrush, his phone charger. It occurs to you, suddenly, that he’s gathering what he needs to leave - to go sleep on a couch.

“Chan,” you say. You don’t even know what you want to say next. You just know you don’t want him to go, don’t want him to sleep on a couch, don’t want to be here alone.

He pauses, turning to look at you over his shoulder.

What do you want to say? Stay? You balk, suddenly chicken again.

“I can take the couch tonight,” you say instead. He shakes his head, but you press on. “We can switch tomorrow.”

“Nope,” he says easily.

“Chan,” you say again. He keeps rummaging, his back to you.

“Chan,” you repeat, insistent. He turns fully, still crouching, and raises his eyebrows as if to say, yes?

“Do you want to just stay here?” you ask, trying to keep your voice from shaking. It feels like a moment of great enormity.

He shakes his head, and the rejection stings enough that you feel your breath catch.

But then he says, “No, I’m not letting you sleep on a couch. I’m trying to be a gentleman - quit fighting me.”

You realize, slowly, that he misunderstood what you were offering.

“No,” you say. “I meant… like… no one on the couch.”

He stares at you blankly, his hands open like he forgot he was searching for something.

Embarrassment licks up the back of your neck like flames. “The bed isn’t that small,” you say, a little defensive. “We could just, like, stay on our own sides.”

The blank look on his face slowly transforms. His brows come together, his mouth tucking into a rare frown. He opens his mouth like he’s going to ask something, but nothing comes out. His eyes flick to the bed and then back to you.

“I don’t…” he says, and the heat of embarrassment heightens. He clears his throat and tries again, “I don’t want you to do anything that makes you uncomfortable,” he says slowly.

“I wouldn’t suggest it if I wasn’t okay with it,” you point out.

He nods slowly, then pushes himself to stand. “Are you extremely sure?” he asks, peering at you. “This isn’t a High Noon decision, is it?”

You laugh, the tension dissipating a little. “No,” you assure him. “I just… feel bad putting you on a couch… and I don’t particularly want to sleep on a couch either… and I think we can… not make it weird?”

“We can,” he says, like a promise.

You second-guess your decision the whole time you get ready for bed - as you brush your teeth, as you change into pajamas, as you settle into the side of the bed by the balcony and plug in your phone. You’re nervous you won’t be able to keep it not weird - nervous that you won’t be able to keep your hands to yourself, that the magnetic pull to touch him will be too strong.

But when Chan climbs into the other side of the bed and clicks off the light, illuminated only by his phone screen, his warmth seeping into the blankets around you, it isn’t your hands that inch towards him. It’s your words. They claw their way out, desperate to reach across the six inches of darkness.

Chan, I’m actually really into you.

What really happened that night, when we were walking from bar to bar?

I’m in love with you, probably. I think.

Are you interested in me? At all?

You fight them all back, hold them all in. You don’t relax until Chan’s clicked his phone off and placed it on the nightstand, whispered goodnight to you, until you hear his breathing deepen. Just in case. Just in case the words get out the second you unclench - you need him to be asleep first so you can be sure he won’t hear them. You fall asleep with your face buried in the crook of your elbow, one last line of defense.

You wake up with your face buried in the crook of Chan’s neck instead of your own arm. You realize it instantly, body freezing like you’re about to get caught stealing, your whole body tight with panic. Like if you don’t move, you won’t wake him, and he won’t know that you cuddled him in your sleep.

Mortifying.

He’s mostly on his back but sort of tilted towards you, and you have one arm over his ribs, your nose pressed into the juncture of his shoulder. But, you realize as you stay frozen, his arms are around you. This was a mutual cuddle. Your legs are touching, too, one of your shins between his.

You try to breathe as shallowly as possible, fight the urge to stretch or roll or scoot away. You don’t want to alert him, pop this bubble, make the moment end. Chan is holding you as the sun rises over the ocean outside. It feels like another daydream, too good to be true. You never want it to end. You wish it was more real than this.

Slowly, you relax, one limb at a time, letting your muscles unclench and inhaling deeply. His skin, warm against your cheek, smells good - still a bit salty from the ocean, even after showering. But it’s only moments later that he stirs, his arms tightening around you and then loosening again as he makes a satisfied, low noise in his throat.

Then he goes still. You freeze back up, watching him for a reaction.

His mouth moves first, quirking sideways, and then he cracks one eye and peers down at you. A laugh bubbles from him and the cuddle is disintegrating around you as he shifts himself backwards and up on his elbows, still chuckling.

“Sorry,” he’s laughing, “sorry. I didn’t - that - I did not expect to do that in my sleep.”

You can’t help your own sheepish smile in return. “Me either, but it was actually comfy,” you admit. Now disentangled, you feel kind of cold and a little sad. But he’s acting like it was a funny goof, your bodies clinging to each other the second your brains turned off, so you’ll go along with the joke.

He rolls over and rummages on his nightstand, returning with his phone in hand and pushing thin-framed glasses up his nose. You look away, heart clenching. You love him in those; combined with the bedhead and his smell in your nose and the warmth of his skin not yet evaporated from yours and the feeling of his arms around you… it’s all a lot.

“I’m gonna… get dressed,” you say, reaching for your own phone. Chan hums a response and you vanish into the bathroom, brushing your teeth and getting ready as slowly as possible. When you come out, the bedroom is blessedly empty. You close your eyes and exhale. It’s going to be a long day.

When you finally head down to the kitchen, Lara and Chan are chatting easily at the table, steaming mugs in their hands. He’s still in those damn cute glasses.

“Good morning!” Lara greets you brightly. “There’s coffee!”

“God bless you,” you tell her seriously. You open a cabinet in search of a mug, but you’re faced with only plates and glassware instead. Chan appears at the cabinet next to you, reaching up and offering you a white mug with a cartoon seagull on it.

“Thanks,” you say, feeling weirdly shy considering you just woke up pressed against him. Once you fix the coffee how you like it, you take the seat next to Lara at the table. “Everyone else still asleep?” you ask.

“Soonyoung is, but I have to go wake him up in a minute,” Lara says, clicking on her phone screen to check the time. “We have a snorkeling thing at ten.”

“Ruby and Mingyu are out already,” Chan tells you. “Sunrise yoga. She texted us.”

“God,” you say, horrified. “Mingyu’s gonna hate that.” You realize at the mention of her text that you’ve left your phone upstairs.

Chan laughs. “Right?”

Lara rises, presumably to go wake up her boyfriend. “Her text said they’d be out until around four,” she tells you as she moves back into the kitchen to rinse out her mug. “I think they’ll beat us back, but not by much. Maybe we can go grab dinner when everyone’s back?”

“Sure,” you say, shooting a look at Chan to see if he has any opinions on this plan. He shrugs - no opinions to be found. You’ve always loved the way he could just go with the flow, happy to be along for the adventure.

You and Chan are still sitting at the table, coffees dwindling, when Lara pulls a bleary-eyed Soonyoung through the front door with a shouted goodbye, the sound of the car’s engine reaching you from outside. You look at each other, left alone together.

Again.

He gives you a flat, unamused look that he definitely picked up from Seungkwan or Vernon. “Are they doing this on purpose?” he asks, and a jolt goes through you. He’s said it. It’s like a curtain being pulled, shedding sunlight on something that had been shadowbound until now.

“Doing what?” you say, even though you know. “Leaving us by ourselves? Probably. Ruby likes to fuck with me.”

Chan laughs, and you’re filled with shaky relief that the moment isn’t weird. You both knew what this was, apparently, and facing it has put you on the same team against it.

“I thought it was to fuck with me,” he admits, still smiling.

“Two birds with one stone,” you muse. “For the sake of efficiency.”

But you wonder… why would it be fucking with him if he wasn’t interested in you? Is he admitting something?

“Well,” Chan says, stretching his arms above his head, fingers linked, “by all means, you can do your own thing today. You don’t have to babysit me. But it’s supposed to storm later, so I was thinking I’d use the pool a bit this morning while we still can, and then maybe go into town for lunch.”

You consider this. “That’s very pragmatic of you,” you observe lightly.

“That’s one of the first words I’d pick to describe myself,” he tries to deadpan, but the smile is too quick, telling on himself.

You let him get changed first, and when you make your way out back to the pool he’s already in the water up to his waist. You toss a towel onto one of the chaises.

“How’s the water?” you ask him, as you move to sit on the edge, preparing to let your legs dangle.

“It’s great,” he tells you, smiling easily, like he’s happy - happy you’re here, happy to be here with you.

You wonder if that’s the case, as you slowly lower your legs in, the water coming to lap a few inches below your knees.

“Feels cold,” you tell him. It doesn’t, really - way warmer than the ocean you played in yesterday, but you want to tease him a little.

Suddenly, his hands are on your ankles, holding you firmly. His hands are on your ankles.

“You should get in quickly,” he tells you, trying - again - to pretend to be serious, despite the smile he can’t combat. “Like ripping off a band-aid.”

“Lee Chan,” you warn, but a giggle rises up in you. “Don’t you dare. I will get in when I am good and ready!”

“I’m just trying to help,” he says, pretending to be hurt. His fingers are still pressing against your skin, your brain impossibly aware of the exact spot his thumb presses, as if there’s a beacon illuminating the place.

He gives your legs a playful tug, too lightly to actually move you. You squeal anyway, reaching down to splash water towards him. “Chan!”

He releases your ankles, taking a step back to avoid the splash, laughing. “Be careful,” he warns. “If it’s war you want -” He holds his hand like a knife above the water, ready to retaliate the splash.

“Oh my God, you menace. I’m getting in!” you cry, gripping the lip of the pool and sliding in, staying on your tippy-toes as your body adjusts to the temperature.

“Come on,” he goads, backing away from you, bobbing towards the shallow end. “You have to go under or it doesn’t count.”

“You’re a menace,” you repeat firmly, and he laughs, enjoying that his teasing has worked you up.

You eye the expanse of water between you - you’re at opposite ends of the pool now. “Do you think I could make it across in one go?” you ask.

He raises an eyebrow. “Like, underwater? I don’t know - how’s your lung capacity?”

You laugh. “Maybe not good enough,” you admit wryly. “But I’ll try.”

You take a deep breath of salty sea air, only minorly marred by chlorine, and slip down below the surface. You let the bottoms of your feet find the flat cement wall of the pool, and you give a hearty push. It’s hard without being able to see how much farther you have to go, but you hate getting chlorine in your eyes, so you kick and pull blindly until your lungs start to burn. When your natural buoyancy pulls you upward, you don’t fight it.

Your hands find something warm and solid before you surface. Surprise causes you to rear your head, fucking with your balance, and your feet find the floor of the pool. You stand up unsteadily, blinking water out of your eyes.

Chan comes into focus, his expression tight, and you realize that your hands had found his stomach, centimeters above his belly button.

“Sorry,” you say quickly, pulling away.

It’s like ever since last night, you can’t stop touching, your bodies fighting to come together even as you both dig in your heels and try to stop it.

“No worries,” he says just as quickly. You try to cover the moment by wiping water out of your face, but you feel warm all over, the cool water useless against your heated skin as you try to push away how his muscled stomach had felt under your fingertips.

You spend a good hour just floating and splashing around. Sometimes you chat and sometimes you lapse into comfortable silence. At one point you hear him singing lightly under his breath, his voice surprisingly clear but frustratingly quiet.

Eventually, your stomach growls. “I’m starting to get hungry,” you tell him. “You up for lunch in town, maybe? I’d just need to shower super quick first.”

“Sounds great,” he says easily, and you both head for the single runged ladder at the deep end. Chan climbs up first, standing by the ladder, dripping onto the concrete. You grip the metal handles firmly and find the bottom rung with one foot, pushing heavily to hoist yourself up.

And Chan helps you up - his fingers finding the dip of your waist and guiding you until you’re steadily on the pool deck, something protective in the touch.

Your entire body thrums, electric, cells vibrating. You hurry to your towel and wrap yourself up, hiding your face in the material - pretending you’re just chasing droplets away from your eyes, but actually smothering the urge to scream, if you’re going to touch me then get over here and do it properly!

“Did you know there’s a hot tub under the deck? Was that mentioned in the listing?” Chan asks, and you uncover your face.

“Huh?”

He’s pointing, and then you see that he’s right - tucked beneath the deck is a decently-sized jacuzzi, the lid on and straps fastened shut.

“Oh,” you say breathlessly. “Well, I know what I’m doing after dinner.”

Chan laughs, and you head inside, careful not to drip a trail of pool water through the house.

The rest of the morning passes pleasantly and without any touching; you shower and get changed and go on foot into the small beach town. You find a cute open-air cafe and order lunch, the iced coffee absolutely divine under the warm summer sun. The company’s not bad either.

After you’ve paid and left, Chan pauses on the sidewalk and gives you a mischievous smile. “Up for a little adventure?” he asks.

You frown. “What level of adventure?” you ask cautiously. “Like, on a scale of jumping out of a plane being ten to laying on my towel in the sand being one, what are we talking here?”

He laughs. “Like a three,” he assures you. “We just have a bit of a walk - maybe twenty minutes?”

The walk is pleasant - you don’t even get too warm, as there’s a constant breeze off the ocean and clouds pass overhead, pitching you momentarily into shade between longer bouts of sunshine. When you turn a bend and see the lighthouse rise against the sky in the distance, you actually gasp.

“Can we go up?” you ask, delighted.

“That’s the plan,” he tells you, and for once you can read his face perfectly - he’s pleased that he’s surprised you, pleased to have made you happy. Something warm simmers under your skin, affection and happiness and something else.

It takes forever to reach the top. You have to stop and rest more than once, your calves burning and protesting the many stairs. A few families pass you on their way down, one mother telling you cheerfully that you’re almost to the top. This motivates you to continue, and you press on until you reach the final landing and step through the metal doorway.

The view is absolutely worth it. The beach and the ocean stretch out before you, the town in the distance behind you. Alone at the top, you feel like you’re in your own little world, surrounded by sunlight and the calls of gulls, just you and Chan.

You stand, holding the railing, watching the waves undulate far below you for a long time. “Chan,” you say, and then falter. You don’t know what you were going to say. Some part of you thinks maybe you’d been about to confess, or to finally ask him something to shed light on his feelings.

When he looks at you, expectant, you say only, “Thanks for bringing me here.”

And maybe you did confess something, because he reaches over and squeezes your hand, just once.

And then, he looks over your shoulder and utters, “Uh oh.”

You spin, following his gaze, and echo, “Uh oh.”

Dark grey clouds gather to the west. You remember him saying it was supposed to storm later; it looks like rain will be rolling in soon, ushering in the storms behind it.

“We’d better head down,” he says regretfully, and you follow him back inside.

You make it down and outside before the rain comes, but the sunshine of the morning has gone and left gloomy grey in its wake.

“You think we can make it back to the house?” you ask breathlessly.

Chan checks the time on his phone, already walking brisky back towards the direction of town and your rental. “Maybe,” he says, but he sounds doubtful. “We’ve gotta be quick, though.”

You barely even make it into town; you aren’t even back at the cafe where you’d had lunch before the sky opens. It happens exactly like that - one second it’s not raining, the next second you’re drenched, hair plastered to your face, shirt sticking to your back, spluttering breaths through your mouth like you’re being sprayed with a hose.

You let out a cry of surprise, and then Chan is grabbing your hand and tugging, pulling you off of the sidewalk and into a nearby doorway. You don’t even manage to see what the doorway belongs to - Chan is already pulling it open, his hand still in yours as he leads you inside.

It’s dark, and it takes your eyes a minute to adjust as you wipe rain away from your eyes and shake droplets off of your arms. Beside you, Chan is doing the same, running a hand through his soaked hair and huffing out a noise of disbelief.

“That,” you say, “was bonkers.”

You seem to be in a dimly-lit dive bar, the kind that only locals go to. It’s pretty empty, since it’s early afternoon on a weekday, so when Chan raises a soggy, questioning eyebrow at you, you shrug and follow him towards the bar. Why not?

You take a seat wearily, and pull out your phone.

“We’ve got almost an hour until everyone is supposed to be back,” you inform him.

“In that case,” he says, and when the bartender meanders over, he orders you a row of shots to share.

You clink shot glasses for the first one, but after that you turn it into a game.

Chan narrows his eyes at you, mock-thoughtful. “What would you do if you woke up and your hands and feet had switched places?”

After answering (use my toes to order an Uber to the hospital), you volley with, “What would you do if aliens invaded tomorrow?”

Back and forth the game goes, punctuated by shot glasses being emptied and returned to the bar. What would you do if you woke up married in Vegas? … What would you do if you woke up one day and could only speak in rhyme? … What would you do if you were suddenly allergic to your favorite food? … What would you do if you were forced to join the circus?

You’re both laughing deliriously. Chan is wiping under his eyes in mirth, and you’ve hunched over so far that you find yourself with your hands on his knees, using him to stay upright on your barstool. Your surroundings have faded into colors and muted sounds with the alcohol in your system. All you can focus on is Chan, warm and solid under your palms, his eyes on you, the sound of his laugh cutting straight through the fog.

Then his next one isn’t so funny. “What would you do if you found out you only had a day to live?” he asks, and despite the seriousness, one last chuckle rumbles through his chest, like an aftershock.

Tell you. Tell you the truth.

You swallow. You take your hands off of his knees - you’re not sure he even noticed them there - and flex your fingers. And then, filter demolished by both alcohol and the sheer amount of time it’s been keeping you in check, you break.

Instead of answering, you fire back your own. “What would you do if I came onto you right now?”

Chan blinks at you, eyes as wide as you’ve ever seen them. He blinks twice more, and then his mouth opens. Your heart pounds.

“I’d - I - I guess, I’d probably kiss you,” he says, voice suddenly hushed, as if he’s a little unsure if he’s supposed to be honest or if the game is still a string of jokes.

You stare back. The two of you are frozen, both a bit wide-eyed, like neither of you is sure how you ended up like this.

Then, you breathe, “Okay, then do it.”

He nods immediately, breath coming sharply, and shifts closer on his seat. You feel like you’re holding your breath, waiting. Tentatively, he reaches up, brushes your jaw with his thumb.

Beside you, your phone blares to life on the bar. You both jump, startled out of the moment.

“Ruby,” you tell him hollowly. His hand still hovers near your face, but he nods, pulling it away. You feel like you can barely breathe as you slide your thumb to take the call.

“Hey,” you say into the phone, your eyes on Chan.

“Hey,” Ruby says, “where are you guys? Our thing ended early because of the rain so we’re back at the house.”

“Oh,” you say, trying hard to focus on her voice in her ear and not what just almost happened. “We’re in town. At… a bar? We came in to get out of the rain.”

“Perfect,” Ruby says. Across from you, Chan is rubbing his hands down the tops of his thighs, like they’re sweaty. You wonder if he’s nervous. “We’ll get changed and come get you guys in the car, and then we can go grab dinner together.”

You agree and hang up, then repeat the plan to Chan, who nods. He looks how you feel - a bit shell-shocked, a bit uncertain.

“We need to sober up,” you say. “Or, at least, I do.”

“No, me too,” he says, shaking his head. He sighs, and he might as well have said, goddamn Ruby. You hear it all. Then he seems to give himself a shake, orders you each a water, and asks to close his tab.

“They’re just up the street,” you tell him when Ruby’s text rolls in a bit later.

He nods, uncharacteristically quiet. You wish you could peek inside his brain and see what’s going on in there.

“Hey,” you say, and his eyes snap to you, that open look you know so well on his face. Your voice softens, and you resist the urge to reach out and touch his hand when you continue. “Here’s what I don’t want to happen - I don’t want Ruby to sniff out that something’s going on and interrogate me before we can… talk, ourselves. So let’s pull it together, and get through dinner, and then we can…”

We can what? Pick up where we left off?

He nods anyway, even though you’d left the thought unfinished. “You’re right,” he says.

And, somehow, you do. You both pull it together, rush through the pouring rain from the bar to the open car door. You smile and tease and laugh through dinner, like nothing had happened at all.

You feel relieved, in the back of Ruby’s car, as you all make your way back to the house. You did it - you got through dinner unscathed. Now you can go inside, and have some privacy, and talk and maybe figure out -

“Did you guys know the rental has a hot tub?” Chan asks, and you turn to look at him, baffled.

“It has a what?” Ruby gasps.

“Yep,” he says cheerfully, like he hasn’t just shattered your dream of getting a moment to yourselves. “It’s under the deck. Which means - hey! - it’s covered! We could totally go in, we wouldn’t even be in the rain.”

“That sounds great, actually,” Lara muses.

You say nothing, but when he catches you looking sideways at him, Chan sends you a wink, quick as lightning. You feel your face go puzzled, and he smiles and looks away, giving you no answers.

You’re somehow the first one to get changed and outside; it’s still pouring rain and you cover your head with your towel as you make your way down the steps and under the deck where some drips make it through, but you’re mostly out of the rain. A quick sweep of the area with your phone’s flashlight shows that there’s a string of the same lights down here as above on the deck, and you hurry to plug them in. Now that you can see, it’s actually kind of cute under here.

You unsnap the first strap for the lid, and jump when a pair of hands reaches next to you for the second one. You hadn’t heard Chan approach, but you silently accept his help as you push the lid up and off. You watch him out of the corners of your eyes to see if he’s going to say anything, address it at all. When it seems like he’s not, you turn to climb up the little set of steps, resigned.

His hand closes around your wrist, stilling you. He gives the tiniest of tugs and you relent, turning around. He gives you another tiny tug - you could resist if you wanted to, but you don’t, you don’t, you don’t. You let the tug pull you closer and look up at him, waiting. He kisses you quickly, firmly, close-mouthed for now but sure, his hands forming loose loops around each of your wrists as if he might want to tug you into place again.

The sliding glass door above you slides open and you step away, heart racing.

“Later,” he says quietly, and then you don’t get another second alone, Mingyu and Soonyoung’s voices bouncing through the space as they clamber down the deck stairs.

You climb into the warm water and choose a spot. Chan follows and sits a few solid feet away from you. You try not to look guilty when the other guys round the corner.

“Brought you a beer,” Mingyu says, reaching the extra can towards you.

“You are a legend,” you tell him gratefully.

Chan frowns, and for a crazed second you think maybe he’s jealous that Mingyu did something nice for you, but then he whines, “You didn’t bring me one? Hyung.”

“Calm your ass down,” Mingyu says, climbing into the water and finding a seat. You’re instantly more crowded, just from the sheer amount of space his long legs take up. “Soonyoung has yours.”

You snicker a little, and Chan gives you a light kick under the water. Above you, you hear the door slide open again, and a minute later Ruby and Lara appear beneath the deck, sheltered from the rain by Ruby’s towel.

“Oh,” Ruby says, surprised. “It’s not bad under here!”

“It’s cute, right?” you agree. “Still getting a few raindrops, though.”

“Eh, we’re in water anyway,” Soonyoung says easily, reaching up a hand to help steady Lara as she climbs in.

It’s crowded, and Chan’s two-feet-away doesn’t last. Instead, you’re crowded together, just inches apart. Ruby leans over the edge and turns on the jets, the top of the water creating a frothy layer.

“This is nice,” Lara says happily, closing her eyes and leaning against her boyfriend’s shoulder.

“It is,” you murmur, sipping at your beer. Under the cover of the jets’ bubbles, something touches your hand. Someone’s hand touches your hand. Chan’s hand touches your hand.

Your heart lurches. You beg your face to behave and give nothing away. And ever so slowly, you turn your hand over.

He doesn’t look at you, keeps his eyes on Soonyoung, who’s telling a story animatedly on the other side of the jacuzzi. But his fingers lace between yours, and his thumb brushes along the back of your hand, slow and tantalizing.

You’ve never been so undone by hand holding in your life.

You try to breathe. You sip casually at your beer and interject into the conversation when you can. You laugh at the jokes and look at whoever is speaking. You have no idea what the conversation is about. You hold onto Chan’s slender fingers like he’s a lifeline, like if you let go he’ll slip away, again and for good.

Later, he’d said, and his voice echoes in your head as you pray for later to be now. And finally, blessedly, Lara finally yawns, loud, and starts making moves to get out and head in. Which means so does Soonyoung. Then Mingyu lifts a hand from the water and examines his fingers, complaining, “I’m all pruny.” Chan gives your hand a squeeze and lets you go, reaching for his beer nonchalantly, watching Ruby and Mingyu carefully. You know you’re both waiting, impatiently, for them to leave you alone.

Leave, you silently beg, still trying to appear as casual as possible. Leaaaaave.

“You staying a little?” Ruby asks you, pausing halfway out of the hot tub.

“Yeah,” you say, trying to force your voice to stay casual. “I slept pretty late this morning - I’m not really tired yet.”

“Not all of us got up for sunrise yoga,” Chan says dryly, and Mingyu laughs, reaching for Ruby’s hand, clearly wanting to get inside.

“Okay, then,” Ruby says, her eyes still on you. “See you in the morning then.”

“Bye,” you tell her, and you have to fight the giggle out of your voice. You can’t help it - you feel giddy, nearly bouncing with excitement. You and Chan have been skirting the brink of something all day and you’re finally standing on the cusp of it, toes curled over the edge, ready to dive.

The second you hear the sliding door above you close, Chan’s hand is on your wrist again, pulling much more insistently than he had earlier in the day. Surprised, you let him tug you onto his lap, settling with your thighs bracketing his own, his hands wasting no time in finding your hips and pulling you more firmly against him.

His mouth is on yours, as insistent as his touch. You answer him readily, nearly sighing into his mouth as you get something you’ve wanted for years. You skate your hands up his chest and bring your arms around the back of his neck. He tips his head back a little, his hands sliding up your back, and the change in angle makes you sigh again.

“Thought they’d never leave,” he mutters against your jaw, and you let out a quick huff of a laugh before your breath leaves you entirely as his teeth nip a line down your neck, tongue and lips soothing behind each quick sting.

You chase his mouth, wanting him back, and he groans quietly when he realizes - like you wanting to continue kissing is just as good as actually kissing. But nothing is as good as the kissing, not if anyone asks you, nothing is as good as his tongue against yours, his teeth gentle on your lips, his hands clutching at your back and your arms and your hips like he can’t pick a favorite.

His hands roaming your body ignite you. You become only aware of their migration as they map the width of your shoulders, survey the dip of your waist, skate over your ass, then repeat the expedition. Your fingers have found his hair, curled up and held tight. He takes your hips in his hands and shifts you on his lap, causing you to tug slightly, and his exhale holds just the slightest hint of a whimper. You almost unravel, right there.

The shifted position also makes it absolutely unignorable that Chan is hard beneath you, and you can’t - don’t even try to - stop yourself from pressing yourself closer, your hips rolling almost involuntarily as soon as you feel him. Chan gasps at the sudden friction, his eyes squeezing shut for a second, like he’s already going under. Then his hands - frozen on your hips while his brain rebooted - come back to life, slipping up your ribs to cup both of your breasts over your bathing suit, giving one slow knead to both in tandem. You moan, low, unable to stop it, and he responds almost instantly, letting out an audibly shuddering breath.

He surges upwards to kiss you again, one thumb still rubbing circles against your hardening nipple, the other hand trailing back down your side and gripping your waist, holding you in place. You continue to move against him, his mouth hot against yours, the water bubbling around you and surrounding you in mist.

Chan’s nimble fingers leave your chest and work their way down between your bodies, pausing at the edge of your bathing suit bottoms. He looks up at you, pupils blown, panting out controlled little breaths like he’s fighting to keep himself in check.

Eyes unwavering on yours, watching your reactions closely, he slips his fingers between your legs, pressing the material against you, sliding down your slit and back deftly. His cock kicks beneath you when you whine. His gaze on you feels charged, almost like a challenge.

And then you’re blinded by a flash, followed almost instantly by an alarming crack of thunder.

“Fuck,” Chan hisses, twisting to peer out towards the ocean, his hands finding your hips again as if by instinct. “The storm.”

“Guess we have to head in,” you say, and it comes out wispy and breathless. Your legs feel like jelly and he’s barely even started.

“Yeah,” he says, the single syllable tight. He adjusts himself as you vacate the water, the rain beyond the safety of the deck seeming to redouble its efforts. You both hurry to turn the jets off and replace the cover, then stand at the edge of the dry space, looking out at the raging rain.

As hot and heavy as things were only a minute ago, you feel oddly still now, staring out at the storm. Chan places your towel over your shoulders.

“Thanks,” you say quietly, looking sideways at him.

“Ready?” he asks you, and you think he means ready to brave the storm. But your heart is answering another question - are you ready to continue, ready to move forward with him, ready to give life to something that has remained only a daydream in your mind?

“I don’t know,” you tell him honestly.

He slips his hand into yours. “I’ve got you,” he promises.

You move quickly but carefully through the rain, eyes on your feet as you take the slippery wooden stairs up the deck and towards the house. Chan doesn’t let go of your hand until you’re inside, sliding the door shut behind you. The house is dark and quiet, lit only by a single light above the kitchen sink. You both stand near the door and try to dry off, but your towels got soaked by the rain and don’t do much good.

“Come on,” Chan whispers. “There are fresh towels upstairs.”

You follow him through the house, up the stairs and down the darkened hallway. Chan pauses at the linen closet, pulling out two fluffy towels. You lead him into your shared room, closing and locking the door behind you as he clicks on one of the lamps.

Chan comes back into your space quietly, wraps you both in his towel, the spare forgotten on top of your dresser. You’re pressed tight together, warm in his arms. He presses his lips to the top of your head, leaving them resting there, just holding you. The moment is soft, heavy, a stark contrast to the lightning physicality of what happened outside. Something about the intimacy of it makes you feel hesitant.

“You okay?” he asks, pulling away a little to look at you.

“Yeah,” you breathe back. Your heart is racing. But it’s Chan. It’s Chan with his arms around you, and Chan who was kissing you and touching you, and - it all feels like something you aren’t allowed to have. “Just… maybe we shouldn’t?”

“We don’t have to,” he says immediately, shifting backwards and loosening his arms around you, giving you the option of pulling away if you want it. “We can do whatever you’re comfortable with. If you want to just go to bed… or if you want me to take the couch tonight, I can -”

“No,” you say quickly, because that’s the opposite of what you want. “No, it’s just… Chan…”

He seems to hear your uncertainty in your voice, his face softening and his arms pulling you back in. “What is it?” he asks quietly, and you slip your arms around his middle, giving in.

“I think I want this a lot more than you do,” you whisper, glad you don’t have to look at him while you say it.

He laughs, and you step back, looking at him quizzically. You’d been afraid of his reaction - of making him uncomfortable, of pushing the line too far. You hadn’t expected laughter.

“I don’t think that’s possible,” he tells you, and you just stare at him, not comprehending. He reaches up, fingers still clutching a corner of the towel wrapped loosely around his back, and brushes a thumb along your jaw. You feel your face warm, but you wait him out. He adds, “I want this… a ridiculous amount. I’ve wondered for a long time if we could… be more.”

He says it like a confession. He says it like he’s embarrassed about it.

“Well,” you say, a fire - a hope - coming back to life behind your ribcage, “maybe we should find out.”

And there it is, that smile that makes the whole world melt away.

The towel drops to the floor, forgotten, and his fingers are at the back of your neck, tugging on the knot that ties your bathing suit top in place. When the material falls away he makes a satisfied noise in his throat as he moves to kiss you again, walking you back towards the bed.

You’d both been eager, but when the mattress hits the backs of your thighs Chan lays you back slowly, almost reverently. He kisses you sweetly, tracing your jaw again, and then lets out another little laugh.

“What?” you breathe, smiling despite being clueless. “What’s funny?”

“Nothing. It’s not,” he says, but he’s still smiling, eyes tracing over your face and body. “It’s just… hard to believe this is real. That it’s you.”

Your breath leaves you. It’s exactly how you’ve felt.

“I know what you mean,” you whisper, and you kiss him again. This time he doesn’t hesitate when his hand slips between your legs, brushing right past your bathing suit and pushing the pads of his fingers into the wet mess he finds there. You shudder an exhale into his waiting mouth as he presses one finger and then a second deep into you, his eyes on you as you arch into the touch.

You let your eyes drift close as he pumps them slowly, and outside the room there’s another flash of lightning chased by the crack of thunder. For a little, there’s only the sound of rain beating against the windows as Chan works little whimpers and half moans out of you.

He switches his angle, something snagging behind your navel, everything beginning to tighten. You gasp his name, and you’re answered by his too-familiar huff of a laugh again.

“What?” you demand through your own smile.

“You say my name like that again and I’m gonna bust,” he tells you seriously. Then he brings his attention back to where his fingers disappear inside you, and his gaze sharpens. “These are in my way,” he murmurs, pulling out of you and reaching for your bathing suit, which had been pushed to the side.

“Yours too, then,” you object playfully, lifting your hips for him as he slides the damp material down your legs. He smiles at you indulgently and shuffles backwards on the back, standing long enough to tug at his swim trunks, letting them drop unceremoniously before crawling back up to you, pressing his mouth to yours and cupping your jaw with one hand, like he’d missed you in the seconds he’d been gone.

“Chan,” you whisper, because you need more of him, because this isn’t enough.

He slides lower down your body, his chest brushing against yours, his lips mapping a path down your sternum, down your belly, pausing near your navel. He looks up at you, all glinty-eyed, that million-dollar smile going slightly sideways, a little mischievous.

“Can I? Please say yes,” he says in a rush, pushing his nose into your lower belly and caressing your inner thighs with his thumbs.

You lean up on your elbows so you can look at him better. Your heart hasn’t stopped racing for a minute. He’s going to give you a cardiac event. “If you want to,” you tell him.

He laughs again, so quiet. “You have no idea,” he says, shaking his head, and then he’s attaching his mouth to you and your arms give out. You eye the ceiling, a strangled moan working up your throat as Chan’s tongue delves into your heat. You squirm, trying to push him deeper. He loops his arms under your legs and then reaches over, his hands pulling you tighter against his chin, both of you working to the same goal.

You hadn’t spent a lot of time imagining how Chan might eat pussy, but you’re surprised that he dives right into fucking you on his tongue, determined and rhythmic. You’d have pegged him for the type to go slow, draw it out, tease and taste and work you up little by little. Instead he grunts in satisfaction, pulls on you hard enough that you wonder if he’ll leave little bruises from his fingertips, and spears his tongue in and out of your hole with abandon, his nose bumping your clit every few thrusts.

You’re a whimpering mess, fighting the urge to roll your hips into his face, one hand slapped over your face to muffle the sound. He shifts, lips working their way up to your desperately pulsating clit, and you feel your whole body seize with the change of sensation, a long, low groan emanating from your chest. He suctions his lips around your clit and sucks gently, then a little less gently, and your feet scrabble against the sheets, trying to find purchase.

His fingers enter you again, his spit and your wetness giving them the perfect slide, and it’s exactly the extra stimulation you need. He only has to pump his wrist twice, that delicious suction steady around your clit, before you’re grasping desperately at him - one hand sliding into his hair and the other finding his wrist and holding tight, which doesn’t stop him at all from pistoning his fingers into that spot on your front wall that has you unraveling faster than you ever have before.

“Fuck, fuck, Chan -” you gasp. Your eyes squeeze shut and your grip on him might actually be painful, a belly-deep ahhhhh ripped from you as the onslaught of sensation sends conscious thought spinning away.

“Shhh,” he soothes, fingers slowly but continuing to work you through it. You whimper, gasp for a breath, the room coming back into view. “Not so loud, baby.”

“God, Chan,” you groan, releasing your hold on him, flexing your fingers.

He grins at you, lightning quick, then kisses the inside of your thigh. “That’s my girl.”

You peer at him, boneless. “You up for more?”

He pushes himself up on his elbows, the triumph not completely melted from his face yet. “I’m up for whatever you want,” he promises. “You’re calling the shots here.”

“Excellent,” you joke. You reach towards him, barely stop yourself from making grabby hands. “Come fuck me.”

He damn near scrambles to obey. He comes up to kiss you, deep and heady, and you hook one of your legs behind him, pulling him closer. The head of his cock slides along your slit and you tilt, trying to get him where you want him.

You look up at him, feeling like he hung the stars, and whisper his name. His answer is a bite of a kiss as he pushes himself into you, stopping only when his hips are flush with yours.

“Shit, you feel so good,” he breathes, eyes closed for a second, as he holds himself over you.

“Please move,” you beg, needing more.

“God,” he groans. “Okay. Okay. I got you.”

And he does. Chan fucks like he moves - quick and precise, each motion purposeful. His eyes have narrowed with focus, brows slightly furrowed with exertion as his hips snap. He slides one hand under you to help lift you, the angle changing just slightly.

“Yeah,” you breathe, desperation lacing your voice. “There.”

The drag of him is delicious, and so is the feeling of his body under your hands, and so is the sound of his ragged breath mixed with occasional gasps and groans. It’s the fact that it’s Chan driving you even higher.

A crack of thunder sounds directly overhead, and Chan takes the moment to roll you over, laying back and letting you straddle his lap without even slipping from inside you. You whine as the new position drives him deeper than he’d been before, your hands splayed over his pecs. He’s breathing rapidly now, struggling to keep his eyes open as he continues to fuck you from below.

“I-I’m - so -” he pants, “close. Really close, baby.”

You lean down to kiss him, his arms coming up around your shoulders to pull you chest to chest until his strokes grow sloppy and his hands tighten on you. You kiss along his jaw sweetly until he releases you with a sigh. He kisses you once more before he pulls out, and then again when he returns from the bathroom with a damp cloth.

“I might need to actually shower,” you muse.

“Yeah, okay,” he says easily, nodding. “Maybe I’ll go after you. I smell like chlorine.”

You shrug. “Might as well just join me. If you want.”

He grins. He follows you into the bathroom, waits with you while the water heats up. And then he fucks you again, against the cool tiles of the shower wall.

Later, back in bed, you face each other through the dark.

“I should have said earlier,” you whisper. “But I’ve liked you for a long time, too.”

His smile makes you feel full of sunshine, even when it’s shy, even when he’s asking what you want to do about it. Especially when he’s asking you, "What are you doing next Saturday?"

Tonight, the decision to cuddle is made while you’re awake. When you wake up in the morning, sunlight streaming through the windows, Chan wastes no time in reaching between your legs, finding you ready, and rolling over top of you, pushing between your thighs before he even has his eyes all the way open.

When you both emerge from your bedroom, stomachs growling and with the beginnings of a caffeine headache, your friends are all sitting at the kitchen table, surrounded with the evidence of a breakfast come and gone. They begin a slow clap, eventually lauding you in a mostly sarcastic but still loving round of applause. 

“It’s about time,” Mingyu grouses. “You two have been circling each other forever.”

“Shh,” you tell him, as Chan slips his arm over your shoulders with a grin. “Not so loud.”

thank you for reading!!! <3

[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

[kkaetnipjeon]

slow motion | lc

→ pairing: baseball player!chan x f!reader (exes-to-lovers) → warnings: angst; smut (minors DNI); crying; breakup and makeup; a small injury; oklahoma slander; mental health issues; mentions of alcohol/drunkenness; soonyoung is a shithead. → word count: 9.4k → note: for the aju league collab! this is officially the longest fic i've ever written and it is abundantly clear why i don't write fics longer than 4k but please be nice i'm trying my best </3 thank you to our illustrious general managers @sailorsoons and @100vern for hosting this dream collab! and thank you especially to halison for answering my million qs about baseball. also this fic is dedicated to @daechwitatamic who loves chan and baseball (in that order). sorry we stole edwin diaz. i miss baseball (mostly i miss the dodgers burying everyone else and everyone else complaining about it). chan is heavily inspired by hyeseong kim who is currently my favorite player. please check out all the other collab fics here. 

——

January 2025

Los Angeles is loud. 

Chan feels it the moment he steps off the jet bridge and into the bustling international terminal at LAX. Conversations echo in the cavernous space—a flustered mother corralling her small tribe of children, a gaggle of teenage girls wearing matching school uniforms, an older guy in a suit barking into a smartphone. It's overwhelming, and a stark contrast to the near-silence of the first class lounge at Incheon, where he'd sipped an iced americano and ignored the trays of pasta and steak and salad, nerves knotting his stomach.

He's used to noise. Baseball games in Korea—they're a spectacle. Rowdy. The muffled quiet of his car always felt stifling after an evening surrounded on all sides by clamoring, drunken fans, everyone from infants in protective earmuffs to senior citizens reliving their glory days. He lived among them, once. He'd choke down fried chicken with sips of Chilsung and scream himself hoarse in the stands for his favorites—Ryu Hyunjin, Lee Daeho, Oh Seunghwan. He'd let himself get swept away by the spectacle of it all. Would head straight to the batting cages after the last inning of each game, aching to feel the crack of a baseball bat buzzing in his own hands. 

He's the spectacle now. He stops short just a few yards from the point of no return, stymied by the sight of his own face plastered across a row of televisions above the arrivals board.

"... Dodgers are placing their bets on twenty-five-year-old Chan Lee from South Korea. Stacy, what can you tell us about Lee? I mean, the last big Dodger we had from South Korea was Hyunjin Ryu—Chanho Park, before him—it's been quite a while since we've had this much buzz over a Korean player, hasn't it? Hyunjin Ryu was the first to make the leap from the KBO, and that was already almost a decade ago."

"That's absolutely right, Chuck, and it might be too early to say, but Lee is worth every bit of buzz floating around the league. MLB scouts have had their eye on this kid since he was eleven years old. He was drafted right out of high school into the KBO by the Kiwoom Heroes, and had a brief stint in the KBO minors before a steady rise to the top in the years following—"

"—I mean, Stacy, it's not often we get major stars from Korea, right? We have Ohtani and Yamamoto and Sasaki from Japan, all in the last year alone, but historically Korean stars have been harder to come by."

"That may have been true in the past, Chuck, but I sense a shift in the league's attention. I think Chan Lee shows incredible potential, and scouts have been overlooking South Korea's immense talent pool for far too long. Only time will truly tell, but I think Lee's got what it takes to make a huge splash in his debut MLB season...."

"Chan-ssi?"

Chan's head snaps to the left. Some guy—Korean, by the looks of him—in a black leather jacket waves frantically in his direction, holding up a sign with his name (in Korean and English) printed on it. His agent told him to look out for the Dodger rep-slash-translator who'd meet him at LAX and help him get settled, and this guy looks like he fits the bill.

The guy sinks into a deep bow the second Chan approaches—flustered, Chan hurries to mirror the gesture. "I'm Kim Mingyu," the guy says, breaking into a megawatt smile. "I—well—I'm your tour guide for the day. And, like, for the rest of your career with the Dodgers, too? Are you—here." Mingyu reaches over, clumsily grabbing the pull-up handle of Chan's carry-on. "You checked your bags, right?"

Chan dissociates for a second. The noise inside the terminal threatens his sanity, but once he walks out past TSA, it's flat-out unbearable. The chaos increases by an order of magnitude out here, with the addition of non-travelers, gate agents arguing with passengers, and the violent grating of suitcase wheels against the tile. He blinks, just barely keeping up with Mingyu's stream-of-consciousness chatter as they wind their way through the crowd and to the baggage claim.

There was a time he envied America. He had classmates, relatives, neighbors growing up who were in his life one day and gone the next—their visa applications finally approved, off to start a new life across the Pacific Ocean. Back then, America was the land of opportunity. Korea felt so small. Limited. Monolithic. A speck of a country, too small to contain any dream worth having.

It's still beautiful, America. In its own way. Every KBO player had once aspired to the MLB, if even for a fleeting moment. He loved the Heroes, loved playing games in sweltering July humidity. When he played in Korea, he looked out at the stands and saw his people. He was making his country proud. 

In America, though? Brushing elbows with international superstars, the chance to clutch a World Series trophy in his hands, playing among the best of the best, top recruits from all over the world, players he'd followed for nearly a decade? He'd be a moron to pass that up, even if it meant leaving everything behind.

Everything.

He looks up when the monologue suddenly falters to a close and finds Mingyu staring at him. Amused, because Chan clearly wasn't listening, but also a flicker of something else. Sympathy, or pity, maybe.

"It's a lot out here, huh?" Mingyu looks back at the luggage carousel, which has yet to creak to life. "I miss it, too. But you get used to it, being out here. There's a huge Korean community of Dodger fans, you know. Almost feels like home after a while."

Chan doubts it. It felt like a dream to be signed by the Dodgers, to a city full of Korean food and direct flights to Incheon. He asked for accommodations in the Hollywood Hills for its proximity to Koreatown, the pulsing, glowing heart of the city, where he could drop by noraebangs and sooljips and hear the soothing, rounded syllables of his native language.

Really, though, he knows it'll never feel like home.

Not without you.

——

March 2025

Your apartment is so damn silent.

There are lots of people to blame for you sitting alone in a Seoul officetel on a Thursday afternoon, sweating your ass off from the humidity and wrangling your life into a laughably tiny set of boxes from the moving company. Yourself, for starters. If you just hadn't mouthed off about your client mid-meeting, fed up with the endless iterative pitches and email chains with "constructive feedback"… well, you might not be out of a job. You might be employed—suffering, perhaps, but employed nonetheless—and in a blessedly air-conditioned office building in Yongsan, sipping an iced americano. Of course you'd make the rent. Why wouldn't you, with that sweet paycheck hitting your bank account so often it's become a foregone conclusion, the way the Han River freezes over in the winter and mosquitoes will come calling in the summer?

If you were still employed, you probably wouldn't be stripped down to a camisole and boy shorts, trying to force a lid shut over the last of your kitchenware. You wouldn't be ignoring the massive and ever-swelling lump in your throat at the idea of moving back to Incheon—back to your parents' apartment, back to square one. You wouldn't be casting your gaze over the bare, shoebox-sized space of your studio and wondering how the hell everything went so wrong, wondering at how pathetic you've become now that he's not here and you don't have him to prop you up, to drag you along, to keep you warm at night.

He's far away now. Even further than before. Try as you might to block everything baseball out of your existence, mentions of it—mentions of him—still manage to filter through once in a while. This time, it came through your high school alumni Kakao room. Have you heard, signed to a $12.5 million contract, starting spring training soon, who knew Dongsan High School could produce such a star. 

He's rising, stratospheric, finding his place in the world the way you knew he always would, and he left you behind, and you're much worse for the wear, and part of you wonders if maybe he sensed something that you didn't. If he could tell you wouldn't be worth keeping around when he ascended, so he ended it before either of you could waste your time to find out. 

Before you can stop yourself, you're thinking of everything again. Furtive glances across a high school classroom. Holding hands on playground swings. Staying up late to exchange texts and falling asleep with your phone under your cheek. Cold beers and chicken by the Han River, the soft drunken heat of his body in a batting cage, cheering in the stands at Gocheok Sky Dome and waiting until you got to the car before kissing him silly, pouring everything into him—affection, pride, the entirety of your heart.

Your life began with him, your adolescent memories all colored by his cheeky smile, and you wonder sometimes if it ended when he left. You want to blame him, too, for the current state of affairs. 

If only he hadn't broken up with you. If only he had broken up with you earlier, before you upended your plans to study in America to go to college in Seoul, just to be with him while he found his footing in the big leagues. If only he had ended things before the two of you became inseparable in your mind, a planet orbiting its star—wherever you go, he goes, and vice versa. 

Untrue, though, isn't it? You had gone wherever he went, but his career always came before you. When he got sent down to the Futures after his first six games, it was you he pushed aside to devote his life to getting back up. Date nights and sleepovers and midnight phone calls moved to the back burner while he worked his ass off in the minors, and only once he was called back up to the Heroes did he make space for you again. 

You were always the planet. He was always the star, and at the time, you didn't mind. You didn't think twice about it, because he was the single great love of your life and you were just honored to bear witness to everything he was. His success was your success. Everything he did felt like an achievement of your own.

Even now, you don't feel resentful. The ache that pulses deep in your chest now could be called a lot of things—anger, hurt, concern—but never hate. You want to hate him, want to feel relief now that he's out of your life for good, but you don't. 

Instead, like always, you just miss him. Which is infinitely worse, and infinitely less bearable. It's been three months since he up and walked out of your life forever, and everyone had told you that time heals all wounds, that the pain would lose its sting, but three months later it still feels fresh. The memory of him, and the life he left behind, and it'll take more time than this to stitch up the gaping hole in your chest. Several lifetimes' worth.

You're yanked out of your spiral of misery by the sound of your door lock beeping—someone punching in the passcode. The lock emits a cheerful little tune, and before you can even wonder who it is, Soonyoung is marching through your door. Wonwoo in tow, looking disheveled and reluctant.

"Hey! Sorry, I know I'm technically banned or whatever from letting myself in but I figured you might want company and it's like pulling teeth getting you to admit you want me to hang out with you and since you haven't bothered to change the code even though you keep threatening to I think it's okay to let myself—oh, what the fuck."

You glare up from your cross-legged, and objectively pathetic, position on the floor. "What."

"You're crying? Again?" Soonyoung sighs and casts his eyes helplessly around the room, as if looking for a tissue. Wonwoo just stands in the corner, resembling nothing so much as a coat rack. Useless, per usual. "Look, like I said last week, Mr. Kang's a dick. And, yes, we possibly could have chosen our words more carefully, but in the end they were really just looking for an excuse to reduce headcount. You know the economy's not good. Or whatever."

"It's not about that, moron."

"Okay, rude?"

You wipe your eyes with the hem of your camisole. You're too tired to care if you're flashing your bra at Soonyoung—he's the opposite of interested, disgusted at best. You might care about Wonwoo another day, but—well, you're moving out. Moving to Incheon, for good probably, and you'll most likely never see him again. Soonyoung either, for that matter, and Soonyoung's now undoing all the hard work you'd put into packing the kitchenware, rummaging around for a washcloth or a paper towel, but the thought of giving up Friday night chimaek and hangover stew at Yunho Kitchen for an indefinite period of time still prompts a fresh wave of tears.

You like to think you won Soonyoung and Wonwoo in the divorce, fair and square, but in reality they were stuck with you by default when Chan made the leap to the MLB. They were Chan's seniors from high school baseball, though they'd all taken different paths afterward—Wonwoo went to SNU and bagged a software engineering role at SK, and Soonyoung played U-League for Hongdae before moving onto a marketing and publicity role for the Kia Tigers. (You have no idea who let him run their Instagram, but you were practically forced to hit follow at gunpoint and, given the unbecoming memes he's taken to posting, it's a miracle he hasn't been fired yet.)

It had always been the four of you. Three at the start, maybe, because Chan had befriended them first, but you and Chan had been attached at the hip by the time he met them. 

And now, three again. 

"Here. Here." Soonyoung moves to sit on the floor beside you, a roll of kitchen towel in hand, and gingerly pats your back. "I don't know what you're sniffling about but please don't get snot on my shirt. It's Acne Studios and it cost practically an entire paycheck."

You roll your eyes. "Noted. Now get the hell out of my apartment."

"Not yours for much longer, though, is it." Soonyoung plucks the roll out of your hand. "Wonwoo and I decided, out of the goodness of our hearts and the purity of our souls, to help you pack up your belongings. On the condition that you buy us lunch. Nothing cheap like jjajangmyeon, either. I want Italian."

Say what you will about Soonyoung—and you've said many things, choice words that would scandalize your grandmother into an early demise—but his methods are effective. As in, every ounce of melancholy you were feeling two seconds prior has been erased instantly, replaced by a unique, simmering rage. A begrudgingly affectionate kind of rage, but rage nonetheless.

"I didn't invite you over," you point out.

"I know. I heard your cries of distress. It's like the bat signal, but only I can see it."

"What about Wonwoo?"

Soonyoung looks over at the couch, where Wonwoo is currently blinking at the pile of books you gave up sorting halfway through, and sighs. "He's here for emotional support."

"He's not being very supportive."

"I meant emotional support for me. I can't possibly deal with you by myself."

You whack him with a cushion. "Don't you have a full-time job you're supposed to be at?"

Soonyoung just sighs again, world-weary. "PTO, babe. Paid time off? Have you already forgotten how the corporate world—oof."

You bury your face in Soonyoung's shoulder, squeezing him tight. He might be the world's biggest pain in the ass, but he's your pain in the ass. You wonder if this is how divorced mothers feel about their kids: The breakup was awful, gut-wrenching, but at least you got something good out of the relationship. Something worth saving. 

Anyone else would have cut off ties, whether slowly or all at once, but not Soonyoung (and, you suppose, Wonwoo). You don't know if that makes them dumb or loyal. Either way, you appreciate it.

Wonwoo clears his throat. "Look, this is really sweet and all, but we actually came here because—"

"Oh. Yeah." Soonyoung peels you off of him. "We're here to help you pack, but you're not moving back to Incheon."

"Shut up. You know I can't afford to stay here. Not unless you've got a job offer for me."

"You're not staying here."

Soonyoung has a funny look on his face. One that gives you almost immediate indigestion and has you picturing every worst case scenario—all of which end with you dead, seriously maimed, or both. Wonwoo's eyes dart between the two of you, lip quirked up like he knows something you don't, and you feel the sudden urge to whack him again.

"What," you say, heat prickling at the back of your neck. "What in God's name is so funny—"

"Well, you are going to Incheon." Soonyoung digs around in his back pocket. Comes up with a piece of paper, a folded-up printout of something that he hands to you, looking pleased as punch.

You unfold it. With some apprehension. 

"Just not, like, to your parents' house."

All you have to read is Flight Details before you're crumpling it up and chucking it back in his direction. "No. Absolutely not."

"Look, he's not doing so great out there—"

"Bullshit." You stalk over to the kitchen to re-pack your things, hands itching for something to do. Anything. "He's literally signed with the Dodgers. One of the best teams in all of baseball. He's living in Los Angeles. Why the fuck would he not be doing great."

"He won't say as much, but—come on. You know Chan. He doesn't like to talk about things. He didn't do so well in spring training—"

"He's new. What, did he think he was going to show everyone up the second he got there?"

"Y/N."

You can count on one hand the number of times Soonyoung's taken that tone with you. The first being when you tanked a midterm junior year, got drunk, and had Chan find you passed out at a bar after hours of missed calls—Soonyoung stopped by your dorm and gave you an earful then, screaming about how inconsolable Chan had been, how worried all of them were, how you were absolutely not allowed to scare any of them like that again. Another time, he abused his Find My Friends privileges to discover you walking on the Banpo Hangang Bridge at midnight in a fugue state, a week or two after Chan dumped you. He found you standing just a bit too close to the railing, mere feet away from the government-operated suicide hotline phone, and assumed the worst. Dragged you home by the collar of your sweater and camped out in your living room until he was convinced you wouldn't do anything drastic, that you were through the worst of it.

You're sure there have been other instances Soonyoung spoke to you like this—his voice dropping in volume, eyes softening with a mix of pity and frustration. Like he can't quite figure out how to get through to you. You find yourself staring at the floor, unable to bear the weight of his gaze.

"I know you hate him," he says, slowly. "I know—I know what he did, I know it was really tough on you—"

You look up, heat rising in your chest. "Tough on me?"

Soonyoung takes a step back, eyes wide, hands up in the air in surrender. "Hey—"

You're a firework. Lit up. Beyond stopping. "Yeah, I do hate him. Know why? I loved him, and I thought he loved me, too. Until he left me with no warning, because he was going somewhere big—somewhere bigger—and he didn't want me there with him."

"Y/N, that's not—"

"He didn't want me. He made that more than clear. I don't know what the hell you're playing at, but I don't think going to the city where he lives when he's already in the trenches is going to help. At all."

"Y/N. He only broke up with you because—"

You're on the verge of tears again. "I don't care why he broke up with me! He broke up with me! There's nothing else to it! He didn't want me!"

"Please, would you just—"

You turn your back to him, your waterline threatening to overflow. "Get out."

Soonyoung huffs a sigh. "I am not—"

"Out. Both of you. Please, just get out of my apartment and leave me alone."

A few beats of silence pass, but eventually they oblige. There's the creak of the couch as Wonwoo gets up, the gentle shuffle of their socked feet against the floor. The tritone beep of your front door as it opens. Then:

"I left the flight details on your couch. And the boarding pass is in your inbox." Soonyoung sounds resigned. And serious. Two things you're not used to hearing—not from him, at least. "You don't have to, but you should go. If you can. I really do think that would help—both of you. Not just him."

A brief pause, and then something unexpected. Not from Soonyoung, but from Wonwoo.

"He really does miss you, Y/N."

Before you can respond, the door shuts behind them with a soft click.

—-

May 2025

All things considered, Chan could be doing better.

Spring training had gone like shit. He remembers stepping off the plane in Arizona, that first hit of arid, white-hot wind—so unlike the wet warmth of Korea, the waterlogged air he was used to in early spring. Barely keeping his head above water, struggling to stay afloat in an ocean of English. Everything from the food to the smell of the detergent on his sheets putting a pit in his stomach, an uneasy feeling he couldn't quite shake.

And then the announcement last month. He knew it was coming, the way he'd struggled with the bat in spring training. Against southpaw pitchers, especially. Found out all too quickly that back in Korea, he'd been a big fish in a small pond. Among the true greats, the superstars he'd fervently admired and followed from Korea, he wound up being nothing but a shrimp. Krill. Plankton.

Still, it stung when the final decision was made, after an all-too-brief conversation with Mingyu and his manager—he'd start off the season in the minors. He tried to convince himself that a stint in Triple-A would end up being a bump in the road. A dozen or so of his teammates said as much, stopping by at dinner or his accommodations to clap a hand on his back and tell him to keep his head up. He stayed up late scrolling through biographies of his favorite players, reminding himself of the countless names who'd stumbled for a season or two before going on to establish themselves as legends of the game. This was a possibility he'd accepted when he signed the one contract that he was offered without a no-minors clause—he wanted to be a Dodger, even if it meant time out of the limelight.

A steep fall, going from four-time KBO Golden Glove winner to a relative unknown in a ballpark built for a tiny audience, in a flyover state over a thousand miles from his initial destination. Against the flashing lights and pounding heartbeat of activity in LA and Seoul, Oklahoma City feels even smaller and quieter. Sometimes, when he's feeling extra pathetic, he taps over to the Dodgers' Instagram profile and scrolls down to the post they'd made back in January, back when he first signed, to welcome him to the team. Just to remind himself that it was real—that the feeling of triumph, of having finally made it to the top, wasn't a fever dream.

The most agonizing part? In the all-consuming silence of his stale, pre-furnished luxury apartment, all he can think about is you.

The feeling of someone stepping on his chest, crushing his lungs under their heels, reminds him of the night before his Heroes debut, back in 2017. When you stayed the night at his place and cooked him food that reminded him of home—soy sauce-braised beef, stir-fried anchovy with pine nuts, fluffy purple rice with chickpeas mixed in. Held him tight against yourself to lull him to sleep, whispering memories into his hair: Remember our senior trip to Gyeongju and sneaking in through the windows and playing spin the bottle after our teachers fell asleep. Remember texting each other under our desks at hagwon and staying late to mop the floors because we got caught. Remember that night at the batting cages, when you kissed me and I tasted like Terra beer, the first drink I'd ever had. Remember when you got drafted and our lives changed forever.

Our lives. Like it was obvious. Like your threads being intertwined forever was inevitable, an obvious outcome, ordained by a higher power.

Long after you fell asleep, the rhythm of your breath evening out under his cheek, he couldn't. The rapid-fire of his heartbeat kept him up, made him feel like a caged animal with a gun pointed through the bars, and after some time he slipped out of your arms and went to sit cross-legged in front of the window. He'd moved into a sparsely furnished studio in an apartment complex for young professionals, on a quiet block between the Sky Dome and an elementary school. On a night without fans and vendors packing the venue, silence blanketed the streets. 

He didn't know how long he sat there before you joined him, a soft hand coming to rest on his shoulder. You didn't say anything. Just sat down beside him and patted your lap, and he laid down on the floor with his head on your thigh and fell asleep like that. He slept until the sun came up, and the next night he played an entirely unremarkable game, but it didn't matter because after the stands emptied and the crowds went home and the dust settled around home plate, you were there. Waiting for him with the biggest smile he'd ever seen, racing to throw your arms around his neck, and he could have sworn you were an angel.

Now, he scrapes whatever's left of the cucumber kimchi out of a styrofoam cup before remembering it doesn't matter here—Americans all throw their trash out in the same place, and he doesn't have to separate food from plastic or styrofoam or anything else. It became a ritual of his to eat Korean food before an important game, but something about the meal that arrived at his doorstep felt all wrong. The gochugaru caking the cucumber didn't look the same shade of red it did back home; the beef bones hadn't boiled quite long enough for the broth to take on a milky, collagen-sticky consistency. He got about five choked bites in before the nerves closed up his stomach.

He has got to relax. It's not the first time he's been to the minors. Happened when he was on the Heroes, too, just six games into the season. As a rookie, he played too dirty, too hungry. Too unpolished. With a less-than-impressive start, the powers-that-be decided a stint in the farm league would do him good, and it did, and now look at him.

He's just decided to call it an early night and attempt to sleep when his phone rings, the cheerful, insipid tune that signals a Kakao call. 7 PM in Oklahoma City is 9 AM in Korea. His mother will sometimes call around this time, even though he's usually at batting practice or in the middle of a game outright. He lets it go unanswered—his chest feels too tight to speak, and if he picks up, he knows the dam will burst—knows every pent-up, buried moment of insecurity will come pouring out of him, and tonight doesn't feel like a night for—

The ringtone, again. Chan frowns. It's not like his mom to call twice in a row. He walks over to where his phone sits on the counter and flips it over.

The name on the screen has him choking. Has him hitting the button to answer the call in blind panic, though if he had any sense of self-preservation he'd let it go unanswered again.

"Hello?"

"Chan?"

It's you. It's your voice. It's you. Chan's breath stops. Sputters to life again.

"Lee Chan!"

"Um—um. Hi. What—?"

"Let me in, will you? Soonyoung's a moron and he gave me your building's address but not your apartment number, and the bitch isn't picking up his phone, and did you know there are zero direct flights to fuckass Oklahoma from Seoul? I didn't even know Oklahoma was a state until last week. I had to fly to Atlanta, and then Oklahoma. Back in the opposite direction. I swear, you make my life so difficult even when you're trying so damn hard not to be a part of it. By the way, who's Will Rogers and why'd they name an entire airport after him? Americans make everything so complicated. How the hell are you supposed to know that the Will Rogers International Airport is in Oklahoma if you've never—oh. Hi."

Chan bursts through the front door of his building, gasping for air, and there you are. 

You're standing on the sidewalk in sweats, looking distinctly rumpled from what he guesses was over fourteen hours of travel. Your hair's falling out of a scrunchie and you're not wearing a bit of makeup and you're in those glasses that swallow half your face, but still—

You're an angel. 

He moves, as fast as he can go, and the next thing he knows you're back in his arms, and everything's right again.

Finally.

—— 

It was hard not to pick apart the breakup.

Didn't feel real, at least for the first few nights. You often wound up not seeing him for days, sometimes weeks, at a time—when baseball season picked up, or when final exams came around, time apart became inevitable. You were used to a few days of silence, a few nights without him next to you in bed.

It was only when Soonyoung came around with delivery chicken and beer, pretending he just wanted to hang out when in reality you knew he was checking to make sure you were alive, that everything hit you, all at once. That the words Chan said—moving onto different things, don't know what my future looks like, you deserve a life free from all of this—sunk in, and the magnitude of it brought you to your knees.

He wasn't coming back. He left you, and the relationship was over, just like that. He could pack the grenade in as much pretty wrapping paper as he'd like, could claim all the charitable excuses in the world, but in the end nothing would shield you from the explosion.

You could see, as misguided as it was, how Chan would think breaking up with you was the kindest thing to do. He'd always been like that, self-sacrificing to the point of stupidity. But you loved him enough to try. Even if his MLB salary wouldn't have been enough to support both of you, you would have found a job. You would have moved back to Korea and visited Chan when you could. Done something, anything, as long as it meant not losing him.

Perhaps he just didn't love you enough to do the same. Maybe that's what he was trying to tell you, with honey-coated words that didn't ease the sting—that he didn't want to keep going, that this was over for him.

And that's what you told yourself, too. Until the date on Soonyoung's flight printout rolled around, and on pure impulse you left a note for your parents, hopped on a taxi to the airport, and—seventeen brutal hours of travel later—finally landed at the illustrious Will Rogers International Airport. 

Anyway. You've spent plenty of the last few months thinking, enough to drive you mad—mad to the point of flying to America for the first time ever, just to see your ex-boyfriend, who you're not even sure wants to see you. Enough thinking, because you've got a mission at hand.

There's only one Korean market anywhere near Oklahoma City, and it's tiny, and it still has the word "Oriental" in its name, but it'll do for tonight. They have thinly sliced brisket and doenjang, anyway, and that'll suffice until Chan gets back to playing in a real city. 

"Do you have any vegetables at home?" you ask. Sigh at the blank, distinctly terrified look on Chan's face. What did you expect, really. "Okay. That's a no. Zucchini and enoki mushrooms, then? And a Napa cabbage, too?"

You were aghast at the state of Chan's apartment. Most of his meals are delivered or eaten with the team, true, but you have never seen such bare cupboards in your life. Not even a box of Pop-Tarts. No rice cooker, either, so microwaveable white rice it is, even though it smells and tastes like plastic.

"You're paying for all of this, by the way." You roll the cart to the checkout. "I just got fired from my job, so—"

"Fired?" He finally looks up at this, forehead wrinkled.

Yes, and you would have known if you hadn't gone no contact. You smile at the ahjusshi standing at the register. "Yeah. Fired. Take out your wallet, all-star."

Chan's eyebrows are still knit together by the time he calls a Lyft to take the two of you back to his building. On instinct, you reach across the middle seat to smooth out the crease in his forehead with your thumb. 

Chan's always been one to worry, if quietly. You remember with vivid clarity all those nights he couldn't fall asleep for one reason or another. In high school, before big games that scouts would come to watch; before he was drafted to the Heroes; before the start of the 2022 Asian Games. You'd stay up late on the phone in high school—then, as you got older and moved out of your parents' houses, you'd hold him in bed and gently run your fingers through his hair.

You wonder how he's been faring all this time, one big night after another without a single familiar face to soothe him, an entire ocean and then some away from everything he knows. Away from you.

To Chan's credit, he manages to hold in his questions until you're set up in his kitchen, water boiling while you work the world's dullest knife through a head of cabbage.

"How—why are you even—how are you here?" he manages. He's sitting on a bar stool on the other side of the counter, eyes trained on your hands. "Why are you here?"

"Soonyoung." You stir a heap of doenjang into the water. You'd use a sieve to work out the chunks of soybean, but Chan doesn't have one on hand. "He bought the plane ticket and everything."

"What about your job?"

You shrug. Drop in the zucchini. Throw a couple of cheongyang peppers in there, too, for good measure. "Like I said. I got fired. I mouthed off to my supervisor and that was the end of it. I was—I'd packed up my stuff to move back to Incheon, but Soonyoung said—well, it just seemed like a good time to come here, instead. Ow, fuck—"

The stupid dull blade caught the side of your index finger. You immediately drop the knife and bring your hand up to inspect it, but Chan's faster. He's standing up and pressing a paper towel to your hand before you can even get a good look at it. 

You try not to think about how close he is. How warm his hands are. How nice he smells.

"Damn it, Y/N," he mutters. "Hold it there for a second."

He disappears into the hall closet. Emerges with bandaids, Neosporin, an antiseptic wipe. He's gentle as he cleans and wraps your cut, brow furrowed again in concentration, and it takes everything to keep your hands to yourself, to stop from reaching over to smooth it out again.

Because here's the thing you love most about Chan—present tense, because it sinks in just then that you do still love him, so much that all of this, being near him without really having him, sends a pulsing, raw ache throughout your body. You love how careful he is with you, how softly he speaks to you, how he treats you like you're something precious. He's an athlete, yes, but he's not like most of the guys you know from childhood. He's never been hypermasculine, has never raised his voice or slammed a door. Just carried himself with a quiet, soothing confidence, soft but unyielding.

It's why you fell in love with him, you think. And it's why you fell so hard when he left.

"There," he says. He releases your finger, satisfied with his work. "Go sit down over there. I'll finish up with this."

You snort. "I have a cut, Chan. I haven't broken my hand."

He pauses for a moment, and then takes a step back. "Okay," he says quietly. "If you're sure."

He's so serious. Nervous, even, moving slowly and carefully like his every move is under scrutiny, and maybe it is. The Chan you're used to is lighthearted, unburdened, easy to smile and even quicker to laugh, and to make you laugh. This Chan has a constant wrinkle in his brow, tension pulling his shoulders taut. You frown a little before turning back to the stove.

Dinner comes together quickly after that. Chan sets the table, and helps you carry over the boiling pot of doenjang jjigae, and for a minute it feels like nothing's changed. You and Chan at a table, sharing the food he claimed to love so much—your cooking. In a city full of delivery apps and convenience store meals, all he ever wanted to eat was the food you made in your tiny kitchen. The dishes you made time to prepare between classes and club meetings and Heroes games because you loved him, and wanted him to feel loved.

In a way, nothing has changed. You're still here, albeit thousands of miles away from that kitchen, because you love him. You're making an entire meal with a pathetic assortment of tools and ingredients because you want him to feel loved. Even when he doesn't love you.

Christ, you're fucked.

You watch as he takes the first bite. Then another, and then another, all in quick succession, until he's nearly halfway through his bowl.

"Slow down." You get up, grab a water bottle from his fridge, and hand it to him uncapped. "You're going to get indigestion."

Chan takes a sip of the water. "He was a comedian."

"Who?"

"Will Rogers." He pokes around the little kimchi dish. He only likes the leafy pieces, which is just as well because you only like the crunchy ones. "He was a comedian. And an actor, I think. He was a performer, writer, everything—he was really famous. Everyone loved him. Really old, though. Like, he died in the 1930s or something."

You nod, taking this in. It's so like Chan to remember something you'd said in passing and to circle back to it. So like him to cling to every word, no matter how flippant.

"So… are you going to tell me what's actually going on?"

"With what?"

Chan looks up. Smiles a little. There he is. "With you."

What is there even to say? You watch, your own bowl going cold, as Chan picks his spoon up again. I've been miserable? I've been sleeping and eating like shit? I've been doing so bad at work I managed to get myself fired? I've been waking up in the middle of the night looking for you when you're obviously not there? 

Yeah, no. You take a bite of rice to avoid answering. A second later, you slide your bowl across the counter, because you realize Chan's finished his already.

"It's not a trick question." 

"You go first, then."

"Okay. I missed you."

They're the words you've been wanting to hear. And yet.

"Chan—"

"Wait. Please—just. Hold on."

You run a hand over your face and sit back in your chair. "Okay. Sorry. Go on."

"I—I mean, this obviously isn't what I wanted, right. I knew it would be a possibility, and I knew there would be an adjustment period, but—this?" He gestures around him. "Being in the asscrack of nowhere, even if just for a little while? This is what I was afraid of, baby."

Baby. The pet name slips out, almost unnoticed. His breath catches for a second, but he presses on.

"You know Soonyoung called so many times. Left me dozens of texts a day. Gave me hell for what I did. Still does. And trust me, I know I deserve it. I—I know it was bad, I just—please know it wasn't because I stopped loving you."

You hate crying. Add that to the list of Chan's crimes, you suppose.

"You have to know that I thought I was doing what was best. I knew that I was going to America, but then what? What if I never left the minors? What if I got released, or traded, or just never took off the way I wanted? I couldn't do that to you—I didn't want to leave you hanging in Korea, or worse, have you come with me only to never settle down anywhere. It's—life on the road, life as a major league player, it's not easy. I loved you too much. I couldn't do it."

"But I would have," you say, voice shaking. "I would have been okay as long as I had you. I would have made it work. You should have let me decide that for myself. It's one thing if you just didn't want me anymore—"

"Never," Chan chokes out, looking stricken. "Never. I have never, ever stopped loving you."

He reaches for your hands. Desperate to hold you, to touch you, to pour into you every emotion punched tight into his chest. But you pull back, hands curling into tiny fists.

"This is so—so unfair, I can't even—" You draw an uneven breath, burying your face in your hands. "I never once thought about leaving you, because I knew my life would always be something I did with you. Do you know how insanely fucked up it was to find out you didn't feel the same way? That between baseball and me, you wouldn't even try to choose both? Chan, I get choosing baseball, I get choosing America, I get putting yourself first, but you left me so easily—"

"Easily," he interrupts, bristling. "You have no idea how much it killed me to leave you—"

"Then why did you do it?"

"Because I loved you! And trust me, leaving was anything but selfish. I wanted you to do better than what I could give you. I wanted you to have a life that didn't get uprooted every year or even every other year. And this isn't even including all the nights I'd be halfway or all the way across the country and leaving you, and not being able to spend time with you—baby, I wanted you to have the life you deserve, the career you deserve—I wanted you to have everything that I knew I couldn't give you."

You look right at him then, feeling so heartbroken. So devastated that the person who knew you so well seemed not to know you at all, after all. "Chan-ah," you say, so soft. "It wouldn't have meant anything without you."

You get up. You weren't sure why you ended up taking that flight, but it dawns on you now that you came to get answers. And now that you've gotten them, it feels like you've reached an impasse—Chan's vision of the future so polar opposite yours, so stunningly incompatible that you wonder how the two of you shared a life in the first place. 

You wipe at your face, smearing your tears all over your cheeks, and walk over to your bag by the door. You didn't even bring a suitcase—just a carry-on duffel with a few changes of clothes, unsure how long you'd be staying, as Soonyoung conveniently hadn't purchased you a return ticket. 

"Wait."

Chan wedges his body between you and the front door. It's a dumb thought to have in this moment, but you have to swallow down the realization that his shoulders have gotten so broad that you can barely see the door behind them. You look down, down at your shoes, at the beat-up bag that you used to carry on overnight trips to Busan and Daegu with him. Anywhere but directly at him.

"I can't let you leave like this. I—"

He chokes, faltering. You look up, and he's startlingly close. 

"I don't think I'll survive it if you leave. The last—the last time, I was the one who left, and it almost killed me then. I—" He draws in a shaky breath. Reaches across the tiny gap between you to tuck a loose bit of hair behind your ear. 

The way he always used to. He'd brush the fringe out of your eyes. Have you walk on the inside of the sidewalk. Slip his hand between your hip and the countertop, or your head and the cabinet door. He had always loved you like that, in the tiny seconds tucked between roaring baseball games, press conferences, commercial shoots. Gasps, starts of affection. Quick, but you'd only miss them if you weren't looking.

He loved you.

"I love you. Not past tense." Chan's lip trembles, rare tears welling up in his waterline. "Please say that you love me, too. Please love me."

You lean forward and capture his mouth against yours, drowning out whatever's left of his pleas. 

And, oh. It's like no time passed at all. It's like you're sixteen again, making out under the bleachers after a home game. It's like you're in a grimy Itaewon bar at nineteen, kissing him silly while your new college friends boo and throw balled-up napkins across the table. It's like you're twenty-two and brazen, your sneakers sinking into the molten dirt of a rained-on field as you run between the drops toward the dugout.

Chan. It's him. You're home.

He kisses you back. Hard. Seemingly to communicate everything he hasn't been able to tell you over the last half year or so, his tongue working your lips apart, his hands trailing a heated, haphazard pattern down the lines of your body. Small pops of electricity burst under your skin at the feel of his fingertips—the rough ridges and raised calluses from years of gripping onto bats and balls. The still-delicate curve of his fingers fitting perfectly against the dip of your waist, like you were made to accommodate him. Like you were made for him.

In a way, weren't you? Hadn't it always started with him? Hadn't he written nearly every single chapter, left his mark on every part of your mind, your personality, you? Hadn't you grown up with him, learned and laughed and fought, formed yourself in the context of him?

Planet, meet star. Planet, meet the goddamn galaxy.

His mouth works urgently down your neck, his hands greedily slipping under your crewneck. He makes a broken, pathetic noise when he slips further up your back and realizes you're not wearing a bra. You loop your arms around his neck and tug him closer, closer, can't get him close enough because he's intoxicating, smells and feels just like you remember even though he lives on an entirely different continent. You grip onto his shoulders as he tugs down the neck of your sweater and litters kisses over your collarbone. Skate your reverent fingertips over the expanse of muscle you find there, familiar but not. An old tune in a new key. 

You break apart long enough to yank each other's clothes off, your sweats puddling with his jeans on the hideous beige tile of his entryway. He wastes no time tugging you through the half-open door of his bedroom. Laying you down against the cool cotton sheets.

He raises himself above you on his elbows, every part of his body pressing against yours, every single nerve ending bursting into flames. Every cell in your skin aches for more, more of him, and he's so close but you could drink him in forever. You think you understand what people mean when they say beholden, because you feel ensconced by his gaze. You think you could stare back at him the way he's staring at you—wistful, swollen with desire, a million apologies swimming in his irises—forever. 

"I love you," you say back, finally. You press a hand to his jaw and he closes his eyes, leaning into your touch. "I love you. Not past tense."

He shudders. Kisses down your throat, retracing his steps down to your collarbone and going further down. You sigh, carding your fingers through his hair—his thick, gorgeous hair, ink-black against his sun-infused skin. Dampness pools between your legs at the sight of his back rippling in the dim light from the hallway, his muscles working as he kisses down between your breasts, over your belly button, to the tops of your thighs.

"Chan," you breathe, squirming under him. "Chan-ah—"

He brushes his fingers lightly over your opening, breathing a soft laugh at what he finds there. "So beautiful."

He sinks one finger in, and then two. It's been so long since you've felt any part of him inside you—felt anything inside you, your libido dying right alongside your will to live—that you have to fight not to come on the spot. You whine as he starts to work them against your front wall. Moan when he immediately digs into your g-spot.

You've almost forgotten how well he knows you. Of course he knows where to find you—he always has.

"Chan," you choke out. The pressure of his touch inside of you is delicious. You feel so full. "I'm… close."

He kisses back up your body, his lips leaving third-degree burns in their wake. His fingers work furiously into you, the heel of his hand pressing against your clit, and you gasp for air. "I love you." He presses the words into the side of your neck, behind your ear. "I love you."

It's all you need. It's all you've ever needed. You shatter around him in ecstasy, trembling, his name scraping its way out of your throat. 

The whole time, he holds you. The whole time, he never stops saying it—

I love you. I love you. I love you.

——

September 2025

Dodger Stadium is deafening.

You bounce on the balls of your feet, nervous, posted up near the side entrance. The sun beats down on your scalp. It hadn't been too bad over the summer, you kept hearing—the heat only appeared with a vengeance at the start of September, prompting heat advisory warnings and lazy afternoons by the pool. A bead of sweat rolls down your back, soaks into the waist of your jeans. You check your watch again. 

Next to you, Soonyoung won't shut the fuck up.

"And, like, thank god you guys kissed and fucked and made up, you know? I was about to haul ass all the way to America alone just to visit this guy! And then I'd have to come home to you and pretend that I didn't want to talk about it, or talk about him, and you know I have a hard time not talking about anything. So, like, what I'm really trying to say is that you should be on your knees right now. Thanking me. Taking me out for drinks. Popping champagne in my honor. It's really thanks to me that we're all here today. In fact, when Chan wins World Series MVP, I'll be sure to listen for my name in his speech. Because who knows what would have happened if I hadn't shoved you on a plane—"

"—Soonyoung, I swear to god, if you don't shut the hell up—"

"Now, now." He pats your shoulder. Patronizingly. You grit your teeth in an effort not to shove him into a nearby planter. "Is that any way you should be speaking to your hero? The person to whom you owe your very happy relationship? Anyway, as I was saying—"

"He's here."

Wonwoo points, and you look up, and there he is.

You've only been to a few games, a few photoshoots, but you think you'll never get tired of seeing him in his bright white Dodger uniform, the team name emblazoned across his chest in royal blue, the red number—your birth date—nestled just under it. The fabric hugs his bulging muscles as he strides past a row of parked golf carts toward the three of you.

Still, the most stunning thing about him is his smile. That, and the way he looks at you every time. Like it's a miracle you're standing in front of him.

Soonyoung launches himself into Chan's arms, cackling maniacally. "Dude, you look good!"

Chan laughs. Shoves Soonyoung off despite the gigantic, goofy grin all over his face. "You act like you didn't just drop me off at the field this morning."

Soonyoung pouts. You roll your eyes. "Well, yeah, but it felt like forever. You see, your cruel, miserable girlfriend hasn't showered me with sufficient gratitude for everything I've done as a dear friend, the future godfather and namesake of your first child—"

"Watch it," you snap. "Or else I'm leaving your ass here after the game and you can walk back to our place."

Soonyoung doesn't falter for a second, unfazed by your attitude. "Anyway. Can you believe it? Major League Baseball. The fucking Dodgers. Hey, will you sign my jersey for me? It says 'Ohtani' but if you sign it, I think I could still sell it and retire whenever you become famous."

Chan sighs, world-weary. "I'll give you a signed jersey to take home, alright? Here." He turns to where Mingyu is just emerging, official staff badge swinging from his neck, and beckons him over. Behind you, you feel Wonwoo stiffen. "This is my interpreter, Mingyu—Mingyu, this is Soonyoung and Wonwoo."

Mingyu flashes a disarming smile and bows a polite greeting. You look over your shoulder to find Wonwoo petrified—eyes rounded, unable to move a muscle. Soonyoung smirks and rolls his lips together, swallowing the observation you know is itching to come out.

"Mingyu, could you take my friends up to the team suite?" Chan says.

You start to follow the group up the steps, but Chan grabs you by the wrist and whirls you back around to face him. His eyes soften when they meet yours, all the tension melting out of his shoulders.

"Hi," he murmurs, pulling you closer. "I missed you."

"Hi," you whisper back. You loop your arms around him. "I missed you more."

He drops a soft peck on your mouth. "I'll see you after the game?"

"Obviously." You return the kiss on his left cheek, right on the tiny, faint freckle there. "Kill it, superstar."

"I will." He holds you for just a second longer before taking a step back toward the entrance. "Try not to kill Soonyoung."

"No promises!" you shout.

The sound of his laugh echoes around you, and you think it might be the sweetest sound you've ever heard.

——

[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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